conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for a book with the title 'Home from the Sea'?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Home from the Sea
  BETWEEN the howling of the wind, the pounding of the rain on the roof, and the tumult of the ocean, Mari Prothero knew there was no point in listening for anything else. The damp, chill wind found a hundred little cracks and chinks to whistle through, and only near the fire was it at all warm. At least the wind wasn't sending the smoke down the chimney instead of up.
  This was the sort of day that the wives and daughters of fishermen dreaded. It had begun with a red sky, always a bad sign, but by the time the sun was up to give the warning of rough weather to come, Mari's father Daffyd Prothero was already gone fishing. And not out in his little river coracle for salmon, no. Out in his bigger boat—still a coracle—out on the wide ocean, for herring. Whether meant for the river or the ocean, coracles were still unchancy boats, being little more than great round dishes made of wood and hide or canvas. Granted, the ocean coracles had sails, but still! You had to be a mad sailor as well as a fine one to take one on the ocean in the teeth of a storm.
  She bent over the fire and stirred the coals, adding a little more sea-coal and a little more driftwood on top. Flames sprang up, blue and gold and green, colored by the salts in the wood and the coals.
  By midmorning the threatening sky had made good on its promises, and there was a full-throated storm churning the ocean. The wind howled about the cottage walls on the hill above the beach and wailed about the chimney.
  Mari'd had to latch the shutters tight on the seaward side, and even so, wind-driven driblets of rain crept over the sills whenever the rain drove hard against the windows. The drafty air inside smelled of the ocean and the storm, and not the lovely hot pie and bread she had baking.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know four more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: That had been the very day they moved in. The little maid had come over to see what the "English ladies" needed doing, and Nan had sent her back with letters to be posted with the family mail. She'd done so deliberately, so that the squire was aware that her name-dropping had the backing of truth. She knew very well that the addresses would be examined minutely, and that Lord A's address would cause no end of high excitement.
  It was probably the first time anyone in that lofty a set of circles had been written to from Gower Manor—though what with David Lloyd-George being the MP from this area, the Criccieth post office would be seeing missives going off to those with even loftier titles. Criccieth was very proud of its native son, and Nan must have heard a hundred predictions that "He'll be the Prime Minister one day, never doubt it." Still, the squire was not included in those circles, as he was not "political." That was yet another bit of Criccieth gossip.
  Their first night had been restful; there had been no singing from the bar to wake them, and the beds had been soft and scented with lavender. Cooking on the pretty little stove was like playing at keeping house. It felt as if they were really here to enjoy themselves.
  Unfortunately, as Nan was all too well aware, they were not. Nan turned away from the kitchen window that gave a view of a lovely little garden. "Well..." Nan began, only to be interrupted by Sarah.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Breakfast.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: That had been the very day they moved in. The little maid had come over to see what the "English ladies" needed doing, and Nan had sent her back with letters to be posted with the family mail. She'd done so deliberately, so that the squire was aware that her name-dropping had the backing of truth. She knew very well that the addresses would be examined minutely, and that Lord A's address would cause no end of high excitement. 
  It was probably the first time anyone in that lofty a set of circles had been written to from Gower Manor—though what with David Lloyd-George being the MP from this area, the Criccieth post office would be seeing missives going off to those with even loftier titles. Criccieth was very proud of its native son, and Nan must have heard a hundred predictions that "He'll be the Prime Minister one day, never doubt it. " Still, the squire was not included in those circles, as he was not "political. " That was yet another bit of Criccieth gossip. 
  Their first night had been restful; there had been no singing from the bar to wake them, and the beds had been soft and scented with lavender. Breakfast had been just as tasty, if plainer, than the fare at the hotel. Cooking on the pretty little stove was like playing at keeping house. It felt as if they were really here to enjoy themselves. 
  Unfortunately, as Nan was all too well aware, they were not. Nan turned away from the kitchen window that gave a view of a lovely little garden. "Well... " Nan began, only to be interrupted by Sarah.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last two paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mari glanced down at the baby she held, who was, indeed cooing and gurgling at the kindly water-sprite, who was playing in the kitchen barrel and making fountains for him. "Oh—" she gasped. "He's never done that before!"
  The girls picked up the carriers, and the birds jumped onto their shoulders. Everyone agreed it was safer for the birds out of the carriers than in, at least while they were on the water. There were hugs and kisses all around, and a little basket of laver-bread pressed on them for the journey "for you won't get it anywhere but here!" and then they were gone, and Idwal and Mari were alone in the cottage except for the babies, watching the ketch sail down toward Criccieth from the doorstep.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: There were hugs and kisses all around, and a little basket of laver-bread pressed on them for the journey "for you won't get it anywhere but here!" and then they were gone, and Idwal and Mari were alone in the cottage except for the babies, watching the ketch sail down toward Criccieth from the doorstep. "Oh—" she gasped. "He's never done that before!"
  The girls picked up the carriers, and the birds jumped onto their shoulders. Everyone agreed it was safer for the birds out of the carriers than in, at least while they were on the water.Mari glanced down at the baby she held, who was, indeed cooing and gurgling at the kindly water-sprite, who was playing in the kitchen barrel and making fountains for him.