conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a plot for a book about Queenie, Harold, David entitled The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry: Harold Fry, 65, has cut the lawn outside his home at Kingsbridge on the south coast of Devon when he receives a letter.\nA colleague of twenty years ago, Queenie Hennessy, has cancer and is in a hospice in Berwick-upon-Tweed.\nThe doctors say there is nothing more that can be done for her.\nHe writes her a feeble and brief note and goes to post it, has second thoughts, and walks to the next post box, and the next.\nHe phones the hospice from a call box and leaves a message.\nHe is coming and she should wait, stay alive while he makes the journey.\nA girl at the petrol filling station where he stops for a snack says something that acts as a catalyst for his nascent project.\nHe tells her he is on foot, posting a letter to someone with cancer.\n\'If you have faith you can do anything\' she replies, but quickly disclaims any religious reference.\nAs he begins the walk which in 87 days will cover 627 miles, he reflects.\nAbout his marriage, his former employment as a brewery representative, about his son David, from whom he is almost completely estranged.\nFrom stopping places he sends postcards, to his wife Maureen, to Queenie, and to the unnamed girl at the filling station who gave him inspiration for his journey.\nMaureen, although anxious about him, for a long time doesn\'t think of driving to provide help.\nMuch later, when he has reached Yorkshire she drives up to see him.\nShe thinks of joining his pilgrimage, but when he invites her she refuses, saying "It was selfish of me to ask you to give up your walk.\nForgive me, Harold", to which replies, "I\'m the one who needs forgiveness" (232).\nHarold also realises that his journey to Queenie Hennesy is also a way for him to resolve issues from his past and to listen to the problems of others, such as a "silver-haired gentleman" whom he meets in a cafe early in his journey, or a middle-aged woman with cuts on her wrists.\nHe remembers how when he was twelve his mother \'walked out\', and is aware that he is repeating her action.\nWhen he was sixteen his father \'showed him the door\'.\nLater he went mad.\nSix miles south of Stroud he phones the hospice and is told that the stay, cure, or miracle is working.\nHis decision to walk appears vindicated.\nHe finds a cast-off sleeping bag and carries it with another bag, looking now every bit a gentleman of the road.\nFaced with a shrunken bank balance he starts to sleep out.\nIn Cheltenham he gives away his guidebook and posts home his debit card and other items.\nIn the renunciation is the wonder of the impossible.\nSouth of Coventry he is joined by a young man, Mick, who remarks, "What you\'re doing is a pilgrimage for the twenty-first century.\nIt\'s awesome.\nYours is the kind of story people want to hear" (193).\nMick, it appears, works for the Coventry Telegraph, and Harold\'s story of modern pilgrimage was soon everywhere, including Thought for the Day on BBC Radio 4.\nBefore long they are joined by countless others from all walks of life.\nThey do not use paid accommodation, always sleeping out or finding garden sheds.\nThere are disagreements, thefts, and soon Harold is thinking, "if only these people would go.\nWould find something else to believe in"(220).\nHe decides to backtrack, which has the effect of throwing off the fellow-travellers who proceed directly to the Berwick destination.\nIn the last stages of his walk Harold becomes badly disorientated, wanders around west of Berwick, sending home postcards from places like Kelso.\nBut when he at last reaches the hospice where Queenie has been waiting, he decides not to go in, and the reader is told, by means of a confessional letter to the girl at the filling station, of another motive for the walk.\nHis son David, unemployed after Cambridge and addicted to drink and drugs, committed suicide in the garden shed, where he was discovered by the father with whom he barely ever communicated, and whose life is now a protracted mourning.\nThe same letter divulges that when he and Queenie were working as colleagues she had taken the blame for a misdemeanour committed by Harold.\n"I let her take the blame"(264).\nFinally, Harold changes his mind and goes to the sick room to find Queenie unable to speak and at the point of death.\nMaureen reaches him in Berwick, and he tells her that Queenie is beyond hope, beyond speech, and had been so since he set out.\nHe however is able to say things to Maureen that were previously unspoken, about memories of David, of their earlier life, his own mother.\nThey are reconciled before the waves breaking on the beach.\nTogether they visit the hospice where Queenie has died and learned that she died at peace.\nWhen a young nun invites them to stay for evening mass they decline.\nLater, they head to the waterfront and reminisce on how they first met and they laugh for the first time in years.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: \nLater, they head to the waterfront and reminisce on how they first met and they laugh for the first time in years.\nA colleague of twenty years ago, Queenie Hennessy, has cancer and is in a hospice in Berwick-upon-Tweed.\nThe doctors say there is nothing more that can be done for her.\nHe writes her a feeble and brief note and goes to post it, has second thoughts, and walks to the next post box, and the next.\nHe phones the hospice from a call box and leaves a message.\nHe is coming and she should wait, stay alive while he makes the journey.\nA girl at the petrol filling station where he stops for a snack says something that acts as a catalyst for his nascent project.\nHe tells her he is on foot, posting a letter to someone with cancer.\n\'If you have faith you can do anything\' she replies, but quickly disclaims any religious reference.\nAs he begins the walk which in 87 days will cover 627 miles, he reflects.\nAbout his marriage, his former employment as a brewery representative, about his son David, from whom he is almost completely estranged.\nFrom stopping places he sends postcards, to his wife Maureen, to Queenie, and to the unnamed girl at the filling station who gave him inspiration for his journey.\nMaureen, although anxious about him, for a long time doesn\'t think of driving to provide help.\nMuch later, when he has reached Yorkshire she drives up to see him.\nShe thinks of joining his pilgrimage, but when he invites her she refuses, saying "It was selfish of me to ask you to give up your walk.\nForgive me, Harold", to which replies, "I\'m the one who needs forgiveness" (232).\nHarold also realises that his journey to Queenie Hennesy is also a way for him to resolve issues from his past and to listen to the problems of others, such as a "silver-haired gentleman" whom he meets in a cafe early in his journey, or a middle-aged woman with cuts on her wrists.\nHe remembers how when he was twelve his mother \'walked out\', and is aware that he is repeating her action.\nWhen he was sixteen his father \'showed him the door\'.\nLater he went mad.\nSix miles south of Stroud he phones the hospice and is told that the stay, cure, or miracle is working.\nHis decision to walk appears vindicated.\nHe finds a cast-off sleeping bag and carries it with another bag, looking now every bit a gentleman of the road.\nFaced with a shrunken bank balance he starts to sleep out.\nIn Cheltenham he gives away his guidebook and posts home his debit card and other items.\nIn the renunciation is the wonder of the impossible.\nSouth of Coventry he is joined by a young man, Mick, who remarks, "What you\'re doing is a pilgrimage for the twenty-first century.\nIt\'s awesome.\nYours is the kind of story people want to hear" (193).\nMick, it appears, works for the Coventry Telegraph, and Harold\'s story of modern pilgrimage was soon everywhere, including Thought for the Day on BBC Radio 4.\nBefore long they are joined by countless others from all walks of life.\nThey do not use paid accommodation, always sleeping out or finding garden sheds.\nThere are disagreements, thefts, and soon Harold is thinking, "if only these people would go.\nWould find something else to believe in"(220).\nHe decides to backtrack, which has the effect of throwing off the fellow-travellers who proceed directly to the Berwick destination.\nIn the last stages of his walk Harold becomes badly disorientated, wanders around west of Berwick, sending home postcards from places like Kelso.\nBut when he at last reaches the hospice where Queenie has been waiting, he decides not to go in, and the reader is told, by means of a confessional letter to the girl at the filling station, of another motive for the walk.\nHis son David, unemployed after Cambridge and addicted to drink and drugs, committed suicide in the garden shed, where he was discovered by the father with whom he barely ever communicated, and whose life is now a protracted mourning.\nThe same letter divulges that when he and Queenie were working as colleagues she had taken the blame for a misdemeanour committed by Harold.\n"I let her take the blame"(264).\nFinally, Harold changes his mind and goes to the sick room to find Queenie unable to speak and at the point of death.\nMaureen reaches him in Berwick, and he tells her that Queenie is beyond hope, beyond speech, and had been so since he set out.\nHe however is able to say things to Maureen that were previously unspoken, about memories of David, of their earlier life, his own mother.\nThey are reconciled before the waves breaking on the beach.\nTogether they visit the hospice where Queenie has died and learned that she died at peace.\nWhen a young nun invites them to stay for evening mass they decline.The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry: Harold Fry, 65, has cut the lawn outside his home at Kingsbridge on the south coast of Devon when he receives a letter.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first three paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry
  THE LETTER THAT would change everything arrived on a Tuesday. It was an ordinary morning in mid-April that smelled of clean washing and grass cuttings. Harold Fry sat at the breakfast table, freshly shaved, in a clean shirt and tie, with a slice of toast that he wasn't eating. He gazed beyond the kitchen window at the clipped lawn, which was spiked in the middle by Maureen's telescopic washing line, and trapped on all three sides by the neighbors' stockade fencing.
  He thought he might like to go out, but the only thing to do was mow the lawn and he had done that yesterday. The vacuum tumbled into silence, and his wife appeared, looking cross, with a letter. She sat opposite Harold.
  Maureen was a slight woman with a cap of silver hair and a brisk walk. When they first met, nothing had pleased him more than to make her laugh. To watch her neat frame collapse into unruly happiness. "It's for you," she said. He didn't know what she meant until she slid an envelope across the table, and stopped it just short of Harold's elbow. They both looked at the letter as if they had never seen one before. It was pink. "The postmark says Berwick-upon-Tweed."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry
  THE LETTER THAT would change everything arrived on a Tuesday. It was an ordinary morning in mid-April that smelled of clean washing and grass cuttings. Harold Fry sat at the breakfast table, freshly shaved, in a clean shirt and tie, with a slice of toast that he wasn't eating. He gazed beyond the kitchen window at the clipped lawn, which was spiked in the middle by Maureen's telescopic washing line, and trapped on all three sides by the neighbors' stockade fencing.
  He thought he might like to go out, but the only thing to do was mow the lawn and he had done that yesterday. The vacuum tumbled into silence, and his wife appeared, looking cross, with a letter. She sat opposite Harold.
  Maureen was a slight woman with a cap of silver hair and a brisk walk. When they first met, nothing had pleased him more than to make her laugh. To watch her neat frame collapse into unruly happiness. "It's for you," she said. He didn't know what she meant until she slid an envelope across the table, and stopped it just short of Harold's elbow. They both looked at the letter as if they had never seen one before. It was pink. "The postmark says Berwick-upon-Tweed.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide two more paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'Only the nights troubled him'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Only the nights troubled him. He continued to seek modest accommodation, but the inside world seemed to stand as a barrier between himself and his purpose. He felt a visceral need to leave some part of himself outside. Curtains, wallpaper, framed prints, matching hand and bath towels: these things had become superfluous and without meaning. He threw the windows open, so that he could continue to feel the presence of the sky and the air, but he slept badly. Increasingly he was kept awake by images from the past, or dreamed of his feet lifting and falling. Getting up in the early hours, he watched the moon at the window and felt trapped. It was barely light these days when he paid with his debit card and set off.
  Walking into the dawn, he watched with wonder as the sky flamed with strong color and then faded to a single blue. It was like being in an altogether different version of the day, one that held nothing ordinary. He wished he could describe it to Maureen.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A roar of laughter bowled out of him with such force he had to grip his stomach. She watched, her smile all bubbly now, ready to erupt; so nearly with him but not quite there yet. He had to bend over with it. He actually looked in pain.
  She got it. She remembered. The laughter kicked up from her stomach and filled her like helium. She slapped her hand to her mouth. "Of course."
  They couldn't say it. They couldn't get it out. They tried, but each time they opened their mouths it was so hilarious they were hit by a fresh wave of helpless laughter. They had to grip hands to steady themselves.
  They caught hands again, and walked toward the water's edge, two small figures against the black waves. Only halfway there, one of them must have remembered again and it passed like a fresh current of joy between them. They stood at the water's edge, not letting go, and rocked with laughter.
  RACHEL JOYCE is an award-winning writer of more than twenty plays for BBC Radio 4. She started writing after a twenty-year acting career, in which she performed leading roles for the Royal Shakespeare Company and won multiple awards. Rachel lives in Gloucestershire on a farm with her family and is at work on her second novel.