conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Wolf to the Slaughter about Chief, Inspector, Wexford with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Mystery
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A crime novel, featuring Chief Inspector Wexford, in which a woman vanishes, leaving nothing more concrete than an anonymous letter and the intriguing name of Smith.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a plot for a book titled Wolf to the Slaughter
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Wolf to the Slaughter: Anita Margolis had vanished.\nThere was no body, no crime – nothing more concrete than an anonymous letter and the intriguing name of Smith.\nAccording to headquarters, it wasn't to be considered a murder enquiry at all.\nChief Inspector Wexford, however, had other ideas.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: \nChief Inspector Wexford, however, had other ideas.\nThere was no body, no crime – nothing more concrete than an anonymous letter and the intriguing name of Smith.\nAccording to headquarters, it wasn't to be considered a murder enquiry at all.Wolf to the Slaughter: Anita Margolis had vanished.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Wolf to the Slaughter
  The police would possibly have thought so if they had stopped the car that was going too fast along the darkening road. The man and the girl would have had to get out and explain why they were carrying an offensive weapon. Explanation would have had to come from the man, for the girl could not have answered them. In the gathering dusk, watching the thin rain trickle down the glass, she thought that the raincoats they wore looked like a disguise, gangster garments, and the knife unsheathed for use.
  He pressed the switch that worked the windscreen wipers. 'Suppose the old girl turned funny?' he said. 'Suppose she changed her mind? I might have to put the fear of God into her.' And he drew his fingernail along the flat of the blade.
  Instead of answering him, she said carefully, 'I mustn't see this woman, this Ruby. I'll sit in the car out of the way while you go to the door.'
  Stowerton was seen first as an orange blur, a cluster of lights swimming through the mist. They came into the town centre where the shops were closed but the launderette still open. Wives who worked by day sat in front of the machines, watching their washing spin round inside the portholes, their faces greenish, tired in the harsh white light. On the corner at the crossroads, Cawthorne's garage was in darkness, but the Victorian house behind it brightly illuminated and from its open front door came the sound of dance music. Listening to this music, the girl gave a soft giggle. She whispered to her companion, but because she had only said something about the Cawthornes having a party, nothing about their own destination and their purpose, he merely nodded indifferently and said:
  The streets were grey and rain-washed and they all looked the same. Stunted trees grew from the pavements at four-yard intervals and their struggling roots had made cracks in the tarmac. The squat houses, unbroken rows and rows of them, were all garageless and there was a car stuck half-way on the pavement outside nearly every one.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: two more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: But Kirkpatrick hardly seemed to have heard. 'In peace, as I say. I don't want my family bothered or frightened. That woman not identifying me should settle the matter for good and all. I...'
  After the rain the town looked cleansed. The evening sun made the pavements gleam like sheet gold and a thin vapour rose from them. It was mild, warm even, and the air heavy with damp. Excitement made a hard knot in Drayton's chest as he drove up the High Street in Cawthorne's hire car and parked it in the alley. He wanted to fill his lungs with fresh air, not this cloying stuff that made him breathless.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last four paragraphs. End with the sentence ' The last time he had felt like this was fourteen years ago when his mother had died and that also was the last time he had wept.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Wexford set his teeth. He had almost gasped with annoyance. Some of it was for his own folly in that, while disapproving, he had entered with a certain romantic and conspiratorial delight into Drayton's love affair.
  In the hall he put on his duffel coat and raised the hood. Thus dressed, with a lock of black hair falling across his forehead, he looked like a medieval squire who has lost his knight and abandoned his crusade. When he had said good night to Sergeant Camb who knew nothing but that young Drayton was somehow in hot water, he came out into the wet windy street and began to walk toward his lodgings. By a small detour he could have avoided passing by Grover's shop, but he did not take it. The place was in total darkness as if they had all moved away and in the alley the cobbles were wet stones on the floor of a cave.
  Two months, three months, a year perhaps, and the worst would be over. Men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not of love.... The world was full of jobs and full of girls. He would find one of each and they would do him very well. The daffodils in the florist's window had an untouched exquisite freshness. He would always think of her whenever he saw something beautiful in an ugly setting.
  But you got over everything eventually. He wished only that he did not feel so sick and at the same time so very young. The last time he had felt like this was fourteen years ago when his mother had died and that also was the last time he had wept.