conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about Lottie, Eliot, Adelaide with the genre: Children's Books, Growing Up & Facts of Life?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'The Water and the Wild'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Water and the Wild
  A GREEN APPLE TREE grew in the heart of Thirsby Square. Its leaves were a sad emerald and its apples a cheery peridot, and the passersby all agreed amongst themselves that it was the strangest sight in an otherwise respectable neighborhood. None of the neighbors knew why the late Mr. Dedalus Yates III had planted the tree in his garden or why his son, the late Mr. Dedalus Yates IV, had kept it alive. It was decidedly out of place on their posh street.
  Perhaps the tree would be more forgivable if Mrs. Hester Yates were a kindly old widow who used the apples to bake strudel that she delivered to orphans, vagabonds, and other persons in the direst of circumstances. But Mrs. Yates did not make any such strudel and, in fact, was not a kindly widow at all. The word "dour" is very apt here. Mrs. Hester Yates was a dour widow. Appropriately for a dour widow, she had the squinched face of a crow that had rammed its beak into one too many windowpanes. Inappropriately, she also had a little girl.
  If Mrs. Yates could have had her druthers instead of a girl, there would have been no children whatsoever in her neighborhood and certainly none in her boardinghouse. In her opinion, children belonged to a noxious class of furless, yippy house pets that did nothing but make noise at inconvenient times and crash into her potted gardenias. She had, in fact, been instrumental in placing a notice in the square common that read:
  Unlike his wife, the late Mr. Dedalus Yates IV had a tremendous knack for doing nice things, and one of those nice things had been to insist on taking an orphaned, lemony-haired baby into his home. The late Mr. Yates had also insisted on doing a lot of other nice but highly impractical things that had put the Yateses, a rich and respectable family, into a very unrespectable amount of debt. On the day that five angry creditors came calling at Thirsby Square, Mr. Yates inconveniently fell nose-first into his porridge and died, leaving Mrs. Yates to clean up the mess in the kitchen and at the bank.
  Mrs. Yates discovered that creditors don't get any less angry just because the man who owes them money has died before so much as taking his morning Darjeeling.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Oliver's eyes had turned a deep, troubled black. He started to say something, but Fife stopped him short.
  There was a horrible silence, and then Oliver motioned Fife aside. He said something too low for Lottie to pick up. Whatever it was slackened the tight lines in Fife's face. He did not look quite so angry, but Lottie was still scared to say anything more. What if that terrible look on Fife's face was meant for her alone? Lottie did not want to know. She turned and ran on ahead.
  Cynbel stopped overhead. They were standing on the edge of a canopied meadow where long sugar-white grass bent under the weight of a breeze. Here it was not so dark. Drooping swathes of thin, silvery fabric hung across the break in the trees, filtering the meadow's sunlight into a dappled haze. Below the chiffon arches, strands of globed lights crisscrossed on thin strings and cast teetering shadows. In the middle of the meadow stood three gnarled yews, their branches uncurled.
  He pushed past Lottie and Adelaide, still muttering to himself as he stalked away. He hopped onto the uncurled branch of one of the yews and floated his way up to the gaping hole in its trunk.
  With that, Fife slipped into the hole and out of sight. The yew shuddered, and the branch that Fife had climbed now curled in on itself until it was in the shape of a perfectly whorled snail's shell.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Lottie stared at Eliot. His lie had been as smooth as one of the Seamstress' satin gowns. Lottie was grateful. She didn't want to revisit the subject of what a failure she'd been at sharpening.
  Lottie started. Oliver was looking at the left pocket of her periwinkle coat, and something was indeed moving beneath the tweed fabric. Lottie reached inside. Her fingers curled around a bundle of feathers.
  Trouble tilted his head. He chirruped, unperturbed. Then he swept from Lottie's hand and joined Keats in his circular dance.
  Lottie, however, was distracted. There was something else in her pocket that had not been there before—something cold and hard-edged. She pulled it out.
  It was a key. It was small, just the length of her index finger, and looked like an ordinary house key. It was only when Lottie turned it over that she saw the little black diamond embossed on its top.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: His lie had been as smooth as one of the Seamstress' satin gowns. Lottie was grateful. She didn't want to revisit the subject of what a failure she'd been at sharpening.
  Lottie started. Oliver was looking at the left pocket of her periwinkle coat, and something was indeed moving beneath the tweed fabric. Lottie reached inside. Her fingers curled around a bundle of feathers.
  Trouble tilted his head. He chirruped, unperturbed. Then he swept from Lottie's hand and joined Keats in his circular dance.
  Lottie, however, was distracted. There was something else in her pocket that had not been there before—something cold and hard-edged. She pulled it out.
  It was a key. It was small, just the length of her index finger, and looked like an ordinary house key. It was only when Lottie turned it over that she saw the little black diamond embossed on its top.