conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about University, John, Oxford with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Going It Alone'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first five paragraphs for this book.. End with the sentence ' Alternatively (and not quite so horribly) he might have driven his great car so furiously through London that a serious accident had resulted and Dave had been carried off in an ambulance.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Going It Alone
  With this simple announcement, Dave left the room. Adrian's wife (who appeared to confine herself to domestic cares and the exercise of hospitality) watered the teapot. Adrian's children now sat at each end of the sofa, munching biscuits. Some little time elapsed. And then a sound from the street brought Anne to her feet and hurriedly to the window. It was the sound of a departing car. Anne turned round.
  Nothing so uncomfortable had ever happened to Gilbert Averell before. The mere physical unease for a start irked him to an extent he'd have been ashamed to confess. The resources of Adrian's ménage, although made freely available, were limited in the extreme. When the children had been put to bed Averell was accommodated on the sofa, and the young people scrounged around and borrowed several kitchen chairs. At a late hour they all drank more tea and consumed an emergency supply of fish fingers. It was rather like being in a play by Samuel Beckett, wherein all things are reduced to an absolute minimum.
  But much worse than this, of course, was the nervous strain of waiting for Dave. Oddly enough, the person who seemed to feel this most acutely was Adrian, who at one point became so fidgety that his wife was constrained to suggest a resumption of the reading from Xenophon. As she herself was obviously able to follow the language, as Tim had 'done' Greek at school and could still understand bits and pieces now and then, as Averell was obliged to admit considerable classical accomplishment, and as Twite had departed, this left out only the two young women, and such was their desperation that they both stoutly declared that they would be happy to listen in. So this bizarre exercise was indulged in for the better part of an hour. But by that time the vanguard of the Ten Thousand had reached the summit of Thekes and were shouting so wildly that Xenophon was hurrying up from his pest of danger at the rear, expecting some disastrous ambush. Nothing of the kind. His soldiers had glimpsed the sea. Thalassa, thalassa! At this supreme moment in historiography Adrian broke down, and declared that he could no further go. The three other scholars present found this emotion infectious. Anne and Lou were mystified but impressed. They brewed yet more tea.
  For Averell the one point of comfort in all this was the thought that his companions were at least realizing their helplessness. The villains might by now be chopping Dave into messes with a barbarity equalling Xenophon's Persians at the top of their form. Nothing could be done about it. Clue or lead as to Dave's intentions and whereabouts there was absolutely none. So a breaking-point must come, Averell thought, when they must all hurry off to a police station. Even so, they'd have a weird story that would take quite some time to sort out. And it was hard to see what the full might of the Metropolitan Police could effect, except to start a hunt for an elderly Bentley or a small tip-up truck with a trailer hitched behind it.
  Of course this was to take the darkest of several possible views – as the young Xenophon had done when he heard all that shouting. It was conceivable that Dave was on top of the situation, always supposing that there was a situation to be on top of. He might simply be off on the most harmless, if futile, of wild goose chases. It was even possible to feel that the sober probabilities lay that way. But Averell found that he couldn't persuade himself of this for many minutes on end. He had the wild thought – almost the hopeful thought – that he had misjudged Dave's toughness; that the boy had lost his nerve and (as his companions might say) chickened out on the whole affair. Alternatively (and not quite so horribly) he might have driven his great car so furiously through London that a serious accident had resulted and Dave had been carried off in an ambulance.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide another paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: For the moment the yard was deserted, the entire force of the enemy being occupied at the back of the barn, where contradictory orders were now being shouted amid what it was to be hoped was still entire confusion. Tongues of flame were beginning to lick through the shingled roof of the building, and at one corner there was a cascade of sparks and the crash of falling timber.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Respected Fine Art experts are deceived in one of the most intriguing murder cases Inspector Appleby has ever faced, beginning with Gribble, a collector of forgeries whose latest acquisition is found to be a forged forgery! In the words of Appleby himself: 'Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad. Just a little mad, for a start. Inclined, say, to unreasonable jokes in the course of business. But later – well, very mad indeed.' 
  Stunning Belrive Priory, consisting of a mansion, park and medieval ruins, is surrounded by the noise and neon signs of its gaudy neighbours – a cotton-mill, a brewey and a main road. Nevertheless, Arthur Ferryman is pleased to return for a family Christmas, but is shocked to discover that his cousins have taken up a new pastime – pistol-shooting. Inspector Appleby arrives on the scene when one of Ferryman's cousins is found shot dead in the study, in a mystery built on family antagonisms. 
  Meteorites fall from the sky but seldom onto the heads of science dons in redbrick universities; yet this is what happens to Professor Pluckrose of Nestfield University. Inspector Appleby soon discovers that the meteorite was not fresh and that the professor's deckchair had been placed underneath a large, accessible tower – he already knew something of academic jealousies but he was to find out a great deal more. 
  The Simney family, of Hazlewood Hall, have a dubious history. Sir George Simney, who was travelling in Australia before the baronetcy fell to him, sleeps with a shotgun by his side. When he is found dead in the library, the Reverend Adrian Deamer will not rest until he has discovered who is responsible. This is an absorbing tale narrated by Simney's widow, Nicolette, and by young Harold, who has just joined the C.I.D.