conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for a book with the title 'Sword of Honour'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Sword of Honour
  He saw Allday on the jetty, apparently relaxed and untroubled, but Bolitho knew him so well. He would already have learned everything he could about the Frobisher of seventy-four guns, once the French two-decker Glorieux. Completed too late for Trafalgar, she had had only a brief career under the Tricolour before she was attacked and captured by two of the blockading squadron while on passage from Belle Isle to Brest. That had been four years ago. Allday would be thinking of that, too: the same year he had married Unis at Fallowfield.
  Prize ships, put to work against their old masters, were commonplace in the navy. There had been times when even ships rated as unfit through rot or disrepair had been pressed into service, like his own Hyperion, a ship of which they still yarned and sang in the taverns and alehouses. How Hyperion cleared the way... Would their lordships make the same mistake of running the fleet down to the bare bones, simply because the immediate danger had been withdrawn?
  He glanced at Avery, who was speaking with a waterman, noticing the stiffness with which he held and moved his shoulder when he was not conscious of it. Like Allday and his wounded chest, where a Spanish blade had hacked him down.
  They were loyal; it was more than mere loyalty. But they were both sacrificing so much, perhaps a last chance, for his sake.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: There was an early greyness from the stern windows; in no time, it would be bright and hot once again.
  Captain Christie knew his ship well. They had logged six hundred miles in less than four days, in spite of contrary winds one minute and the chance of lying becalmed the next. But that was the Mediterranean, no better place for a frigate captain to work his ship and her company until they became one.
  He thought of Tyacke, recalling their last words together before he had transferred to Halcyon. Tyacke had been opposed to the idea of his visit to Algiers from the first mention of it.
  Christie, on the other hand, had confined his comments to the matters of navigation and a final landfall. He, better than most, would be aware of the possible danger to his ship if their reception was hostile, and if injury or death befell his admiral his chances of further advancement would be ruined. A thinking man, and an intelligent one.
  Avery had suggested that he might go ashore and make the first contact with the Dey or his advisers. Like Tyacke, he was not convinced that his admiral was fully apprised of the risks.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It was all exactly as he remembered it, the grave portraits, the great hearth where he had lain with Zenoria, some fresh flowers on a table, the door to the library partly open, as if somebody might appear there; he could even imagine the smell of jasmine.
  He clenched his fists as he saw the sword, lying on a table in a patch of sunshine. Bethune must have sent it with his courier, perhaps not knowing what he should do with it. And Keen had sent a cutter to Falmouth with his own letter of condolence to Catherine. It was strange that he had not mentioned it in Plymouth.
  It was Catherine's writing. What it must have cost her to sit here in anguish, and yet be able to think of him.
  Ferguson stepped quietly into the room and watched, holding his breath, as Adam Bolitho unfastened his own sword and clipped the old blade in its place.
  In this room, and in this light, it was not Adam but Richard standing there, all those years ago, and he was deeply moved by it.