conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is a description for a book titled Black Dove, White Raven about York, England, Jamaica with the genre: Children's Books, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author was born in New York, and grew up in England, Jamaica and Pennsylvania. She is married with two children and now lives in Perth, Scotland. Elizabeth is a member of the Ninety-Nines, the International Organization of Women Pilots. She was awarded the Scottish Aero Club's Watson Cup for best student pilot in 2003 and it was her love of flying that partly inspired the idea for her bestselling, award-winning novel Code Name Verity.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author was born in New York, and grew up in England, Jamaica and Pennsylvania. She is married with two children and now lives in Perth, Scotland. Elizabeth is a member of the Ninety-Nines, the International Organization of Women Pilots.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Black Dove, White Raven
  Momma sat up straight in bed. It was like she'd lit up suddenly, like a light had turned on in her head.
  Momma's face grew brighter as she scanned the page. When she finished, she looked up, and she was smiling the first real smile we'd seen on her face for a long time.
  We got excited and bounced on her bed. "Can we go before school starts?" I begged. "Can we take all of my White Raven outfits?"
  Momma gave a bitter, choking laugh. "It's a little bit farther than you think." She hesitated. "I'd have to go by myself, at first, and stay with Orsino in Somaliland. I don't think he'd let me bring you two to stay with him, not all of a sudden. I don't even know if we could raise children there. I'd have to go and see what it's like. He'd be happy with me there—and maybe later on—I could take a trip to Ethiopia."
  Then she laughed a little, a real laugh, not a bitter, sarcastic one. "What'll Mother and Daddy think!" She hugged us close. "You ready for a fight?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I glanced at Momma, just one quick glance. She watched them with a perplexed frown. The hair around her face was standing on end.
  I turned back to see where the priests were headed. They'd been really easy to spot from the air, but you wouldn't have seen them on the ground unless you'd known they were coming, because they hadn't taken the road.
  If you lined everybody on that airfield up and tried to figure out who was the most important person there based on their fancy outfits, you would not have guessed it was the barefoot boy dressed in someone else's hand-me-down shorts.
  Teo and I inched closer to each other, making a flimsy rampart in front of the plane. Momma planted herself squarely in front of us. Our protective instincts are pretty ridiculous.
  The ancient person in white seemed to be as important as the priests. The soldiers laid down a carpet right there on the airfield next to the plane. Then they set out a chair for the old deacon or whatever he was, and laid a piece of brocaded silk over the top of that, and he sat down and someone held a parasol over his head with one hand and waved away flies with a horsetail fly swatter with the other. The priests stood next to him under their own parasols. All the soldiers stood silently at attention while this was going on, even Horatio Augustus, who seems to have learned a thing or two about keeping his mouth shut since he has come north to lead a bunch of real soldiers carrying real guns and real spears.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'My turn to be silent'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: My turn to be silent. Because I couldn't make that promise. I guess I'll never get the chance anyway, but if I did—well, I'm a better pilot than Celia was.
  And now I hurt him again by laughing at his proposal. I tried to make it up to him and promised we would have a whole day, a real day to remember, all to ourselves before he went away.
  It makes me angry. Why should it have to be like this, for all of us, all our generation? That the only way for a young couple to be together is to get married? No chance of a honeymoon, no flowers or champagne because the gardens are all full of cabbages and turnips and France is a war zone? No pretty silk dress unless someone manages to steal a parachute for you? No. I know I wouldn't get married suddenly even if it weren't wartime. I'd never do it without Daddy there to walk me down the aisle—with nothing more than a telegram to let him know!
  It is the same for every young couple. We are all panicking that one of us will be killed next month, next week, tomorrow. All of us panicking that if we don't do it now, we'll never get a chance. Well, I don't care. I'm not letting the war take over my life.
  I was surprised and very pleased, but what a thoughtless thing to say. Her dead friend wasn't going to do it, was she? And all it did was remind her.