conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about Stories, Irish, Reed with the genre: Christian Books & Bibles, Christian Living
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'This Year It Will Be Different'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: This Year It Will Be Different
  When Alison was fourteen, her mother died. Suddenly and unexpectedly, after a routine operation. David had gone to Alison's boarding school. "I expect you'll have to have me now," she had said to her father. David said it had nearly broken his heart to think that his only daughter considered herself a package to be passed from one place to another. Jenny forced herself to think about Diana, dead before she was forty. Dead without ever having lived properly. She put the thought of Alison to the furthest part of her brain. She knew it would spoil everything. There were going to be no happy endings in this story, no one would walk hand in hand into the sunset swearing undying friendship. She would do it, she would do it for David and, oddly, for the dead Diana, whom she had feared and mistrusted in life. If Jenny were to die young, she would like some other woman to look after Timmy, to try to make a life for him.
  She slaved as never before over their Christmas party. Sometimes she got up ludicrously early in the morning. David would come down to breakfast and find a smell of cooking in the kitchen, even though all the mess had been cleared away.
  Jenny was not funny, nor was she a little thing. She would look at herself thoughtfully. She was tall, not as willowy as Diana, but tall. She was deadly serious about her family and her work. Why was it the action of a funny little thing to get the party right? He used to tell her how much he loved it, that he had always been one for ceremony and for celebration, but Diana had never wanted to bother. But Jenny would pick no fights, manufacture no rows. Not at the festive season.
  Alison arrived a day earlier than she was expected. Jenny came back from work and found her halfway through eating a tray of intensely complicated hors d'oeuvres. Each one had taken three minutes to assemble, they would take one second to eat, and Jenny had made sixty of them, shaping the curls of filo pastry with endless patience, and leaving them to cool before freezing them. It represented three hours of her life. She looked at Alison with pure hatred.
  A glow of sympathy toward the girl began to shine through the mists of dislike and resentment. But Jenny was too experienced to mistake it for the swell of violins surging at the end of the movie.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me three more paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'And then they talked about wines they both liked, and around them people wandered around the fish counters and water gushed through the drains and lumps of ice that hadn't yet melted fell to the ground'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: And then they talked about wines they both liked, and around them people wandered around the fish counters and water gushed through the drains and lumps of ice that hadn't yet melted fell to the ground. They talked, Liam and Janet, with the excitement of people getting to know each other and afraid to ask the question that might nip it all before it got started. Each was buying a fish large enough to feed a family. Neither wore a ring, but that meant nothing. They each noticed that the other was in no hurry to go home, but again that might have no significance. When their third set of empty coffee cups was taken away they could pretend no longer.
  Janet felt herself shiver. It was the kind of shiver that her mother said meant someone was walking over your grave.
  They looked at each other as if there was still something more to be said. He picked up a brochure advertising all the different kinds of fish that were on sale and tore a piece off. It had a picture of a baramundi. He quickly wrote some figures.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: They had never believed it, of course, but it was like crusts being good for you and fast food bad for you—they heard it and accepted it as something people said. It had been said for so long now, it was part of the scenery. Much easier to listen to and ignore than this new unease between their parents and this sudden revelation that grannies were not a Good Thing after all.
  Ann and Mary and John didn't like it. It changed the natural order of things. They didn't want things changed. And certainly not at Christmas.
  In the firelight his three children looked up at him. They were going to hear no explanation. No accusations about aunts and uncles who didn't do their fair share. No words like "burden" and "nuisance." Not at Christmastime.
  Ann, who had grown up this Christmas and understood almost everything, suddenly said in a gentle voice: