conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about Mike's, Reed, Grade with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'Double Eagle'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Double Eagle
  The report told me nothing I didn't already know. The mention of Alan Saxon was mercifully brief, though I was called upon to utter words that I'd never in fact spoken. Mardie Cutler was quoted as well and described as 'resting on medical advice'. Howie Danzig's heart attack was given prominence and I was glad to know the name of the hospital where he'd been taken.
  Rutherford Kallgren had not missed the opportunity for self-promotion. Heaping praise upon the dead golfer, he argued that his tournament had shown Zuke at the height of his powers. The double eagle, he maintained, was a magnificent response to a magnificent course. When Tom Bellinghaus took over to develop the same theme, I could read no more of the report.
  I pulled out the Metro section, which contained the editorial pages. Two obituaries were featured. Pride of place went to a denizen of the Los Angeles Supreme Court ('Former Judge B.V. Strutton Dies at 81'), but Zuke Everett almost matched him for column inches. The inimitable grin was captured in a photograph that belonged to happier days and the obituary itself was satisfyingly fulsome. The only blemish was the reference to Kallgren and Bellinghaus.
  Leafing through the other supplements, I found the sports section and saw that its front page was monopolised by basketball and ice hockey. Golf roundup was tucked away on an inside page between fishing report ('Bass, Catfish Abound in Southland Lakes') and the sailing news ('Joss Wins Battle for Line Honours in Yacht Race to Puerto Vallarta').
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He gave the cabinet a twist and it made one revolution. With Mardie's tense face staring out at us, he inserted the first sword into a slit in one side and pushed. The point came out through a slit on the other side of the cabinet.
  More swords and more jokes followed and the trick reached its climax. Taking the broadest blade yet, the magician placed it against a chest-high slit in the front of the cabinet. Mardie looked down and grinned. When the sword was rammed home, however, her grin disappeared. There was a twitch in the velvet curtains at precisely the moment that the magician plunged in his blade.
  Mardie's face tightened in anguish and her scream echoed around the room. Some of the audience thought it was all part of the act and they clapped, but I saw the terror in her eyes before they snapped shut. Leaping up onto the stage, I pushed the magician aside and swung the cabinet around. The point of the sword had come out through the slit at the back, but another weapon had been thrust into it.
  By the time I'd grabbed for the lock and wrenched open the cabinet, the back of her white dress was one huge, ugly, red stain. Shock and revulsion spread through the room. Other screams were heard.
  Police headquarters were located in a vast, modern building of ferro-concrete and double-glazing. Its exterior had a stark purpose about it that kicked hard at the tripwires of my phobias. After one look at the place, I decided not to risk a second. The atmosphere inside had the same brutal impersonality that I find on all police premises. American versions of my father glared up at me as I walked past. They obviously worked on the same principle that he did.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: But we both knew that we would never keep it. The man who had brought us together had died and our relationship had gone with him. Valmai had chosen to live near a windy beach with a mad dog. I no longer fitted into her world. If we saw each other again, there would be too many painful reminders to accommodate.
  The TWA flight was on time and I was conducted into the first-class section. It gave me warm satisfaction to know that I'd be spending Kallgren's money as I flew away from him. What was even more gratifying was the fact that his bid to grab a large chunk of the golf world had failed.
  We were soon airborne and I spared Los Angeles a final glance through the window. It was a poorer place for the loss of Zuke Everett. His death would be a source of permanent sorrow to me, but there was one mitigating factor. I let my mind dwell lovingly on it.
  Early in the flight, the cabin was darkened so that a film could be shown. I saw none of it. My eyes were closed as I replayed a video of my own. It was a treasured record of a high-definition performance in which I'd been involved.