conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled A Thousand Lives about Rachel, English, Europe with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Contemporary.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Rachel L. the author is a secondary school English teacher who has spent timetravelling throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa. Her travels and lifeexperiences have greatly influenced her writing. She lives with her husbandand children in Long Island, New York.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A Thousand Lives
  It's just after three o'clock when we hit County Road 50. The temperature has swelled past ninety and the sun scorches our backs as we swerve our bikes around pools of bubbling tar.
  A quarter of a mile downwind from Hanke's Dairy, the stench of cow shit slams up our noses, and we rise in unison, stomping on the pedals and gasping toward the cornfield on the other side.
  Once we pass Hanke's Dairy, we sit back down onto our bike seats. Along the length of the cornfield, a series of plywood squares nailed to stakes bear a hand-scrawled message:
  You see such signs posted throughout the countryside: farmers using the extra snippet of land between their property and the road to advertise Jesus Christ. Mother approves. She says the best thing you can do in life is die for Jesus Christ as a missionary martyr, but posting signs by the side of the road can't hurt either.
  It was her idea to move to the country. She grew up in rural South Dakota and had been threatening to drag us back to the boonies for years. Dad finally caved in. His drive to Lafayette Surgical Clinic, where he's a surgeon, is half an hour longer, but now he's also gotten into the country act, donning his new overalls to drive his new tractor around our fifteen acres. Our three older siblings escaped this upheaval by leaving for college, so that leaves my parents, my two adopted black brothers, and me.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A Thousand Lives
  It's just after three o'clock when we hit County Road 50. The temperature has swelled past ninety and the sun scorches our backs as we swerve our bikes around pools of bubbling tar.
  A quarter of a mile downwind from Hanke's Dairy, the stench of cow shit slams up our noses, and we rise in unison, stomping on the pedals and gasping toward the cornfield on the other side.
  Once we pass Hanke's Dairy, we sit back down onto our bike seats. Along the length of the cornfield, a series of plywood squares nailed to stakes bear a hand-scrawled message:
  You see such signs posted throughout the countryside: farmers using the extra snippet of land between their property and the road to advertise Jesus Christ. Mother approves. She says the best thing you can do in life is die for Jesus Christ as a missionary martyr, but posting signs by the side of the road can't hurt either.
  It was her idea to move to the country. She grew up in rural South Dakota and had been threatening to drag us back to the boonies for years. Dad finally caved in. His drive to Lafayette Surgical Clinic, where he's a surgeon, is half an hour longer, but now he's also gotten into the country act, donning his new overalls to drive his new tractor around our fifteen acres.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A quarter of a mile downwind from Hanke's Dairy, the stench of cow shit slams up our noses, and we rise in unison, stomping on the pedals and gasping toward the cornfield on the other side.
  Once we pass Hanke's Dairy, we sit back down onto our bike seats. Along the length of the cornfield, a series of plywood squares nailed to stakes bear a hand-scrawled message:
  You see such signs posted throughout the countryside: farmers using the extra snippet of land between their property and the road to advertise Jesus Christ. Mother approves. She says the best thing you can do in life is die for Jesus Christ as a missionary martyr, but posting signs by the side of the road can't hurt either.
  It was her idea to move to the country. She grew up in rural South Dakota and had been threatening to drag us back to the boonies for years. Dad finally caved in. His drive to Lafayette Surgical Clinic, where he's a surgeon, is half an hour longer, but now he's also gotten into the country act, donning his new overalls to drive his new tractor around our fifteen acres. Our three older siblings escaped this upheaval by leaving for college, so that leaves my parents, my two adopted black brothers, and me.
  Jerome, our seventeen-year-old brother, hightailed it out of this 4-H fairground a few nights after we landed. He got into a fight with Dad, stole the keys to the Corolla, and drove off. Hasn't been seen or heard from since, which is fine by me, since Jerome is nothing but trouble anyhow.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
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