conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a description for a book titled One Monday We Killed Them All about I'm, McAran, Monday with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Mystery.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: One Monday We Killed Them All (1961) is one of the author's stand-alone thrillers. A Fawcett Gold Medal original, the first edition (pictured) has a fantastic cover. I'm not sure who the artist is (doesn't look like a McGinnis), but the layout is a masterpiece - skillfully evoking tension. I'm also a sucker for big goofy lettering, which this has in spades. The book itself is equally tense (and not, happily, goofy). The story begins with Lieutenant Fenn Hillyer - a model policeman - picking up his brother-in-law from prison. Dwight McAran has spent five years in jail for manslaughter. On one hand, he's lucky - he beat his girlfriend to death in front of a dozen witnesses. On the other, he's not - the woman was related to the most powerful man in town, and McAran has had five long, long years getting tortured in prison.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: One Monday We Killed Them All
  I studied him for a few moments. The future I planned for myself might well depend on the good will of this pompous young man. The canny police administrator will maintain excellent relations with the influential members of the community.
  I sighed and smiled at him and said, "I'm not exactly charmed and enchanted by your attitude, young Paul."
  He moistened his lips, tugged at his collar, and tried to drink out of his empty glass. "You certainly—speak right out, Lieutenant Hillyer."
  He coughed and said, "You'll understand it's difficult for me to really comprehend an officer of the law giving house room to the person who—murdered my sister."
  I think he tried to assume an intimidating scowl, but it looked as if he was suffering a temporary gastric disturbance. "Isn't it your business to know?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide three more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: As both Wheeler and Rick looked at me dubiously, Larry Brint said, "Fenn has earned that much, and it will be a good place for him to be. He'll do as he's told. And he has more reason than any of us to see it work out just right."
  At midnight I avoided the night watch of reporters by going down the back stairs and out a side door onto the dark grounds behind City Hall. I walked through the deep shadows and sat on the base of the World War I monument. I lit a cigarette and looked toward the invisible hills, remembering how the top of Burden Mountain had looked in the midday sunlight.
  I remembered Meg telling me, "There was a path up Burden Mountain, and I used to climb up there all by myself on clear summer days. There was always a smoky haze over Brook City. I knew it was the highest place in the world. Sometimes I could look down on the hawks flying. I used to pretend things, all those shiny and wonderful things, all the kings and castles little girls pretend. I kept a secret treasure back under the twisty old roots of a pine that grew out of the rocks. I kept it in a little square tin box—a Chinese coin with a hole in it, a real sea shell, a piece of red silk ribbon and a button with a green stone in it. I was certain the stone was an emerald. For a while I kept a note in there. I had printed it. All it said was 'I love you.' It wasn't written to anybody, and it wasn't supposed to be something written to me. It was just something to put in a treasure box. When I left, there wasn't time to get it. It's still there, I guess. Sometimes I remember it. Some day I'll go back and get it."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When it was done, we were like lovers soon after they have first met. There was a feeling of celebration and anticipation. She reached under the twisted roots of an ancient pine which grew out of the rocks, and found the treasure of her childhood. The box was intact, but rusted shut. I pried it open.
  I shrugged. "That's bothered me. I guess it always will. I'll find it wherever I go. There'll be more of it some places and less of it at other places. I'm able to live in a world I can't change."
  Dockerty caught up with me as I was going down the wide stairway. He looked like a man on his way to an embassy reception. "What are you smirking about, old boy?" he asked me. "That's a lecher's look if I ever saw one. You must have something tasty lined up. It isn't like you, you know."
  After ten seconds of silence he sighed and said, "I'll make no comment about her taste, old friend. But yours is beyond reproach."