conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about SEAL, Team, York with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Halfway House'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Halfway House
  Just after midnight, Los Angeles-based radars track an unidentified airborne target 120 miles out to sea. At 02:21 hours, as the target reaches within a few miles of the coast, a blackout of Los Angeles and the surrounding areas is ordered by Regional Command Authority. Shortly afterward, this mysterious object being tracked along the coast between Catalina Island and the Port of Los Angeles vanishes. At 02:43, planes are reported near Long Beach, and a few minutes later a coast artillery colonel spots thirty planes at ten thousand feet over downtown Los Angeles. Three squadrons are sent to intercept. At 03:06 a balloon carrying a red flare is seen over Santa Monica and four batteries of antiaircraft artillery open fire, blanketing the skies with flak.
  Near San Pedro, a hot air balloon appears out of the mist, heading for shore. This is the original object that has disappeared from radar, forgotten in the chaos of other sightings. It sets down in the shallows of a secluded cove. A Japanese demolition crew wades ashore, their targets the cannons of Batteries Farley, Merriam, Leary, Barlow and Saxton—the teeth of America's West Coast defenses, and the single greatest deterrent to a planned invasion. In silence, the Japanese soldiers march single file onto American soil, each eager to demonstrate the superiority of Mother Japan, even if it costs them their lives.
  She feels their presence like insects crawling along her skin. Giving one last brush at the dolphin's thoughts, she soars, disembodied but as powerful as ever. What is this intrusion? She's heard the sirens. The lights went out hours ago. Has the war come to America? Has the war come to her land?
  Rising higher and higher, the mother sees the lights of humanity dotting the spur of California she calls her own; people, her people, huddle in their homes, afraid of what might come with the sirens. Their fear torments her. She can't will it away, but wishes she could. Like the mother she is, she'd willingly take each and every one of them to bed, whispering courage and contentment, magic from her breath.
  She remembers when her father brought her here, his arm engulfing the coastline as he pointed to the horizon, his words forever etched in memory. This land is our birthright. No one can take it from us if we don't want them to. Our power is to the land. Anything else is selfish and wrong.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Bobby turned away. The last thing he needed was for the owner of the house to open his eyes and not recognize Bobby. He'd check the basement later when the coast was a little clearer.
  He was about to climb the stairs when a picture caught his eye—Elvis in black leather for his televised Comeback Special. Bobby had seen that show on video so many times that the VHS had worn away until it looked like Elvis was playing in a blizzard. His favorite song had been One Night With You, and his heart had leapt with every repeat of the chorus. His father had been young and beautiful then, and at the peak of his charisma. He'd had the kind of high-cheeked smile that made girls swoon and men wish they were him.
  Bobby allowed the poster to draw him in and as he got closer, noticed that it was signed. To Shrews. Thanks for everything. TCB, which represented Elvis's catchphrase Taking Care of Business. Remembering the dark brown areolas of the two women on stage, everything was not at all mysterious. A man like Shrewsbury had to find ways to ingratiate himself, and sex certainly was one of the oldest ways.
  Bobby noticed the two framed items next to the concert poster. One was a gold record, the other a platinum. Could this be it? He remembered a conversation he'd had with Lucy about the importance of finding the album.
  He was nose-to-nose with the glass covering the platinum album. His mouth felt like ash. He bit his lip. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from trembling. Then he read the words. Suspicious Minds. Damn. All the air left him as the opening strains to the song strayed free in his mind.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mrs. Welker wanted the son who'd been taken from her. Bobby wanted the mother he'd never had. Perhaps together they could find each other and teach themselves how to become that which they weren't.
  He now stood in the living room of the large home staring at the coast. Windows that had been long closed had been opened and he watched as she pulled into the driveway, returning from her trip to the market. She wanted to cook for him. She had recipes she hadn't tried in decades.
  She'd stared at him for a few moments before she'd answered, "That's because it's none of my business."
  LOUIS RAFAEL CABELLOS, son of Ernesto Rosario Cabellos and Margerita Epifina Navarro, passed away on Sunday of wounds sustained while trying to save the residents of the halfway house in San Pedro. Known for his leadership of the 8th Street Angels, an organization created to encourage entrepreneurship in young Latinos, Louis was celebrated for his efforts to keep San Pedro clean and free of crime. A parade will begin at ten o'clock on Saturday, starting at the Port of Los Angeles and ending at Green Hills Cemetery. Graveside services will be held in English as well as Spanish. The public is invited to attend.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Welker wanted the son who'd been taken from her. Bobby wanted the mother he'd never had. Perhaps together they could find each other and teach themselves how to become that which they weren't.
  He now stood in the living room of the large home staring at the coast. Windows that had been long closed had been opened and he watched as she pulled into the driveway, returning from her trip to the market. She wanted to cook for him. She had recipes she hadn't tried in decades.
  She'd stared at him for a few moments before she'd answered, "That's because it's none of my business."
  LOUIS RAFAEL CABELLOS, son of Ernesto Rosario Cabellos and Margerita Epifina Navarro, passed away on Sunday of wounds sustained while trying to save the residents of the halfway house in San Pedro. Known for his leadership of the 8th Street Angels, an organization created to encourage entrepreneurship in young Latinos, Louis was celebrated for his efforts to keep San Pedro clean and free of crime. A parade will begin at ten o'clock on Saturday, starting at the Port of Los Angeles and ending at Green Hills Cemetery. Graveside services will be held in English as well as Spanish. The public is invited to attend.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Halfway House
  This witness testified that in his opinion the Ford's radiator-cap could not have 'fallen off' by the process Pollinger had claimed: a rusty area so weakened by the car's vibration that it finally snapped through on the scene of the crime without human agency. The expert said that he had analyzed the broken halves of the radiator-cap and that nothing less than a sharp blow could have caused the little metal woman to snap off at the ankles. He went into details of strains and metal-aging. This opinion Pollinger subjected to a searching cross-examination; finally promising to produce during rebuttal an expert who would testify to an opinion precisely opposite.
  And then Bill, on the fourth day of the defense, put Ellery on the stand. "Mr. Queen," said Bill after Ellery had sketched a little of his semi-professional background, "you were on the scene of the crime before even the arrival of the police, were you not?"
  Bill held up a small, nondescript object. "Do you remember having seen this during your examination?"
  Pollinger leaped to his feet and for five minutes he and Bill argued before Judge Menander. Finally Bill was permitted to proceed. "Mr. Queen, you are well known as an investigator of crime. Have you anything to offer this jury in explanation of the burnt match-stubs so carefully ignored by the prosecution?"
  There was another argument, more protracted this time. Pollinger fumed. But Ellery was permitted to go on. He went through the reasoning he had outlined to Bill a few nights before concerning the logical impossibility of the matches having been used for smoking purposes.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me three more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When Bill returned, staggering under two chairs and an armful of dusty linen Ellery was bent over the girl's torso, working swiftly. Bill's eyes widened with shock. "What the devil are you doing?" he shouted.
  Bill gulped and hurried to the main door, yanked it open, looked back, gulped again, and disappeared. A moment later Ellery strode outside carrying Andrea's limp body. "Get the pail. Together, I said! Right. Now get the pail."
  When Bill came back with the pail Andrea was lying face up on the two chairs, her head drooping far backward. Ellery had ripped open the waist under her sports suit, revealing her brassière. It was very pink and lacy.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last three paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Ellery smoked thoughtfully. "You know, this last point wasn't all plain sailing. It presented certain difficulties of theory. Access to the application and the policies was the only way in which someone could have discovered the clue to Gimball's double life. But from the time of the change until Gimball deposited the sealed envelope with Bill, only the insurance companies involved had access to the policies. We can eliminate the insurance-company employees who performed the clerical work involved on the ground of sheer improbability. But we cannot eliminate Finch, who on his own confession was aware of the change, having been notified by his company in his capacity as personal 'broker' for Gimball that an application for change-of-beneficiary had been received.
  The two New Jersey lawyers laughed; but Bill was suddenly very serious. He gulped twice and then said in a formal voice, "Judge Menander, sir——"
  Lucy's black eyes, shadowed and tired as they were, managed a sudden smile. "You mean it's mine—to do with as I wish?"