conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about with the genre: Literature & Fiction, United States?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Prince of Ravenscar'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first three paragraphs for this book. Start with the sentence 'Prince of Ravenscar
  Julian tethered his sixteen-hand bay gelding, Cannon, to a skinny branch of a lone bent oak tree and made his way carefully down the steep narrow winding path to the hidden cove, a trek he'd made countless times in the years before he'd left England'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Prince of Ravenscar
  Julian tethered his sixteen-hand bay gelding, Cannon, to a skinny branch of a lone bent oak tree and made his way carefully down the steep narrow winding path to the hidden cove, a trek he'd made countless times in the years before he'd left England. It was good to be back. He slapped his arms against the cold, the wind off the channel slamming against his thick coat, wheedling in to cozy up to his bones. Down, down he went. When he finally reached the shadowed overhang in the cliff, he lit the lamp and held it up, flashed it three times, a signal he himself had established many years before.
  Three answering flashes of light came five minutes later, some fifty yards offshore. Two boats were moving closer now with every passing second. Soon they'd be close enough for him to hear the oars dipping rhythmically through the water. Julian felt his blood pump faster, as it always did with the ever-present threat of excisemen suddenly appearing over the edge of the high cliff, waving guns and yelling. He could only hope the bribes his man Harlan had put into place held, though to his knowledge no one even knew about this small hidden cove.
  He still wondered how he'd managed to survive Waterloo with only one sword gash, in his left shoulder. Blessedly, his memory of those long hours that became days blurred with the battle blood and screams and death, and with Wellington's voice, yelling orders, always encouraging, even at the end of the day, when exhaustion sapped everyone's will.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He watched her. He was coming to know her so well, since now he knew exactly what she was thinking. He lightly tapped his fingers to her nose. "No, you may not come with me. I mean it, Sophie, it is simply too dangerous. No."
  She looked like she would argue with him, then, suddenly, she gave him a fat smile. "Very well, Julian, whatever you say. Can we explore?"
  Sophie gave him a beatific smile, rubbed her hands together. "Of course not. Now, I know smuggling is dishonest, but goodness, Julian, what adventures you've had."
  Julian remained frozen to the spot. He felt her warm and soft against the length of him. "No," he said, and took a step back, but Sophie didn't release him, she simply stepped with him. She looked up at him, smiled. "You are not my uncle, Julian. You are my partner."
  She still hadn't released him. He felt the excitement in her. She was so young, so protected. She was a lady; she wasn't meant to have dangerous adventures like men—well, maybe men weren't, either. He took her arms in his hands, intending to set her away from him, but his hands didn't obey him. His hands, attached to his arms, went around her and drew her in close, too close, so close, in fact, he could feel her heart pounding against him. She was tall, and that was quite fine, every bit of her against every bit of him, a perfect fit.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last four paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He walked outside to see two spaniels, Tynley and Maude, rolling over and over, barking, yipping, trying to bite each other's necks. Their two siblings lived currently in London with Devlin and Roxanne, city dogs, Sophie snorted, and wouldn't they be spoiled rotten, used to sitting on pillows, waited on hand and paw, not knowing what it was like to face death, racing toward a cliff on a dare?
  Roxanne was pregnant, Devlin had written to him, and they were looking forward to bringing a new vampling into the world, and Julian could see the two of them laughing as they sampled this new word.
  Sophie came out through the estate-room doorway. It was blowing hard today, and the wind whipped her hair around her head, plastered her skirts to her legs. She waved at him, and he saw she was wearing the damnably ugly ring they'd found in a lead box wrapped in oilskin some two feet under the beach sand, beneath that middle stone Vicky had described. Odd that it fit her perfectly. Odd as well, she said wearing it made her feel blessed. Blessed how? She didn't know, simply blessed. As for any magic in the thing, they'd both played with it, trying to evoke some sort of power. But there didn't seem to be any.
  She was striding to him, all beautiful long legs. There was something different about her lately, something different about the way she moved and how she sometimes sat, simply smiling at nothing in particular. But what was it? When he asked, she merely smiled and waved away his words.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Their two siblings lived currently in London with Devlin and Roxanne, city dogs, Sophie snorted, and wouldn't they be spoiled rotten, used to sitting on pillows, waited on hand and paw, not knowing what it was like to face death, racing toward a cliff on a dare?
  Roxanne was pregnant, Devlin had written to him, and they were looking forward to bringing a new vampling into the world, and Julian could see the two of them laughing as they sampled this new word.
  Sophie came out through the estate-room doorway. It was blowing hard today, and the wind whipped her hair around her head, plastered her skirts to her legs. She waved at him, and he saw she was wearing the damnably ugly ring they'd found in a lead box wrapped in oilskin some two feet under the beach sand, beneath that middle stone Vicky had described. Odd that it fit her perfectly. Odd as well, she said wearing it made her feel blessed. Blessed how? She didn't know, simply blessed. As for any magic in the thing, they'd both played with it, trying to evoke some sort of power. But there didn't seem to be any.
  She was striding to him, all beautiful long legs. There was something different about her lately, something different about the way she moved and how she sometimes sat, simply smiling at nothing in particular. But what was it? When he asked, she merely smiled and waved away his words.