conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Fairman, Irish, Terry with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Mystery?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Door Between'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a plot for a book titled The Door Between about Fairman, Irish, Terry with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Mystery.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Door Between: Karen Leith is an award-winning novelist whose fictional life and works bear a resemblance to Pearl Buck—she was raised in Japan and writes novels that are set there, but lives in Manhattan surrounded by Japanese customs, art and furnishings.\nShe is engaged to marry world-famous cancer researcher dr John MacClure.\nOne day, the doctor's daughter, Eva, finds Karen with her throat cut in the writer's Greenwich Village home.\nEva herself has no motive to kill Karen, but the evidence she finds at the scene suggests—even in her own mind—that no one else could have done it.\nThe investigation by Ellery Queen confronts this puzzle and also turns up startling information about a long-vanished relative of Karen Leith.\nQueen pierces the veil of circumstantial evidence and finds out not only the method of the crime but, most importantly, its motivation.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first paragraph for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Door Between
  Even more surprising was Miss Leith's permission to stage the insubstantial pageant in her own Japanese garden behind the prim house in Washington Square.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The stairs were narrow, steep, and creaked; and after Ellery went Eva and her father together, feeling the need for proximity. For an instant Terry Ring contested with Inspector Queen for the curious right to trail the procession; and it was the brown man who, to the Inspector's irritation, finally won. The old man disliked people behind him; he especially disliked people who mounted creaky stairs without the least noise.
  They emerged into a cool, slope-ceilinged room, not at all the chamber of mysteries Eva's aroused imagination had pictured it: after the climb in shadows it glowed with sun, an innocent, dainty, almost virginal room not even remotely sinister. Its two windows were dressed in blowy marquisette curtains and its bed, a four-poster of maple, was covered with the same cherry chintz that framed the curtains in flowers. But there were old Japanese water-colors on the walls and mats on the polished floor that could only have come from beyond the Pacific.
  In one angle of the room there was an electric refrigerator with a kitchen cabinet above it and a gas-range to its side. A tiny bathroom, quite modern in its fixtures, led off the bedroom; it had a small window and a skylight, but no other door. The little apartment looked as if it had been lived in by a woman of refined and lacy habits – a guarded haven, the door at the head of the attic stairs its sole exit to the world.
  He picked up, then, a slender scissors-sheath of walrus-tusk ivory, covered with relief carvings, with a silk cord attached at the end of which dangled a good-luck coin inscribed with a Japanese motto.
  Ellery laid the case down, looked around, and went to an open closet door. The closet was hung with women's things – a variety of rather faded-looking garments; on its floor were two shoes. There were no hats or coats. He looked in, looked down, shook his head, and went to the tiny maple dressing-table on which lay a comb and brush, a toilet set, and a lacquered box full of quite beautiful trinkets, hair-pins, manicuring implements. His eyes narrowed.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The stairs were narrow, steep, and creaked; and after Ellery went Eva and her father together, feeling the need for proximity. For an instant Terry Ring contested with Inspector Queen for the curious right to trail the procession; and it was the brown man who, to the Inspector's irritation, finally won. The old man disliked people behind him; he especially disliked people who mounted creaky stairs without the least noise.
  They emerged into a cool, slope-ceilinged room, not at all the chamber of mysteries Eva's aroused imagination had pictured it: after the climb in shadows it glowed with sun, an innocent, dainty, almost virginal room not even remotely sinister. Its two windows were dressed in blowy marquisette curtains and its bed, a four-poster of maple, was covered with the same cherry chintz that framed the curtains in flowers. But there were old Japanese water-colors on the walls and mats on the polished floor that could only have come from beyond the Pacific.
  In one angle of the room there was an electric refrigerator with a kitchen cabinet above it and a gas-range to its side. A tiny bathroom, quite modern in its fixtures, led off the bedroom; it had a small window and a skylight, but no other door. The little apartment looked as if it had been lived in by a woman of refined and lacy habits – a guarded haven, the door at the head of the attic stairs its sole exit to the world.
  He picked up, then, a slender scissors-sheath of walrus-tusk ivory, covered with relief carvings, with a silk cord attached at the end of which dangled a good-luck coin inscribed with a Japanese motto.
  Ellery laid the case down, looked around, and went to an open closet door. The closet was hung with women's things – a variety of rather faded-looking garments; on its floor were two shoes. There were no hats or coats. He looked in, looked down, shook his head, and went to the tiny maple dressing-table on which lay a comb and brush, a toilet set, and a lacquered box full of quite beautiful trinkets, hair-pins, manicuring implements.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: And Ellery thought of how carefully he had searched Karen's house late that afternoon for the stationery, without telling anyone; and of how he had sat down in the stillness of Karen Leith's death-room to imitate her handwriting in the two essential words; and of how he had slipped a blank sheet of the deckle-edged paper into the prepared envelope and sealed the envelope and then slit it open and then affixed the gold wax to the flap with Karen Leith's own seal. And of how he had dirtied it and faked the marks of dew.
  And he wondered as he watched the gold wax melt and run under the heat: How prove a case of mental murder? How prove that a man can commit murder not with his hands but with his brain? How punish a natural force, like the desire for rightful vengeance? How catch a wind, or trap a cloud, or make justice condemn itself to death?
  Ellery stared morosely into the grate. The last fragile scrap of stationery was licked up by the flame as he watched, and all that was left was a residue of ash with a gold blob weighing it down like a mass of mortality.
  And he thought that bluff was man's defense against the impalpable, and conscience his only guide. And he thought how easy it was, and how terrible it was, with only pen and ink and paper and wax as his tools, for a man to accomplish the one and stir up the other.
  He shivered a little before the dark fireplace. It was too much like playing God to feel entirely comfortable.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: And of how he had dirtied it and faked the marks of dew.
  And he wondered as he watched the gold wax melt and run under the heat: How prove a case of mental murder? How prove that a man can commit murder not with his hands but with his brain? How punish a natural force, like the desire for rightful vengeance? How catch a wind, or trap a cloud, or make justice condemn itself to death?
  Ellery stared morosely into the grate. The last fragile scrap of stationery was licked up by the flame as he watched, and all that was left was a residue of ash with a gold blob weighing it down like a mass of mortality.
  And he thought that bluff was man's defense against the impalpable, and conscience his only guide. And he thought how easy it was, and how terrible it was, with only pen and ink and paper and wax as his tools, for a man to accomplish the one and stir up the other.
  He shivered a little before the dark fireplace. It was too much like playing God to feel entirely comfortable.