conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a description for a book titled Girl in Hyacinth Blue about Vermeer, York, Post with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Mystery?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: "The stories depict ordinary details from distinct eras with the light touch and clarity of a real Vermeer. the author's book is a work of art".<P>-- New York Post
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for this book? End with the sentence ' As I say, why he picked me I couldn't tell, unless it was simply that I was the only artist or art teacher he knew.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Girl in Hyacinth Blue
  Cornelius Engelbrecht invented himself. Let me emphasize, straight away, that he isn't what I would call a friend, but I know him enough to say that he did purposely design himself: single, modest dresser in receding colors, mathematics teacher, sponsor of the chess club, mild mannered acquaintance to all rather than a friend to any, a person anxious to become invisible. However, that exterior blandness masked a burning center, and for some reason that became clear to me only later, Cornelius Engelbrecht revealed to me the secret obsession that lay beneath his orderly, controlled design.
  He spoke to his beer rather than to any of us. "'An eye like a blue pearl,' was what my father said. And then he died. During a winter's first snowfall, just like this."
  Cornelius had a face I'd always associated with Piero della Francesca's portrait of the Duke of Urbino. It was the shape of his nose, narrow but extremely high-bridged, providing a bench for glasses he did not wear. He seemed a man distracted by a mystery or preoccupied by an intellectual or moral dilemma so consuming that it made him feel superior, above those of us whose concerns were tires for the car or a child's flu. Whenever our talk moved toward the mundane, he became distant, as though he were mulling over something far more weighty, which made his cool smiles patronizing.
  He studied my face as if measuring me against some private criteria. "I can't explain it, Richard, but I might show you."
  In fact, he insisted that I come to his home that evening, which was entirely out of character. I'd never seen him insist on anything. It would call attention to himself. I think Merrill's "love enough" had somehow stirred him, or else he thought it might stir me. As I say, why he picked me I couldn't tell, unless it was simply that I was the only artist or art teacher he knew.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know three more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She knew he meant the eating potatoes, for no farmer, not even a starving farmer, would touch his store of seed potatoes, the new crop Stijn was pioneering in the northland.
  He didn't ask about the pickled meat. They both knew by her smaller portions that they didn't have much.
  She turned from him. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm not asking you to give up the child, Saskia."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: ". "I'm not asking you to give up the child, Saskia. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.
  She turned from him. They both knew by her smaller portions that they didn't have much.
  He didn't ask about the pickled meat.She knew he meant the eating potatoes, for no farmer, not even a starving farmer, would touch his store of seed potatoes, the new crop Stijn was pioneering in the northland
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last two paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She walked away slowly along a wet stone wall that shone iridescent, and the wetness of the street reflected back the blue of her best dress. Water spots appeared fast, turning the cerulean to deep ultramarine, Father's favorite blue. Light rain pricked the charcoal green canal water into delicate, dark lace, and she wondered if it had ever been painted just that way, or if the life of something as inconsequential as a water drop could be arrested and given to the world in a painting, or if the world would care.
  She thought of all the people in all the paintings she had seen that day, not just Father's, in all the paintings of the world, in fact. Their eyes, the particular turn of a head, their loneliness or suffering or grief was borrowed by an artist to be seen by other people throughout the years who would never see them face to face. People who would be that close to her, she thought, a matter of a few arms' lengths, looking, looking, and they would never know her.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: People who would be that close to her, she thought, a matter of a few arms' lengths, looking, looking, and they would never know her.. Their eyes, the particular turn of a head, their loneliness or suffering or grief was borrowed by an artist to be seen by other people throughout the years who would never see them face to face.
  She thought of all the people in all the paintings she had seen that day, not just Father's, in all the paintings of the world, in fact. Light rain pricked the charcoal green canal water into delicate, dark lace, and she wondered if it had ever been painted just that way, or if the life of something as inconsequential as a water drop could be arrested and given to the world in a painting, or if the world would care. Water spots appeared fast, turning the cerulean to deep ultramarine, Father's favorite blue.She walked away slowly along a wet stone wall that shone iridescent, and the wetness of the street reflected back the blue of her best dress