conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Jed, Starred, Review with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Map and the Territory'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Map and the Territory
  Jean-Pierre Pernaut stopped talking and drank some Beaumes-de-Venise; Olga looked a few degrees away and suddenly saw Jed, standing there in the crowd. A few seconds can be enough to decide a life, or at least to reveal its main direction. She put her hand lightly on the host's forearm, giving him a word of apology, and in a few bounds she was in front of Jed and kissing him on the mouth. Then she stepped back, taking him by the hands. For a few seconds they remained silent.
  Avuncular in his Arthur van Aschendonk tails, Jean-Pierre Pernaut saw them turn toward him. His unguarded expression in that moment suggested that he understood life and even felt at ease with it. Olga made the introductions.
  Quickly crossing the last room, accidentally brushing the arm of Patrick Le Lay (who had tried, unsuccessfully, to buy shares in the channel), he led them down a wide corridor with high, vaulted walls made of thick limestone. More than a townhouse, Jean-Pierre Pernaut's residence reminded you of a Romanesque abbey, with its corridors and crypts. They stopped in front of a thick door padded with brown leather. "My office," said the host.
  Without hesitation, Jean-Pierre Pernaut walked over to his former boss and stood straight in front of him. "You've drunk too much, Patrick," he said calmly; his muscles were tense under the fabric of the tails, his face hardened as if he was preparing for a fight. "Okay, okay..." said Le Lay, obsequiously indicating that he'd calmed down. "Okay, okay..." At that moment, a resonant tenor voice, of incredible power, rose up from the second room. Other voices, baritone and then bass, took up the same theme, without words, in a round. Many guests turned in this direction, recognizing a famous Corsican polyphony group. Twelve men of all ages, wearing black trousers, smocks, and berets, gave a vocal performance that lasted a little more than two minutes: it was at the limit of what one could call music, more a war cry, of surprising savagery. Then they suddenly stopped. Spreading his arms slightly, Jean-Pierre Pernaut went to meet the crowd, waited for silence to fall, then said in a loud voice: "Happy New Year to you all!" A volley of champagne corks popped. The host then went over to the three men in gray suits and shook hands with each of them. "They belong to the Michelin board of directors..." Olga whispered to Jed before approaching the group. "Financially, TF1, next to Michelin, counts for nothing. And it seems that Bouygues is sick of mopping up their losses," she had the time to add before Jean-Pierre Pernaut introduced her to the three men. "I was slightly expecting Patrick to make a scene," he was saying to the directors. "He took my departure very badly."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He turned to his son, and looked him straight in the eyes. "It seemed better for me to warn you, and I couldn't see myself speaking to you about it on the phone. I've contacted an organization in Switzerland. I've decided to be euthanized."
  Jed didn't react immediately, leaving his father time to develop his argument, which boiled down to the fact that he was sick of being alive.
  Oh, yes, they gave him morphine, as much as he wanted obviously—they preferred the residents to be quiet—but was it a life, to be constantly under the influence of morphine?
  In truth, Jed thought yes, that it was almost even an enviable life, without worries, responsibilities, desires, or fears, close to the life of plants, where you could enjoy the moderate caress of the sun and the breeze. However, he suspected that his father would have difficulty sharing this point of view. He was a former chief executive, an active man. Those people often have problems with drugs, he said to himself.
  Something else, however, was left for him to live through, and a few days later a guy called Ferber phoned him. His voice was gentle and pleasant, not at all what he imagined from a policeman. He informed him that it would not be him but his superior, Inspector Jasselin, who would receive him at the quai des Orfèvres.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It goes without saying that I felt free to modify the facts, and that the opinions expressed are exclusively those of the characters; in short, this is a work of fiction.