conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about Houston, James, American with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Contemporary
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Eagle and the Raven'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Eagle and the Raven
  Four soldiers entered and stood waiting impassively, their feet apart and their hands behind their backs.
  Eurgain suddenly woke to the scene. She ran to the desk and fell across it. "No, you cannot do this! Not to this man! He is a good man, a gentle man, he has harmed no one in all his life! Be merciful, Scapula, on this day of your triumph! Spare him as a thanksgiving to your gods!"
  Six days later, on an evening when the sun had just set and light lingered golden in the tops of the trees, the cohort from Lindum arrived at Colchester with its prisoners. Scapula had taken no chances. Five hundred men marched beside the wain, fully armed and standing battle watches on the journey, but no war cries had broken the warm night silences and the days had passed without incident.
  Scapula personally took charge of his rebel at the gates and strode up the hill surrounded by bristling spears. He wasted no time by examining Caradoc. That could come later, but now he must be locked away, and guards set and changed every hour. He had sent off a jubilant dispatch to Rome, and soon the ship which would relieve him of an awesome responsibility would anchor, but until then he would live on nerves already stretched too thin. He knew his luck, it had never been good, and this sudden, unlooked-for concession by the fates would not last long.
  The cavalcade wound its way up from the gate, past neat homes and gardens, trees, and busy shops, and Caelte looked about him in the failing light with astonishment. Nothing of their town remained. If they had not been driven through woods that had spoken to them mutely and sweetly of things they remembered with an increasing heartache, he would not have believed that this prosperous, self-consciously Roman community had been their playground. The whole mound had been leveled, and where once the climb to the Great Hall had been steep, now they paced up a gentle slope to a white temple, glowing softly pink in the late sunset.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Aricia struggled for a long second, for an eternity, her face all anguish and lines of aging, like a livid scar. The Druid withdrew from her, leaving Aricia to fight the battle alone, but then the grimace ceased and the full lips formed an ugly line of determination. Aricia's eyes fastened on some point far away beyond the wall, and the Druid knew she had lost her.
  Aricia went unsteadily back into her house and closed the door, and as she did so she realized that she could not allow the Druid to leave Brigantia alive. The certainty came to her full-blown, as a clear, cold thought. Horrified, she stood still, with her hands to her mouth. Kill a Druid? It was forbidden. No tribesman in all the long history of her people had ever raised a hand to the Druithin, and the curses on such a one would be so terrible that even the Druids did not care to think them, let alone speak them. Kill a Druid. Murder a Druid. But it must be done, I must do it now, tonight. If I do not she will find Venutius and tell him... tell him.... Did she read my thought? Does she know what I wish to do with him? I want you back, Venutius, oh how I want you back. You will pay for humiliating me and going away. I want you here before me, chained, kneeling on my floor, your red head bowed. If I could have Madoc and Emrys, too, I would, but you will be sufficient. No, I cannot do it, not this. Not a Druid. Perhaps I can cut out her tongue, or keep her here, a prisoner, or... Or kill her. No! Not that! Never!
  The knife lay in the wooden chest, under all the pretty gold-tasseled tunics and bright cloaks. She drew it out and then sat with it in her lap, her fingers cold and limp upon it. Darkness came swiftly, blown into the town like scudding black clouds before the wind. Her servant came to feed the fire and light the lamps, and she sat on, one half-formed thought succeeding another in her mind, and beneath them all, a still-growing malignancy, the certainty that the Druid must die. She must have Venutius back so that once more time would move soberly and purposefully, from day to night to day, instead of whirling around her in aimless confusion. If the Druid spoke to him he would never come. If I could see him just once, she thought, his resolution would crumble. He cannot have ceased to love me, he cannot! And then, when he is here, when I have heard the words of apology from his own lips... She stood suddenly and went to the door on trembling feet, the knife gripped tightly in numb fingers. Then I will sell him to Rome.
  Night had fully fallen and the courtyard was in shadow. The chill wind flapped at the cloaks of her motionless bodyguard, making them look like giant black birds, and as she left her house and crept, shivering, to the gate, the moon's light was hidden by a swift-flowing cloud. Before her men could come to her, she called to them to stay where they were, and she passed out of her stone-walled compound. The town was busy, cheerful. Voices that were raised in laughter, the sweet yellow shafts of torchlight, the patter and scuffle of spring-quickened feet, all came to her like fragments of some world that existed far out of her reach and that came to her only in dreams. It was some other world filled with solid things, shapes that did not dissolve with the touch of a thought, people who retained a core of reality and did not melt into nightmare—firelight, sunlight, candlelight, light that did not come gray and diffused from the back of her own mind.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She rested against him and they stood together while the moon slowly shrank to a hard silver brilliance, its white beams flooding the shadowed vineyard, and below them the city hummed and pulsed.