conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first four paragraphs for a book with the title 'Other People'?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Other People
  Her first feeling, as she smelled the air, was one of intense and helpless gratitude. I'm all right, she thought with a gasp. Time—it's starting again. She tried to blink away all the water in her eyes, but there was too much to deal with and she soon shut them tight.
  Someone leaned over her and said with a voice so close that it might have come from within her own head, 'Are you all right now?'
  She opened her eyes and sat up. Whoever had spoken was no longer there, but other people were moving about near by, people who for some reason were all there just to help her through. How kind they must be, she thought, how kind they are, to do all this for me.
  She was in a white room, lying on a spindly white trolley. She thought about this for a while. It seemed quite an appropriate place to be. She would be all right here, she thought.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Early on Friday evening Mary was ominously summoned into Norman's room to receive a call on the pay-telephone. Norman gestured towards the instrument with a flourish that almost bowled him over and then wobbled from the room, closing the door behind him. Mary had watched people use the telephone several times and was pretty confident that she could handle it. The bandy, glistening dumb-bell was heavier than she had expected. But she had expected the call: she knew who this must be.
  A thin voice started talking. Telephones were clearly less efficient instruments of communication than people let on. For instance, you could hardly hear the other person and they could hardly hear you.
  He paused. 'Damn,' he said. 'Hell. Hey look, why don't you come out on the town with me tomorrow night?'
  She rejoined Alan on the front steps. They were watching the children play, or Mary was. Alan was too busy trembling and pulling his hair out to have much attention to spare, Mary reckoned. The boys swirled up and down the road in the patterns determined by their energy, watched by the girls from the thrones of the facing garden walls. Cruelty came easily to the boys and found its salute in the girls also. Mary had once seen tiny, stammering Jeremy flattened up against a car by one of these callous-bodied young champions; Jeremy's face was sick and smiling as the boy held him and turned, looking to the girls for their worship or their signal.
  Just then Russ came jogging up the basement steps. When he saw Mary he jerked to a halt, as if he'd never encountered her before. Reaching out an experimental forefinger, he lifted her chin. He kissed her, urging his mouth right into hers so that his lips tickled her teeth. Mary thought that if Russ wanted to do this, it was really quite a pleasant and reassuring thing to do; so she opened her mouth wider and put an arm round the back of his head to steady herself. This went on for a long time. Then Russ withdrew his lips with a sudden pop, eyed her judiciously for several seconds, shook his head with pitying sternness, and moved past her up the steps. Alan wrenched a handful of hair from his crown with a faint whimper and got to his feet. Then he raced off down the road, so fast that even the whirling boys hesitated and stood back catching their breath to watch his speed.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Her first feeling, as she smelled the air, was one of intense and helpless gratitude. I'm all right, she thought with a gasp. Time—it's starting again. She tried to blink away all the water in her eyes, but there was too much to deal with and she soon shut them tight.
  Her mother left the room. Amy sat up. She must have been crying for a long time. It was a relief to be able to stop, and to rejoin things again. She wiped her tears away in front of the mirror and hurriedly brushed her hair.
  She ran down the stairs. Her father stood with his back turned in the hall. He was winding the grandfather clock. She walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder, her face full of gentle insistence.
  Here she comes, shutting the front door behind her and walking quickly down the path. I'm standing in the deep shade on the other side of the street. Even at this distance I can tell by the brightness in her eyes that she's been crying. Poor baby... Oh man, what is that girl doing to me? She's doing something. I'll find out in time. Time... I feel as though I've done these things before, and am glazedly compelled to do them again. But perhaps all things like this feel like that. I'm—I'm tired. I'm not in control any more, not this time. Oh hell. Let's get it over with.
  Any moment now I'll step out into the street. I can see her coming to the end of the path and hesitating as she reaches the road, looking this way and that, wondering which way to go.