conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a plot for a book about Harlow, Grand, Prix entitled The Way to Dusty Death.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Way to Dusty Death: The protagonist, Johnny Harlow, a world champion Formula 1 racing driver, was in a devastating accident during the French Grand Prix, which caused the death of his best friend, a Californian driver and Isaac Jethou, along with maiming his girlfriend.\nIt is only one of a series of crashes which have dogged the Grand Prix circuit in the past season, one of which led to the death of Harlow\'s younger brother.\nThe crash appears to have completely destroyed Harlow\'s nerve, and the boss of the Coronado team, MacAlpine, for which he drives, is torn between wanting to keep his star driver, and concerns that Harlow has turned into an alcoholic.\nHowever, Harlow is playing a role, as he suspects that there is more behind these "accidents" than "acts of God", and soon finds out that a few people will do anything to prevent him from discovering the truth.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Way to Dusty Death: The protagonist, Johnny Harlow, a world champion Formula 1 racing driver, was in a devastating accident during the French Grand Prix, which caused the death of his best friend, a Californian driver and Isaac Jethou, along with maiming his girlfriend.\nIt is only one of a series of crashes which have dogged the Grand Prix circuit in the past season, one of which led to the death of Harlow\'s younger brother.\nThe crash appears to have completely destroyed Harlow\'s nerve, and the boss of the Coronado team, MacAlpine, for which he drives, is torn between wanting to keep his star driver, and concerns that Harlow has turned into an alcoholic.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first paragraph for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Way to Dusty Death
  Harlow sat by the side of the race-track on that hot and cloudless afternoon, his long hair blowing about in the fresh breeze and partially obscuring his face, his golden helmet clutched so tightly in his gauntleted hands that he appeared to be trying to crush it: the hands were shaking uncontrollably and occasional violent tremors racked his entire body.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Harlow remained thoughtful for some seconds, apparently lost in deep thought, then clasped Mary's hands with his free one. He said: 'Mary, I love you. Hang on, will you? Back in a couple of minutes.'
  One minute later Harlow was in MacAlpine's room. Dunnet was there and he had the appearance of a man who was with difficulty keeping his anger under control. MacAlpine was clearly highly distressed. He shook his head many times.
  He said: 'Not at any price. Not under any circumstances. No, no, no. It's just not on. One day the world champion, the next trundling a lumbering transporter all over the place. Why, man, you'd be the laughing stock of Europe.'
  MacAlpine shook his head in slow and complete finality. 'Johnny Harlow will never drive any transporter of mine and that's the end of it.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Aston, now only a car's length ahead, slid desperately round a right-hand hairpin bend. Harlow, instead of braking, accelerated, spun the wheel viciously to the right and the car slid half-way round the corner on all four screaming, skidding tyres, at right-angles to its line of travel only a second previously, apparently completely out of control. But Harlow had judged matters to a hair-raising degree of nicety: the side of the Ferrari smashed fairly and squarely into that of the Aston. The Ferrari, already practically stopped, rebounded into the middle of the curve. The Aston, moving diagonally now and hopelessly unmanageable, slid out towards the edge. Beyond the edge there was a drop of six hundred feet into the darkened and unseen depths of a ravine below.
  Harlow was out of the stopped Ferrari just before the teetering Aston vanished over the side. He was followed almost immediately by the others. They peered over the edge of the road.
  The Aston, descending with apparently incredible slowness, turned slowly over and over as it fell. It disappeared into the depths and the darkness of the ravine. There was a brief thunderclap of sound and a great gout of brilliant orange flame that seemed to reach half-way up to where they stood. Then there was only the silence and the darkness.
  On the road above, all four stood quiet and still, like people in a trance, then Mary, shuddering, buried her face in Harlow's shoulder. He put his arm around her and continued to gaze down, unseeingly as it seemed, into the hidden depths of the ravine.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Harlow, instead of braking, accelerated, spun the wheel viciously to the right and the car slid half-way round the corner on all four screaming, skidding tyres, at right-angles to its line of travel only a second previously, apparently completely out of control. But Harlow had judged matters to a hair-raising degree of nicety: the side of the Ferrari smashed fairly and squarely into that of the Aston. The Ferrari, already practically stopped, rebounded into the middle of the curve. The Aston, moving diagonally now and hopelessly unmanageable, slid out towards the edge. Beyond the edge there was a drop of six hundred feet into the darkened and unseen depths of a ravine below.
  Harlow was out of the stopped Ferrari just before the teetering Aston vanished over the side. He was followed almost immediately by the others. They peered over the edge of the road.
  The Aston, descending with apparently incredible slowness, turned slowly over and over as it fell. It disappeared into the depths and the darkness of the ravine. There was a brief thunderclap of sound and a great gout of brilliant orange flame that seemed to reach half-way up to where they stood. Then there was only the silence and the darkness.
  On the road above, all four stood quiet and still, like people in a trance, then Mary, shuddering, buried her face in Harlow's shoulder. He put his arm around her and continued to gaze down, unseeingly as it seemed, into the hidden depths of the ravine.