conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Florida, University, South with the genre: Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Jumping-Off Place'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for this book.. Start with the sentence 'The Jumping-Off Place
  DOWN on their knees, a boy and girl were taking up the kitchen linoleum'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Jumping-Off Place
  DOWN on their knees, a boy and girl were taking up the kitchen linoleum. It was a queer time to be at that work — half-past eight in the evening — and there was an air of strangeness about the house; an unusual silence, a hollowness and a fragrance of crushed flowers in the air. The lighted candle, which had been set on the floor to piece out the electric light, shone on the towsled, red head of the boy and on the firm lips of his sister, who was working on the opposite side of the room.
  The Linville kitchen was usually the noisiest room in the house, but tonight it was so still that the "plack" of the tacks, and an occasional grunt over a stubborn fastening, were the only sounds. It was not often that fifteen and seventeen worked together so silently or so soberly. As they approached each other along the sides of the room there was a cough and a step on the back porch, and someone tried the door. Both young people sat up, looking as though caught in the act.
  Becky shook her head. "No, I knew she'd make a fuss about it and I didn't want Uncle Jim bothered when he was so sick. But she might as well know now. Unlock the door, Dick."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.. End with the sentence ' But the hair was still wet; when it dried, the powder shampoo might be more effectual.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: But Twinkle had had enough of beauty parlors. The unaccustomed cleanliness disturbed her, and she wriggled her fat body away from the soap, and began to cry. Joan, fearful that the noise would bring Becky to the scene of action, was forced to stop.
  She lifted the soft, baby flesh out of the water and seated Twinkle on the hot earth above the creek bed.
  And that is just what Twinkle did. The edge of the bank crumbled with her weight, and she went down, head first. Joan and Crystal caught her, but not until her wet, soapy head had rolled through the wet, muddy earth.
  The tender flesh had already begun to turn red in the sunshine. Joan pulled over the baby legs a pair of her own black sateen bloomers, put on a pair of Indian moccasins, and added the blouse of a khaki middy suit. The child looked like a picture from Hans Brinker. The wet hair began to dry, leaving a halo of stiff little wisps.
  The victim received a liberal application of starch, which was thoroughly rubbed into her sticky head. Somehow it didn't seem to make her fluffy. But the hair was still wet; when it dried, the powder shampoo might be more effectual.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last three paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Becky opened the hamper. A layer of oranges and apples, each one wrapped to prevent freezing; some "ready-to-sew" dresses for Joan; a puzzle game; a pile of magazines; two late novels, and a box of real Omaha chocolates. And down in the bottom the white envelope. Becky took out the kodak picture and held it close up to the window.
  It was Uncle Jim; not the Uncle Jim of Platteville, but the Uncle Jim of the prairies. He was standing near the creek-bed, against a background of leafless wild plum branches. There were smile wrinkles around his eyes, but he was not smiling. He was looking away across the sea of grass with an expression on his face that was intense, tender, and almost rapt. It was as though someone he loved had called to him, and he had lifted his head to reply.
  Tears shut away the picture, but they were not tears of bitterness. For as Becky looked, she knew that the prairie was Uncle Jim's home. He, too, had heard its call to stay, and she knew from his face what his answer would be.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about blowing.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Becky opened the hamper. A layer of oranges and apples, each one wrapped to prevent freezing; some "ready-to-sew" dresses for Joan; a puzzle game; a pile of magazines; two late novels, and a box of real Omaha chocolates. And down in the bottom the white envelope. Becky took out the kodak picture and held it close up to the window. 
  It was Uncle Jim; not the Uncle Jim of Platteville, but the Uncle Jim of the prairies. He was standing near the creek-bed, against a background of leafless wild plum branches. His flannel shirt was open at the throat, and the wind was blowing his hair. There were smile wrinkles around his eyes, but he was not smiling. He was looking away across the sea of grass with an expression on his face that was intense, tender, and almost rapt. It was as though someone he loved had called to him, and he had lifted his head to reply. 
  Tears shut away the picture, but they were not tears of bitterness. For as Becky looked, she knew that the prairie was Uncle Jim's home. He, too, had heard its call to stay, and she knew from his face what his answer would be.