conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Gibbon's Decline and Fall about Sophy, Science, Terminator-style with the genre: Literature & Fiction, United States.. Start with the sentence 'Science fiction is a genre traditionally dominated by male fantasy and values, where Terminator-style machismo saves the universe'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Science fiction is a genre traditionally dominated by male fantasy and values, where Terminator-style machismo saves the universe. the author writes feminist science fiction. Exit Terminator, enter Sophy. Sophy was a standout in her college class, for all kinds of reasons from looks to brains to spiritual qualities; she was also reticent about her origins. It is only when she disappears that her former classmates begin to discover just how special she was. Woven into the author's cosmology is the matriarchal system that once held sway on earth before males usurped that power. It turns out the "Goddess" is alive.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.. End with the sentence ' Easily.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Gibbon's Decline and Fall
  He looked puzzled. "You haven't given me the signal," he said at last. "Not lately. I figured you were preoccupied."
  She was staring into the coffee, as though into a crystal ball. "Luce, I thought you were the one who gave the signal."
  He drew her down on the couch and cuddled her, his arms tight around her, and she waited for the signal, from him, from herself, searching memory, searching sensation. Something. Sound. Smell. Feeling. Something. They were warm and cozy and pleasant and loving, but the other thing, whatever it was, didn't happen, even though they were both thinking about it.
  About it. But finding it hard even to remember. Stace could remember what they'd done, what they'd said, but the actual feeling...
  She peeled it off, let him kiss her shoulder, run his hands down her back. She loved his hands. They stroked easily under the straps of the bra. Easily.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.. End with the sentence ' He was fuming.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The charts were admitted in evidence and put on easels where the jury could see them. Faye had outdone herself; she had taken the information provided by Jessamine and made it seem simple and understandable. The charts showed overlaps in genetic material, similarities in behaviors, diet, life span, child rearing.
  Carolyn took the tape from her table. "Your Honor, we would like this film entered as defense exhibit B."
  Carolyn said, "Though the film was ordered some time ago, it arrived only recently. It is a documentary, drawn from news clips and nature films."
  Rombauer chewed his lip, obviously thinking. Would this or wouldn't it lead to reversal on appeal? Silently, Carolyn blessed Judge Frieze. At least the old man was having to think about it. Jake obviously didn't like that fact. He was fuming.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last three paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Perhaps she would say, as Sovawanea might have said: Perhaps I chose, or perhaps Sophia chose for me.
  If Sophia had done so, she wasn't telling. There was no sign, no omen, no nothing. With one last look into Sophy's well-remembered face, she rose and walked off across the plaza toward the stairs. A waste receptacle stood beside the steps. She stopped beside it, gathering the contents of her pocket into a single wad, which she dropped into the basket, vial and all. Now all evidence of her act was gone.
  She stopped, motionless, listening. There was a sound, as of a door opening, far off. A vast silence. Then the door closed, leaving an echo from childhood, as of a child's voice calling in the summer dusk...
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about missing, morning.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Perhaps she would say, as Sovawanea might have said: Perhaps I chose, or perhaps Sophia chose for me. 
  If Sophia had done so, she wasn't telling. There was no sign, no omen, no nothing. With one last look into Sophy's well-remembered face, she rose and walked off across the plaza toward the stairs. A waste receptacle stood beside the steps. She stopped beside it, gathering the contents of her pocket into a single wad, which she dropped into the basket, vial and all. Now all evidence of her act was gone. There was a finality in the gesture that had been missing this morning. 
  She stopped, motionless, listening. There was a sound, as of a door opening, far off. A vast silence. Then the door closed, leaving an echo from childhood, as of a child's voice calling in the summer dusk...