conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for a book with the title 'The Secret Lovers'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Secret Lovers
  Cerutti related the story. In 1944, before the invasion of Normandy, the German security apparatus was rolling up Maquis networks all over France. But Cerutti's network, with Otto Rothchild handling security, was untouched. Then, somehow, Otto had learned that the network had been penetrated. A woman, one of their best operatives, was working for the Germans. Otto confronted her. She made no attempt to resist his suspicions. Before the war, she had had a Jewish lover; her child belonged to the Jew, who was already cremated in Auschwitz. The Germans knew where the child was hidden in the countryside. She would kill the whole network to save the child.
  Rothchild, as always, had had an idea. He decided to redouble the woman, play her back against the Germans. She was terrified for her child. Rothchild told her he would rescue the child at night from the farm where he was staying near Pau, and get him across the Pyrenees. The woman was terrified for herself. Rothchild guaranteed her life. A person detected in treason will believe anything of a man who shows no anger. Patiently questioning, putting details together, Rothchild identified the German officer who was handling her.
  Rothchild had found a way. He came back to Cerutti, reminding him that he had offered to do anything. Rothchild asked him to put himself, for one day, into the hands of the SS.
  At this period, vast sums of money were coming into France from Britain for the support of the Maquis. Rothchild was a handler of money. Here Cerutti hesitated.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Secret Lovers
  Cerutti related the story. In 1944, before the invasion of Normandy, the German security apparatus was rolling up Maquis networks all over France. But Cerutti's network, with Otto Rothchild handling security, was untouched. Then, somehow, Otto had learned that the network had been penetrated. A woman, one of their best operatives, was working for the Germans. Otto confronted her. She made no attempt to resist his suspicions. Before the war, she had had a Jewish lover; her child belonged to the Jew, who was already cremated in Auschwitz. The Germans knew where the child was hidden in the countryside. She would kill the whole network to save the child.
  Rothchild, as always, had had an idea. He decided to redouble the woman, play her back against the Germans. She was terrified for her child. Rothchild told her he would rescue the child at night from the farm where he was staying near Pau, and get him across the Pyrenees. The woman was terrified for herself. Rothchild guaranteed her life. A person detected in treason will believe anything of a man who shows no anger. Patiently questioning, putting details together, Rothchild identified the German officer who was handling her.
  Rothchild had found a way. He came back to Cerutti, reminding him that he had offered to do anything. Rothchild asked him to put himself, for one day, into the hands of the SS.
  At this period, vast sums of money were coming into France from Britain for the support of the Maquis. Rothchild was a handler of money.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Kamensky saw that he was being made the instrument of Kolka's death. He didn't hesitate. He bargained: one act on behalf of the NKVD in return for the pictures and the transcripts, and for Kolka's safety. It was a delusion; nothing would save Kolka now and Kamensky knew it. But Carlos, thinking on the matter, decided that Kamensky, abandoning himself to emotion, felt that he had to make the effort. He had to do something, and he had the sort of mind that would perceive the lasting damage to himself of committing an act of treachery and disguising it as an act of atonement. There was no question of Kolka staying in Christendom; he was an incurable Russian, he longed to return to Russia, he would never leave it once he did go back. Kamensky knew all that because he was the same. Later, Kolka told Carlos that Kamensky had told him that he, Kolka, was the breathing apparatus that Kamensky needed to live in the poisonous air of a country other than Russia.
  What the NKVD wanted was simple. Some time before, the secret police of the Spanish Republic had found several hundred bourgeois hiding in the deserted Finnish embassy in Madrid, The NKVD had located another abandoned building, also a former embassy. They were going to hoist the flag of some remote Asiatic country over it, and hope that secret Nationalists would seek refuge there. There was a list of people, some of them Fas­cist agents, some of them Anarchists whom the Soviet apparatus wanted to destroy, some of them Social Democrats, some of them merely men the NKVD wanted to kill for their own reasons. Many of these last two classes were friends of Kamensky. The NKVD wanted Kamensky to warn them that death warrants were out for them, and to tell them where the false embassy was so that they could take refuge there. The bargain was struck; it would have terrified a man who had a smaller appetite for guilt than Kamensky, or who loved the man he was saving less than Kamensky loved Kolka Zhigalko.
  Kamensky lured his friends to the embassy, one after the other. The NKVD listened to their conversations with hidden microphones. Then they killed them—twenty-seven murders altogether. The victims were taken into the basement and shot. Their last sight was the heap of the dead who had come down the stairs before them. Before each execution—the executioners had the condemned kneel in order to receive a revolver bullet in the spinal cord in the descabello style of the NKVD—they told the man who was to die that Kamensky was the one who had betrayed him.
  At the end of it, the NKVD man delivered the transcripts and the pictures and the negatives to Kamensky. He told him what had been done in the cellar of the false embassy.
  As he spoke these words, the NKVD man turned over the photographs of the acts that he was describing with his obscenities. Another man might have attacked. Kamensky had already made his gesture. Now he sealed himself from the NKVD man. He stared at him, absolutely cold and absolutely silent, until he went away. Of course what Kamensky had been told about Kolka was a lie; it was payment for the slaps on the face he had delivered to the NKVD man. But how could Kamensky ever be certain? All Carlos's life he had heard the phrase, never knowing what it meant, but now he saw it in reality: Kamensky's heart was broken.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He didn't hesitate. He bargained: one act on behalf of the NKVD in return for the pictures and the transcripts, and for Kolka's safety. It was a delusion; nothing would save Kolka now and Kamensky knew it. But Carlos, thinking on the matter, decided that Kamensky, abandoning himself to emotion, felt that he had to make the effort. He had to do something, and he had the sort of mind that would perceive the lasting damage to himself of committing an act of treachery and disguising it as an act of atonement. There was no question of Kolka staying in Christendom; he was an incurable Russian, he longed to return to Russia, he would never leave it once he did go back. Kamensky knew all that because he was the same. Later, Kolka told Carlos that Kamensky had told him that he, Kolka, was the breathing apparatus that Kamensky needed to live in the poisonous air of a country other than Russia.
  What the NKVD wanted was simple. Some time before, the secret police of the Spanish Republic had found several hundred bourgeois hiding in the deserted Finnish embassy in Madrid, The NKVD had located another abandoned building, also a former embassy. They were going to hoist the flag of some remote Asiatic country over it, and hope that secret Nationalists would seek refuge there. There was a list of people, some of them Fas­cist agents, some of them Anarchists whom the Soviet apparatus wanted to destroy, some of them Social Democrats, some of them merely men the NKVD wanted to kill for their own reasons. Many of these last two classes were friends of Kamensky. The NKVD wanted Kamensky to warn them that death warrants were out for them, and to tell them where the false embassy was so that they could take refuge there. The bargain was struck; it would have terrified a man who had a smaller appetite for guilt than Kamensky, or who loved the man he was saving less than Kamensky loved Kolka Zhigalko.
  Kamensky lured his friends to the embassy, one after the other. The NKVD listened to their conversations with hidden microphones. Then they killed them—twenty-seven murders altogether. The victims were taken into the basement and shot. Their last sight was the heap of the dead who had come down the stairs before them. Before each execution—the executioners had the condemned kneel in order to receive a revolver bullet in the spinal cord in the descabello style of the NKVD—they told the man who was to die that Kamensky was the one who had betrayed him.
  At the end of it, the NKVD man delivered the transcripts and the pictures and the negatives to Kamensky. He told him what had been done in the cellar of the false embassy.
  As he spoke these words, the NKVD man turned over the photographs of the acts that he was describing with his obscenities. Another man might have attacked. Kamensky had already made his gesture. Now he sealed himself from the NKVD man. He stared at him, absolutely cold and absolutely silent, until he went away. Of course what Kamensky had been told about Kolka was a lie; it was payment for the slaps on the face he had delivered to the NKVD man. But how could Kamensky ever be certain? All Carlos's life he had heard the phrase, never knowing what it meant, but now he saw it in reality: Kamensky's heart was broken.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The girl, a stranger to Christopher, shrank against the door. He realized that he had lost control of his face and he tried to smile at her. She saw the effort he was making, and spoke.
  At the airport, they stood together by the glass wall above the tarmac and looked down at Cathy's plane. She had made no effort to cover her injuries. Her face was still swollen and her eyes were distorted by the pull of the discolored flesh. She was still bandaged from the surgery to remove her spleen and she moved apprehensively. She told Christopher she had no more pain. "But I know it's still in my body somewhere," Cathy said, "waiting to come out again."
  Her mother would meet her in New York. Cathy had spoken to her on the phone about an automobile accident. She had said nothing, for the time being, about the divorce.
  He gave her the poem. She leaned against the wall in the thin light—it was a morning in early winter and it was raining—and read the handwritten sheets. As she read, grace came back into her body, and she stood for a while in her old dancer's attitude. She did not cry.
  Her flight was called. Christopher carried her handbags down the ramp for her. Their ears were filled with the shriek of taxiing jets. They stood under an umbrella at the foot of the gangway with other people crowding by. Christopher put his arms around her to shield her from their jostling. Cathy's lips could not bear the pressure of a kiss. Their faces were very close together.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The girl, a stranger to Christopher, shrank against the door. He realized that he had lost control of his face and he tried to smile at her. She saw the effort he was making, and spoke.
  At the airport, they stood together by the glass wall above the tarmac and looked down at Cathy's plane. She had made no effort to cover her injuries. Her face was still swollen and her eyes were distorted by the pull of the discolored flesh. She was still bandaged from the surgery to remove her spleen and she moved apprehensively. She told Christopher she had no more pain. "But I know it's still in my body somewhere," Cathy said, "waiting to come out again."
  Her mother would meet her in New York. Cathy had spoken to her on the phone about an automobile accident. She had said nothing, for the time being, about the divorce.
  He gave her the poem. She leaned against the wall in the thin light—it was a morning in early winter and it was raining—and read the handwritten sheets. As she read, grace came back into her body, and she stood for a while in her old dancer's attitude. She did not cry.
  Her flight was called. Christopher carried her handbags down the ramp for her. Their ears were filled with the shriek of taxiing jets. They stood under an umbrella at the foot of the gangway with other people crowding by. Christopher put his arms around her to shield her from their jostling. Cathy's lips could not bear the pressure of a kiss.