conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book about Grimaud, Fley, Grimaud\'s entitled The Hollow Man.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Hollow Man (Carr novel): Professor Charles Grimaud and his circle are meeting at a tavern when they are interrupted by a mysterious stranger who claims that men can arise from their graves and walk through walls.\nThe stranger, illusionist Pierre Fley, claims to have done it himself, and that he has an even more dangerous brother who wants Grimaud\'s life.\nHe tells Grimaud to choose which of the two brothers he wants to call on him, and Grimaud angrily tells him to send his brother and be damned.\nA few nights later, Grimaud awaits an anticipated visitor in his study.\nThe visitor arrives, wearing a false face, and is escorted to the study by Grimaud\'s housekeeper.\nA witness sees Grimaud let the stranger into his study and close the door, and continues to observe the door until a few minutes later when shots from the study are heard.\nThe locked door to the study is broken down and Grimaud is found dying from a gunshot wound, but both the stranger and a weapon are missing, and both the ground below the only window and the roof above it covered with unbroken snow.\nTaken to a hospital, Grimaud on his deathbed later identifies his brother as his killer and confirms his inexplicable disappearance ("God knows how he got out of that room"), but dies before he can identify the aforementioned brother.\ndr Fell soon discovers that Grimaud and his two brothers (Fley and an unknown person Fell refers to as "brother Henri") had, years earlier, escaped from forced labor in a Transylvanian salt mine by faking their deaths and being buried alive in their coffins.\nThe next day, the newspaper reports that minutes after Grimaud\'s shooting, two tourists and a police constable witnessed Pierre Fley walking alone down a broad, deserted, fully enclosed cul-de-sac (looking behind him as if frightened), and they shortly thereafter hear a voice shout "The second bullet is for you.\n", followed by a gunshot.\nFley is found shot in the back at close range, the revolver that killed him (and Grimaud) lying in the snow nearby, with no tracks in the snow but his.\nInvestigation reveals Fley left a note that night saying that he was leaving his performing career and "going back to my grave".\nFell engages in a long investigation, discovering that Grimaud had purchased a large painting of three coffins set in a Transylvanian landscape, in order to deal with his anticipated visitor.\nFell also receives confirmation from Transylvanian authorities that years ago, Grimaud and his brothers were imprisoned for committing a large bank robbery, and that in their escape attempt, Grimaud had escaped his coffin but left his brothers to die in theirs.\nPierre Fley had been returned to prison to serve out his sentence, but their third brother had died in his coffin.\nGideon Fell reveals that it was Grimaud who had planned to kill Fley, not the other way round, since Fley was blackmailing him for the death of their brother whom Grimaud had left to die.\nHis intention was to create the illusion that Fley had called on him and shot him in the study, escaping out the window, and that Fley then returned to his own flat and committed suicide.\nGrimaud had agreed to pay off Fley, tricking him into writing an ambiguous, mysterious note that might appear as a suicide note.\nThen he shot Fley in his own flat, leaving him for dead with the gun in his hand.\nGrimaud then had gone to a neighboring house and after putting on his disguise (a fake cardboard overcoat and mask), opened the door to the street.\nMeanwhile, Fley had recovered and was walking slowly up the street to the office of a doctor; on seeing Grimaud in the doorway, Fley screamed "The second bullet is for you.\n" and shot Grimaud, dying from the effort.\nThough wounded, Grimaud managed to return to his own house unobserved and proceeded with his planned impersonation of Fley.\nHe used a large mirror hidden in the painting to create the illusion (for the benefit of the arranged witness) that he was greeting a stranger (actually himself) at the entrance to his study.\nOnce locked inside the study, he burned the cardboard overcoat and mask in the fireplace (along with squibs to simulate gunshots) and hid the heavy mirror up in the narrow, flat flue of his chimney, bringing on his final hemorrhage and death.\nAs the exertion tears his gunshot wound further open, he has just enough time to set off a firecracker, thus faking a gunshot.\nGrimaud had tried to tell the truth of what had happened, but his words were misunderstood in various ways; for example, "God knows how he got out of that room" referred not to his study but to Fley\'s leaving his own room.\nThe seeming impossibility of the crimes had arisen entirely by accident; for example, he had not anticipated snow (making Fley\'s escape from the study impossible), and Fley\'s shooting (which was not intended to be witnessed) appeared to happen some minutes after Grimaud\'s because of an incorrectly set clock in a shop window, visible to all the eyewitnesses.\nAfter Fell\'s explanation, Grimaud\'s housekeeper (who was his accomplice and lover) enters the room, confirms the correctness of the solution, and kills herself.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book about Bremen, Hollow, Simmons entitled The Hollow Man.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Hollow Man (Simmons novel): After the death of his wife Gail, Jeremy Bremen leaves his previous life by burning his home and possessions and embarking on a journey to find peace from the "neurobabble" of humanity.\nWithout his wife\'s presence Bremen cannot shield himself from the unwanted ability to read minds and hear thoughts.\nBremen searches for solitude and isolation from people, which he initially finds; however, as the novel progresses, he is exposed to increasing levels of contact with humanity and horrifying experiences of malicious and violent behaviour.\nTransposed with Bremen\'s story is that of another character, Robby, who appears to be narrating and commenting upon Bremen and his wife\'s life.\nRobby is severely disabled and unable to communicate as he is deaf, mute, and blind.\nHow he is able to have such familiarity with Bremen is not disclosed until towards the end of the novel.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Hollow Man
  All of whom have explored, far more eloquently than my powers would ever allow, the obsessive theme of—
  Thou shalt prove how salty tastes another's bread, and how hard a path it is to go up and down another's stairs.
  Bremen left the hospital and his dying wife and drove east to the sea. The roads were thick with Philadelphians fleeing the city for the unusually warm Easter weekend, so Bremen had to concentrate on traffic, leaving only the most tenuous of touches in his wife's mind.
  Gail was sleeping. Her dreams were fitful and drug-induced. She was seeking her mother through endlessly interlinked rooms filled with Victorian furniture. Images from these dreams slid between the evening shadows of reality as Bremen crossed the Pine Barrens. She awoke just as Bremen was leaving the parkway, and for the few seconds that the pain was not with her, Bremen was able to share the clarity of sunlight falling across the blue blanket at the foot of her bed; then he shared the quick vertigo of confusion as she thought—only for a second—that it was morning on the farm.
  Her thoughts reached for him just as the pain returned, stabbing behind her left eye like a thin but infinitely sharp needle. Bremen grimaced and dropped the coin he was handing the tollbooth attendant.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Bremen needed it. He became addicted to it. Even the Thursday trip the twenty miles into town became a punishment for him, an exile he could not bear, as Miz Morgan's protective wash of mindnoise faded and the neurobabble rushed in from either side, individual thoughts and hungers and desires and filthy little secrets slicing at him like so many razor blades to the eye and palate.
  The bunkhouse was more than adequate for a home: it was air-conditioned for the August extremes of heat; its bed was comfortable, its kitchen impressive, its shower was fed by water from the holding pond half a mile uphill so the water never ran out, and it was situated in a private cul-de-sac between boulders so that the lights of the main hacienda were not visible. The bunkhouse even had a telephone, although Bremen could not call out; the phone line ran only to the hacienda and chimed when Miz Morgan wanted him to carry out some task that she had forgotten to list on the previous evening's "work list"—a single sheet of lined, yellow paper that she would leave clipped to the bulletin board on the bunkhouse's narrow porch.
  Bremen quickly learned the areas out of bounds. He was not to approach the hacienda. The six dogs were well trained, they came to Miz Morgan in an instant when she shouted a command, but they were vicious. His third day at the ranch, Bremen watched them pull down a coyote that had made the mistake of coming too close in the wide pasture that ran down to the stream. The dogs had worked as a team, like wolves, surrounding and hamstringing the poor confused coyote before pulling him down and finishing him.
  He was not to go anywhere near the "cold house," a low cinderblock building set back behind the boulders near the hacienda. The cold house held a cylindrical water tank on its roof and Miz Morgan had explained that first day that the fifteen-hundred-gallon tank was for fire only; she had pointed out the heavy-duty hoses and couplings at the side of the cold house. These also were out-of-bounds for hired help, unless personally directed there by Miz Morgan.
  Bremen knew from the first day's tour that the cold house had its own generator, and he could sometimes hear it chugging in the night. Miz Morgan explained that she liked to dress out her own beef and the game that she brought back from her weekly hunting forays into the hills, and that the cold house held thousands of dollars' worth of prime meat. She had had problems—first with power outages that ruined a fortune's worth of beef, then with hired hands who felt that they could help themselves to a side or two of beef before departing in the night. Miz Morgan allowed no one to approach the cold house now, she said, and the dogs were trained to attack any intruder who even went up the stone walk toward the heavily padlocked doors.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Miz Morgan allowed no one to approach the cold house now, she said, and the dogs were trained to attack any intruder who even went up the stone walk toward the heavily padlocked doors.. She had had problems—first with power outages that ruined a fortune's worth of beef, then with hired hands who felt that they could help themselves to a side or two of beef before departing in the night. Miz Morgan explained that she liked to dress out her own beef and the game that she brought back from her weekly hunting forays into the hills, and that the cold house held thousands of dollars' worth of prime meat.
  Bremen knew from the first day's tour that the cold house had its own generator, and he could sometimes hear it chugging in the night. These also were out-of-bounds for hired help, unless personally directed there by Miz Morgan. The cold house held a cylindrical water tank on its roof and Miz Morgan had explained that first day that the fifteen-hundred-gallon tank was for fire only; she had pointed out the heavy-duty hoses and couplings at the side of the cold house.
  He was not to go anywhere near the "cold house," a low cinderblock building set back behind the boulders near the hacienda. The dogs had worked as a team, like wolves, surrounding and hamstringing the poor confused coyote before pulling him down and finishing him. His third day at the ranch, Bremen watched them pull down a coyote that had made the mistake of coming too close in the wide pasture that ran down to the stream. The six dogs were well trained, they came to Miz Morgan in an instant when she shouted a command, but they were vicious. He was not to approach the hacienda.
  Bremen quickly learned the areas out of bounds. The bunkhouse even had a telephone, although Bremen could not call out; the phone line ran only to the hacienda and chimed when Miz Morgan wanted him to carry out some task that she had forgotten to list on the previous evening's "work list"—a single sheet of lined, yellow paper that she would leave clipped to the bulletin board on the bunkhouse's narrow porch.
  The bunkhouse was more than adequate for a home: it was air-conditioned for the August extremes of heat; its bed was comfortable, its kitchen impressive, its shower was fed by water from the holding pond half a mile uphill so the water never ran out, and it was situated in a private cul-de-sac between boulders so that the lights of the main hacienda were not visible. Even the Thursday trip the twenty miles into town became a punishment for him, an exile he could not bear, as Miz Morgan's protective wash of mindnoise faded and the neurobabble rushed in from either side, individual thoughts and hungers and desires and filthy little secrets slicing at him like so many razor blades to the eye and palate. He became addicted to it.Bremen needed it
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Jeremy Bremen did not see the sun rise in front of him. His hearing dimmed to nothing. The messages of fear and fatigue from his body failed to register; the increasing pressure on the trigger became a distant, forgotten thing. He concentrated with enough force to move objects, to pulverize bricks, to halt birds in their flight. For that briefest of milliseconds he had the choice of wavefront or particle, the choice of which existence he would embrace. The world screamed at him in five billion pain-filled voices demanding to be heard, five billion lost children waiting to be held, and he opened himself wide enough to hold all of them.
  From down the beach comes a young girl in a dark suit two seasons too small. She has been running along the edge of wet-packed sand, but now she pauses as the sun rises and breaks free of the sea.
  Her attention is on the water as it teases the land with sliding strokes and then withdraws, and she moves closer to dance with the surf. Her sunburned legs carry her to the very edge of the world's ocean and then back again in a silent but perfectly choreographed ballet.
  Suddenly she is startled by the screaming of gulls. Distracted, she halts her dance, and the waves break over her ankles with the cold shock of triumph.
  The girl resumes her waltz with the sea, while behind her, squinting slightly in the clean, sharp light of morning, Jeremy, Gail, and Robby watch the sunrise through newly opened eyes.