{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHere she sat down by the open window, leant out upon the sill like another Blessed Damozel, and listlessly looked down upon the brilliant pattern of colours formed by the flower-beds on the lawn--now richly crowded with late summer blossom. But the vivacity of spirit which had hitherto enlivened her, was fast ebbing under the pressure of prosaic realities, and the warm scarlet of the geraniums, glowing most conspicuously, and mingling with the vivid cold red and green of the verbenas, the rich depth of the dahlia, and the ripe mellowness of the calceolaria, backed by the pale hue of a flock of meek sheep feeding in the open park, close to the other side of the fence, were, to a great extent, lost upon her eyes. She was thinking that nothing seemed worth while; that it was possible she might die in a workhouse; and what did it matter? The petty, vulgar details of servitude that she had just passed through, her dependence upon the whims of a strange woman, the necessity of quenching all individuality of character in herself, and relinquishing her own peculiar tastes to help on the wheel of this alien establishment, made her sick and sad, and she almost longed to pursue some free, out-of-doors employment, sleep under trees or a hut, and know no enemy but winter and cold weather, like shepherds and cowkeepers, and birds and animals--ay, like the sheep she saw there under her window. She looked sympathizingly at them for several minutes, imagining their enjoyment of the rich grass.\n'Yes--like those sheep,' she said aloud; and her face reddened with surprise at a discovery she made that very instant.\nThe flock consisted of some ninety or a hundred young stock ewes: the surface of their fleece was as rounded and even as a cushion, and white as milk. Now she had just observed that on the left buttock of every one of them were marked in distinct red letters the initials 'E. S.'\n'E. S.' could bring to Cytherea's mind only one thought; but that immediately and for ever--the name of her lover, Edward Springrove.\n'O, if it should be--!' She interrupted her words by a resolve. Miss Aldclyffe's carriage at the same moment made its appearance in the drive; but Miss Aldclyffe was not her object now. It was to ascertain to whom the sheep belonged, and to set her surmise at rest one way or the other. She flew downstairs to Mrs. Morris.\n'Whose sheep are those in the park, Mrs. Morris?'\n'Farmer Springrove's.'\n'What Farmer Springrove is that?' she said quickly.\n'Why, surely you know? Your friend, Farmer Springrove, the cider-maker, and who keeps the Three Tranters Inn; who recommended you to me when he came in to see me the other day?'\nCytherea's mother-wit suddenly warned her in the midst of her excitement that it was necessary not to betray the secret of her love. 'O yes,' she said, 'of course.' Her thoughts had run as follows in that short interval:--\n'Farmer Springrove is Edward's father, and his name is Edward too.\n'Edward knew I was going to advertise for a situation of some kind.\n'He watched the Times, and saw it, my address being attached.\n'He thought it would be excellent for me to be here that we might meet whenever he came home.\n'He told his father that I might be recommended as a lady's-maid; and he knew my brother and myself.\n'His father told Mrs. Morris; Mrs. Morris told Miss Aldclyffe.'\nThe whole chain of incidents that drew her there was plain, and there was no such thing as chance in the matter. It was all Edward's doing.\nThe sound of a bell was heard. Cytherea did not heed it, and still continued in her reverie.\n'That's Miss Aldclyffe's bell,' said Mrs. Morris.\n'I suppose it is,' said the young woman placidly.\n'Well, it means that you must go up to her,' the matron continued, in a tone of surprise.\nCytherea felt a burning heat come over her, mingled with a sudden irritation at Mrs. Morris's hint. But the good sense which had recognized stern necessity prevailed over rebellious independence; the flush passed, and she said hastily--\n'Yes, yes; of course, I must go to her when she pulls the bell--whether I want to or no.'\nHowever, in spite of this painful reminder of her new position in life, Cytherea left the apartment in a mood far different from the gloomy sadness of ten minutes previous. The place felt like home to her now; she did not mind the pettiness of her occupation, because Edward evidently did not mind it; and this was Edward's own spot. She found time on her way to Miss Aldclyffe's dressing-room to hurriedly glide out by a side door, and look for a moment at the unconscious sheep bearing the friendly initials. She went up to them to try to touch one of the flock, and felt vexed that they all stared sceptically at her kind advances, and then ran pell-mell down the hill. Then, fearing any one should discover her childish movements, she slipped indoors again, and ascended the staircase, catching glimpses, as she passed, of silver-buttoned footmen, who flashed about the passages like lightning.\nMiss Aldclyffe's dressing-room was an apartment which, on a casual survey, conveyed an impression that it was available for almost any purpose save the adornment of the feminine person. In its hours of perfect order nothing pertaining to the toilet was visible; even the inevitable mirrors with their accessories were arranged in a roomy recess not noticeable from the door, lighted by a window of its own, called the dressing-window.\nThe washing-stand figured as a vast oak chest, carved with grotesque Renaissance ornament. The dressing table was in appearance something between a high altar and a cabinet piano, the surface being richly worked in the same style of semi-classic decoration, but the extraordinary outline having been arrived at by an ingenious joiner and decorator from the neighbouring town, after months of painful toil in cutting and fitting, under Miss Aldclyffe's immediate eye; the materials being the remains of two or three old cabinets the lady had found in the lumber-room. About two-thirds of the floor was carpeted, the remaining portion being laid with parquetry of light and dark woods.\nMiss Aldclyffe was standing at the larger window, away from the dressing-niche. She bowed, and said pleasantly, 'I am glad you have come. We shall get on capitally, I dare say.'\nHer bonnet was off. Cytherea did not think her so handsome as on the earlier day; the queenliness of her beauty was harder and less warm. But a worse discovery than this was that Miss Aldclyffe, with the usual obliviousness of rich people to their dependents' specialities, seemed to have quite forgotten Cytherea's inexperience, and mechanically delivered up her body to her handmaid without a thought of details, and with a mild yawn.\nEverything went well at first. The dress was removed, stockings and black boots were taken off, and silk stockings and white shoes were put on. Miss Aldclyffe then retired to bathe her hands and face, and Cytherea drew breath. If she could get through this first evening, all would be right. She felt that it was unfortunate that such a crucial test for her powers as a birthday dinner should have been applied on the threshold of her arrival; but set to again.\nMiss Aldclyffe was now arrayed in a white dressing-gown, and dropped languidly into an easy-chair, pushed up before the glass. The instincts of her sex and her own practice told Cytherea the next movement. She let Miss Aldclyffe's hair fall about her shoulders, and began to arrange it. It proved to be all real; a satisfaction.\nMiss Aldclyffe was musingly looking on the floor, and the operation went on for some minutes in silence. At length her thoughts seemed to turn to the present, and she lifted her eyes to the glass.\n'Why, what on earth are you doing with my head?' she exclaimed, with widely opened eyes. At the words she felt the back of Cytherea's little hand tremble against her neck.\n'Perhaps you prefer it done the other fashion, madam?' said the maiden.", "chosen": "[\"Blessed\", \"Damozel\", \"Cytherea\", \"Edward\", \"Springrove\", \"Aldclyffe\", \"Farmer\", \"Three\", \"Tranters\", \"Inn\", \"Her\", \"Times\", \"Renaissance\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Blessed\", \"Damozel\", \"Cytherea\", \"Edward\", \"Springrove\", \"Aldclyffe\", \"Farmer\", \"Three\", \"Tranters\", \"Inn\", \"Her\", \"Times\", \"Renaissance\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-3044-005-02-beecccd9", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"More than I am likely to get anywhere,\" said Lydgate, with rather a grating sarcasm in his tone. It angered him to perceive that Rosamond's mind was wandering over impracticable wishes instead of facing possible efforts.\n\"Why should you not mention the sum?\" said Rosamond, with a mild indication that she did not like his manners.\n\"Well,\" said Lydgate in a guessing tone, \"it would take at least a thousand to set me at ease. But,\" he added, incisively, \"I have to consider what I shall do without it, not with it.\"\nRosamond said no more.\nBut the next day she carried out her plan of writing to Sir Godwin Lydgate. Since the Captain's visit, she had received a letter from him, and also one from Mrs. Mengan, his married sister, condoling with her on the loss of her baby, and expressing vaguely the hope that they should see her again at Quallingham. Lydgate had told her that this politeness meant nothing; but she was secretly convinced that any backwardness in Lydgate's family towards him was due to his cold and contemptuous behavior, and she had answered the letters in her most charming manner, feeling some confidence that a specific invitation would follow. But there had been total silence. The Captain evidently was not a great penman, and Rosamond reflected that the sisters might have been abroad. However, the season was come for thinking of friends at home, and at any rate Sir Godwin, who had chucked her under the chin, and pronounced her to be like the celebrated beauty, Mrs. Croly, who had made a conquest of him in 1790, would be touched by any appeal from her, and would find it pleasant for her sake to behave as he ought to do towards his nephew. Rosamond was naively convinced of what an old gentleman ought to do to prevent her from suffering annoyance. And she wrote what she considered the most judicious letter possible—one which would strike Sir Godwin as a proof of her excellent sense—pointing out how desirable it was that Tertius should quit such a place as Middlemarch for one more fitted to his talents, how the unpleasant character of the inhabitants had hindered his professional success, and how in consequence he was in money difficulties, from which it would require a thousand pounds thoroughly to extricate him. She did not say that Tertius was unaware of her intention to write; for she had the idea that his supposed sanction of her letter would be in accordance with what she did say of his great regard for his uncle Godwin as the relative who had always been his best friend. Such was the force of Poor Rosamond's tactics now she applied them to affairs.\nThis had happened before the party on New Year's Day, and no answer had yet come from Sir Godwin. But on the morning of that day Lydgate had to learn that Rosamond had revoked his order to Borthrop Trumbull. Feeling it necessary that she should be gradually accustomed to the idea of their quitting the house in Lowick Gate, he overcame his reluctance to speak to her again on the subject, and when they were breakfasting said—\n\"I shall try to see Trumbull this morning, and tell him to advertise the house in the 'Pioneer' and the 'Trumpet.' If the thing were advertised, some one might be inclined to take it who would not otherwise have thought of a change. In these country places many people go on in their old houses when their families are too large for them, for want of knowing where they can find another. And Trumbull seems to have got no bite at all.\"\nRosamond knew that the inevitable moment was come. \"I ordered Trumbull not to inquire further,\" she said, with a careful calmness which was evidently defensive.\nLydgate stared at her in mute amazement. Only half an hour before he had been fastening up her plaits for her, and talking the \"little language\" of affection, which Rosamond, though not returning it, accepted as if she had been a serene and lovely image, now and then miraculously dimpling towards her votary. With such fibres still astir in him, the shock he received could not at once be distinctly anger; it was confused pain. He laid down the knife and fork with which he was carving, and throwing himself back in his chair, said at last, with a cool irony in his tone—\n\"May I ask when and why you did so?\"\n\"When I knew that the Plymdales had taken a house, I called to tell him not to mention ours to them; and at the same time I told him not to let the affair go on any further. I knew that it would be very injurious to you if it were known that you wished to part with your house and furniture, and I had a very strong objection to it. I think that was reason enough.\"\n\"It was of no consequence then that I had told you imperative reasons of another kind; of no consequence that I had come to a different conclusion, and given an order accordingly?\" said Lydgate, bitingly, the thunder and lightning gathering about his brow and eyes.\nThe effect of any one's anger on Rosamond had always been to make her shrink in cold dislike, and to become all the more calmly correct, in the conviction that she was not the person to misbehave whatever others might do. She replied—\n\"I think I had a perfect right to speak on a subject which concerns me at least as much as you.\"\n\"Clearly—you had a right to speak, but only to me. You had no right to contradict my orders secretly, and treat me as if I were a fool,\" said Lydgate, in the same tone as before. Then with some added scorn, \"Is it possible to make you understand what the consequences will be? Is it of any use for me to tell you again why we must try to part with the house?\"\n\"It is not necessary for you to tell me again,\" said Rosamond, in a voice that fell and trickled like cold water-drops. \"I remembered what you said. You spoke just as violently as you do now. But that does not alter my opinion that you ought to try every other means rather than take a step which is so painful to me. And as to advertising the house, I think it would be perfectly degrading to you.\"\n\"And suppose I disregard your opinion as you disregard mine?\"\n\"You can do so, of course. But I think you ought to have told me before we were married that you would place me in the worst position, rather than give up your own will.\"\nLydgate did not speak, but tossed his head on one side, and twitched the corners of his mouth in despair. Rosamond, seeing that he was not looking at her, rose and set his cup of coffee before him; but he took no notice of it, and went on with an inward drama and argument, occasionally moving in his seat, resting one arm on the table, and rubbing his hand against his hair. There was a conflux of emotions and thoughts in him that would not let him either give thorough way to his anger or persevere with simple rigidity of resolve. Rosamond took advantage of his silence.\n\"When we were married everyone felt that your position was very high. I could not have imagined then that you would want to sell our furniture, and take a house in Bride Street, where the rooms are like cages. If we are to live in that way let us at least leave Middlemarch.\"\n\"These would be very strong considerations,\" said Lydgate, half ironically—still there was a withered paleness about his lips as he looked at his coffee, and did not drink—\"these would be very strong considerations if I did not happen to be in debt.\"\n\"Many persons must have been in debt in the same way, but if they are respectable, people trust them. I am sure I have heard papa say that the Torbits were in debt, and they went on very well. It cannot be good to act rashly,\" said Rosamond, with serene wisdom.", "chosen": "More, It, Why, Well,\", But,\", But, Since, Mengan,, Lydgate, But, The, However,, Croly,, Rosamond, And, She, Such, This, But, Feeling, In, And, I, Lydgate, Only, With, He, I, I, The, She, You, Then, Is, I, You, But, And, But, Rosamond,, There, Rosamond, When, I, If, I, It", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nMore, It, Why, Well,\", But,\", But, Since, Mengan,, Lydgate, But, The, However,, Croly,, Rosamond, And, She, Such, This, But, Feeling, In, And, I, Lydgate, Only, With, He, I, I, The, She, You, Then, Is, I, You, But, And, But, Rosamond,, There, Rosamond, When, I, If, I, It\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-064-03-b96de8af", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"He is called Prince Charming. Don't you like the name? Oh! you silly boy! you should never forget it. If you only saw him, you would think him the most wonderful person in the world. Some day you will meet him—when you come back from Australia. You will like him so much. Everybody likes him, and I ... love him. I wish you could come to the theatre to-night. He is going to be there, and I am to play Juliet. Oh! how I shall play it! Fancy, Jim, to be in love and play Juliet! To have him sitting there! To play for his delight! I am afraid I may frighten the company, frighten or enthrall them. To be in love is to surpass one's self. Poor dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting 'genius' to his loafers at the bar. He has preached me as a dogma; to-night he will announce me as a revelation. I feel it. And it is all his, his only, Prince Charming, my wonderful lover, my god of graces. But I am poor beside him. Poor? What does that matter? When poverty creeps in at the door, love flies in through the window. Our proverbs want rewriting. They were made in winter, and it is summer now; spring-time for me, I think, a very dance of blossoms in blue skies.\"\n\"He is a gentleman,\" said the lad sullenly.\n\"A prince!\" she cried musically. \"What more do you want?\"\n\"He wants to enslave you.\"\n\"I shudder at the thought of being free.\"\n\"I want you to beware of him.\"\n\"To see him is to worship him; to know him is to trust him.\"\n\"Sibyl, you are mad about him.\"\nShe laughed and took his arm. \"You dear old Jim, you talk as if you were a hundred. Some day you will be in love yourself. Then you will know what it is. Don't look so sulky. Surely you should be glad to think that, though you are going away, you leave me happier than I have ever been before. Life has been hard for us both, terribly hard and difficult. But it will be different now. You are going to a new world, and I have found one. Here are two chairs; let us sit down and see the smart people go by.\"\nThey took their seats amidst a crowd of watchers. The tulip-beds across the road flamed like throbbing rings of fire. A white dust—tremulous cloud of orris-root it seemed—hung in the panting air. The brightly coloured parasols danced and dipped like monstrous butterflies.\nShe made her brother talk of himself, his hopes, his prospects. He spoke slowly and with effort. They passed words to each other as players at a game pass counters. Sibyl felt oppressed. She could not communicate her joy. A faint smile curving that sullen mouth was all the echo she could win. After some time she became silent. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of golden hair and laughing lips, and in an open carriage with two ladies Dorian Gray drove past.\nShe started to her feet. \"There he is!\" she cried.\n\"Who?\" said Jim Vane.\n\"Prince Charming,\" she answered, looking after the victoria.\nHe jumped up and seized her roughly by the arm. \"Show him to me. Which is he? Point him out. I must see him!\" he exclaimed; but at that moment the Duke of Berwick's four-in-hand came between, and when it had left the space clear, the carriage had swept out of the park.\n\"He is gone,\" murmured Sibyl sadly. \"I wish you had seen him.\"\n\"I wish I had, for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, I shall kill him.\"\nShe looked at him in horror. He repeated his words. They cut the air like a dagger. The people round began to gape. A lady standing close to her tittered.\n\"Come away, Jim; come away,\" she whispered. He followed her doggedly as she passed through the crowd. He felt glad at what he had said.\nWhen they reached the Achilles Statue, she turned round. There was pity in her eyes that became laughter on her lips. She shook her head at him. \"You are foolish, Jim, utterly foolish; a bad-tempered boy, that is all. How can you say such horrible things? You don't know what you are talking about. You are simply jealous and unkind. Ah! I wish you would fall in love. Love makes people good, and what you said was wicked.\"\n\"I am sixteen,\" he answered, \"and I know what I am about. Mother is no help to you. She doesn't understand how to look after you. I wish now that I was not going to Australia at all. I have a great mind to chuck the whole thing up. I would, if my articles hadn't been signed.\"\n\"Oh, don't be so serious, Jim. You are like one of the heroes of those silly melodramas Mother used to be so fond of acting in. I am not going to quarrel with you. I have seen him, and oh! to see him is perfect happiness. We won't quarrel. I know you would never harm any one I love, would you?\"\n\"Not as long as you love him, I suppose,\" was the sullen answer.\n\"I shall love him for ever!\" she cried.\n\"And he?\"\n\"For ever, too!\"\n\"He had better.\"\nShe shrank from him. Then she laughed and put her hand on his arm. He was merely a boy.\nAt the Marble Arch they hailed an omnibus, which left them close to their shabby home in the Euston Road. It was after five o'clock, and Sibyl had to lie down for a couple of hours before acting. Jim insisted that she should do so. He said that he would sooner part with her when their mother was not present. She would be sure to make a scene, and he detested scenes of every kind.\nIn Sybil's own room they parted. There was jealousy in the lad's heart, and a fierce murderous hatred of the stranger who, as it seemed to him, had come between them. Yet, when her arms were flung round his neck, and her fingers strayed through his hair, he softened and kissed her with real affection. There were tears in his eyes as he went downstairs.\nHis mother was waiting for him below. She grumbled at his unpunctuality, as he entered. He made no answer, but sat down to his meagre meal. The flies buzzed round the table and crawled over the stained cloth. Through the rumble of omnibuses, and the clatter of street-cabs, he could hear the droning voice devouring each minute that was left to him.\nAfter some time, he thrust away his plate and put his head in his hands. He felt that he had a right to know. It should have been told to him before, if it was as he suspected. Leaden with fear, his mother watched him. Words dropped mechanically from her lips. A tattered lace handkerchief twitched in her fingers. When the clock struck six, he got up and went to the door. Then he turned back and looked at her. Their eyes met. In hers he saw a wild appeal for mercy. It enraged him.\n\"Mother, I have something to ask you,\" he said. Her eyes wandered vaguely about the room. She made no answer. \"Tell me the truth. I have a right to know. Were you married to my father?\"\nShe heaved a deep sigh. It was a sigh of relief. The terrible moment, the moment that night and day, for weeks and months, she had dreaded, had come at last, and yet she felt no terror. Indeed, in some measure it was a disappointment to her. The vulgar directness of the question called for a direct answer. The situation had not been gradually led up to. It was crude. It reminded her of a bad rehearsal.\n\"No,\" she answered, wondering at the harsh simplicity of life.\n\"My father was a scoundrel then!\" cried the lad, clenching his fists.\nShe shook her head. \"I knew he was not free. We loved each other very much. If he had lived, he would have made provision for us. Don't speak against him, my son. He was your father, and a gentleman. Indeed, he was highly connected.\"", "chosen": "142", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n142\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-174-005-02-8f8579f4", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"If he were allied to us irretrievably, of course I, or any sensible man, should accept conditions that could not be altered; certainly not be hopelessly melancholy about it. I don't believe anything in the world would make me hopelessly melancholy. And don't let anything make you so, either.\"\n\"I won't, papa,\" she cried, with a serene brightness that pleased him.\nCertainly Mr. Swancourt must have been far from thinking that the brightness came from an exhilarating intention to hold back no longer from the mad action she had planned.\nIn the evening he drove away towards Stratleigh, quite alone. It was an unusual course for him. At the door Elfride had been again almost impelled by her feelings to pour out all.\n\"Why are you going to Stratleigh, papa?\" she said, and looked at him longingly.\n\"I will tell you to-morrow when I come back,\" he said cheerily; \"not before then, Elfride. Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, and so far will I trust thee, gentle Elfride.\"\nShe was repressed and hurt.\n\"I will tell you my errand to Plymouth, too, when I come back,\" she murmured.\nHe went away. His jocularity made her intention seem the lighter, as his indifference made her more resolved to do as she liked.\nIt was a familiar September sunset, dark-blue fragments of cloud upon an orange-yellow sky. These sunsets used to tempt her to walk towards them, as any beautiful thing tempts a near approach. She went through the field to the privet hedge, clambered into the middle of it, and reclined upon the thick boughs. After looking westward for a considerable time, she blamed herself for not looking eastward to where Stephen was, and turned round. Ultimately her eyes fell upon the ground.\nA peculiarity was observable beneath her. A green field spread itself on each side of the hedge, one belonging to the glebe, the other being a part of the land attached to the manor-house adjoining. On the vicarage side she saw a little footpath, the distinctive and altogether exceptional feature of which consisted in its being only about ten yards long; it terminated abruptly at each end.\nA footpath, suddenly beginning and suddenly ending, coming from nowhere and leading nowhere, she had never seen before.\nYes, she had, on second thoughts. She had seen exactly such a path trodden in the front of barracks by the sentry.\nAnd this recollection explained the origin of the path here. Her father had trodden it by pacing up and down, as she had once seen him doing.\nSitting on the hedge as she sat now, her eyes commanded a view of both sides of it. And a few minutes later, Elfride looked over to the manor side.\nHere was another sentry path. It was like the first in length, and it began and ended exactly opposite the beginning and ending of its neighbour, but it was thinner, and less distinct.\nTwo reasons existed for the difference. This one might have been trodden by a similar weight of tread to the other, exercised a less number of times; or it might have been walked just as frequently, but by lighter feet.\nProbably a gentleman from Scotland-yard, had he been passing at the time, might have considered the latter alternative as the more probable. Elfride thought otherwise, so far as she thought at all. But her own great To-Morrow was now imminent; all thoughts inspired by casual sights of the eye were only allowed to exercise themselves in inferior corners of her brain, previously to being banished altogether.\nElfride was at length compelled to reason practically upon her undertaking. All her definite perceptions thereon, when the emotion accompanying them was abstracted, amounted to no more than these:\n\"Say an hour and three-quarters to ride to St. Launce's.\n\"Say half an hour at the Falcon to change my dress.\n\"Say two hours waiting for some train and getting to Plymouth.\n\"Say an hour to spare before twelve o'clock.\n\"Total time from leaving Endelstow till twelve o'clock, five hours.\n\"Therefore I shall have to start at seven.\"\nNo surprise or sense of unwontedness entered the minds of the servants at her early ride. The monotony of life we associate with people of small incomes in districts out of the sound of the railway whistle, has one exception, which puts into shade the experience of dwellers about the great centres of population—that is, in travelling. Every journey there is more or less an adventure; adventurous hours are necessarily chosen for the most commonplace outing. Miss Elfride had to leave early—that was all.\nElfride never went out on horseback but she brought home something—something found, or something bought. If she trotted to town or village, her burden was books. If to hills, woods, or the seashore, it was wonderful mosses, abnormal twigs, a handkerchief of wet shells or seaweed.\nOnce, in muddy weather, when Pansy was walking with her down the street of Castle Boterel, on a fair-day, a packet in front of her and a packet under her arm, an accident befell the packets, and they slipped down. On one side of her, three volumes of fiction lay kissing the mud; on the other numerous skeins of polychromatic wools lay absorbing it. Unpleasant women smiled through windows at the mishap, the men all looked round, and a boy, who was minding a ginger-bread stall whilst the owner had gone to get drunk, laughed loudly. The blue eyes turned to sapphires, and the cheeks crimsoned with vexation.\nAfter that misadventure she set her wits to work, and was ingenious enough to invent an arrangement of small straps about the saddle, by which a great deal could be safely carried thereon, in a small compass. Here she now spread out and fastened a plain dark walking-dress and a few other trifles of apparel. Worm opened the gate for her, and she vanished away.\nOne of the brightest mornings of late summer shone upon her. The heather was at its purplest, the furze at its yellowest, the grasshoppers chirped loud enough for birds, the snakes hissed like little engines, and Elfride at first felt lively. Sitting at ease upon Pansy, in her orthodox riding-habit and nondescript hat, she looked what she felt. But the mercury of those days had a trick of falling unexpectedly. First, only for one minute in ten had she a sense of depression. Then a large cloud, that had been hanging in the north like a black fleece, came and placed itself between her and the sun. It helped on what was already inevitable, and she sank into a uniformity of sadness.\nShe turned in the saddle and looked back. They were now on an open table-land, whose altitude still gave her a view of the sea by Endelstow. She looked longingly at that spot.\nDuring this little revulsion of feeling Pansy had been still advancing, and Elfride felt it would be absurd to turn her little mare's head the other way. \"Still,\" she thought, \"if I had a mamma at home I WOULD go back!\"\nAnd making one of those stealthy movements by which women let their hearts juggle with their brains, she did put the horse's head about, as if unconsciously, and went at a hand-gallop towards home for more than a mile. By this time, from the inveterate habit of valuing what we have renounced directly the alternative is chosen, the thought of her forsaken Stephen recalled her, and she turned about, and cantered on to St. Launce's again.\nThis miserable strife of thought now began to rage in all its wildness. Overwrought and trembling, she dropped the rein upon Pansy's shoulders, and vowed she would be led whither the horse would take her.\nPansy slackened her pace to a walk, and walked on with her agitated burden for three or four minutes. At the expiration of this time they had come to a little by-way on the right, leading down a slope to a pool of water. The pony stopped, looked towards the pool, and then advanced and stooped to drink.\nElfride looked at her watch and discovered that if she were going to reach St. Launce's early enough to change her dress at the Falcon, and get a chance of some early train to Plymouth—there were only two available—it was necessary to proceed at once.", "chosen": "\"Still,\" she thought, \"if I had a mamma at home I WOULD go back!\"\nAnd making one of those stealthy movements by which women let their hearts juggle with their brains, she did put the horse's head about, as if unconsciously, and went at a hand-gallop towards home for more than a mile.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n\"Still,\" she thought, \"if I had a mamma at home I WOULD go back!\"\nAnd making one of those stealthy movements by which women let their hearts juggle with their brains, she did put the horse's head about, as if unconsciously, and went at a hand-gallop towards home for more than a mile.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-010-02-7a3cfc4c", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Well, Miss Dashwood,\" said Mrs. Jennings, sagaciously smiling, as soon as the gentleman had withdrawn, \"I do not ask you what the Colonel has been saying to you; for though, upon my honour, I tried to keep out of hearing, I could not help catching enough to understand his business. And I assure you I never was better pleased in my life, and I wish you joy of it with all my heart.\"\n\"Thank you, ma'am,\" said Elinor. \"It is a matter of great joy to me; and I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most sensibly. There are not many men who would act as he has done. Few people who have so compassionate a heart! I never was more astonished in my life.\"\n\"Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an't the least astonished at it in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more likely to happen.\"\n\"You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel's general benevolence; but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very soon occur.\"\n\"Opportunity!\" repeated Mrs. Jennings--\"Oh! as to that, when a man has once made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon find an opportunity. Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and again; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I shall soon know where to look for them.\"\n\"You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,\" said Elinor, with a faint smile.\n\"Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one, I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as ever I saw.\"\n\"He spoke of its being out of repair.\"\n\"Well, and whose fault is that? why don't he repair it? who should do it but himself?\"\nThey were interrupted by the servant's coming in to announce the carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to go, said--\n\"Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out. But, however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be quite alone. I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind is too full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must long to tell your sister all about it.\"\nMarianne had left the room before the conversation began.\n\"Certainly, ma'am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention it at present to any body else.\"\n\"Oh! very well,\" said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. \"Then you would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as Holborn to-day.\"\n\"No, ma'am, not even Lucy if you please. One day's delay will not be very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought not to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do that directly. It is of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of course have much to do relative to his ordination.\"\nThis speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr. Ferrars was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not immediately comprehend. A few moments' reflection, however, produced a very happy idea, and she exclaimed--\n\"Oh, ho! I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so much the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness; and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you. But, my dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not the Colonel write himself? Sure, he is the proper person.\"\nElinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings's speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore only replied to its conclusion.\n\"Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.\"\n\"And so you are forced to do it. Well that is an odd kind of delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to write.) You know your own concerns best. So good-bye, my dear. I have not heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to bed.\"\nAnd away she went; but returning again in a moment--\n\"I have just been thinking of Betty's sister, my dear. I should be very glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for a lady's maid, I am sure I can't tell. She is an excellent housemaid, and works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that at your leisure.\"\n\"Certainly, ma'am,\" replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said, and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject.\nHow she should begin--how she should express herself in her note to Edward, was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself.\nHe had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular business.\nElinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her upon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion were very great on his so sudden appearance. She had not seen him before since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his knowing her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of what she had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her feel particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He too was much distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of embarrassment. Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to be on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could say any thing, after taking a chair.\n\"Mrs. Jennings told me,\" said he, \"that you wished to speak with me, at least I understood her so--or I certainly should not have intruded on you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister; especially as it will most likely be some time--it is not probable that I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford tomorrow.\"", "chosen": "[\"Well, Miss Dashwood,\", \"Thank you, ma'am,\", \"Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an't the least astonished at it in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more likely to happen.\", \"You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel's general benevolence; but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very soon occur.\", \"Opportunity!\", \"You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,\", \"Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one, I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as ever I saw.\", \"He spoke of its being out of repair.\", \"Well, and whose fault is that? why don't he repair it? who should do it but himself?\", \"\\nMarianne had left the room before the conversation began.\\n\", \"Oh! very well,\", \"Then you would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as Holborn to-day.\", \"\\nElinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings's speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore only replied to its conclusion.\\n\", \"\\nAnd away she went; but returning again in a moment--\\n\", \"Certainly, ma'am,\", \"Mrs. Jennings told me,\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Well, Miss Dashwood,\", \"Thank you, ma'am,\", \"Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an't the least astonished at it in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more likely to happen.\", \"You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel's general benevolence; but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very soon occur.\", \"Opportunity!\", \"You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,\", \"Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one, I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as ever I saw.\", \"He spoke of its being out of repair.\", \"Well, and whose fault is that? why don't he repair it? who should do it but himself?\", \"\\nMarianne had left the room before the conversation began.\\n\", \"Oh! very well,\", \"Then you would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as Holborn to-day.\", \"\\nElinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings's speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore only replied to its conclusion.\\n\", \"\\nAnd away she went; but returning again in a moment--\\n\", \"Certainly, ma'am,\", \"Mrs. Jennings told me,\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-21839-040-00-20449364", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"And all I can say of it is,\" laughed Stryver with a vexed laugh, \"that this--ha, ha!--beats everything past, present, and to come.\"\n\"Now understand me,\" pursued Mr. Lorry. \"As a man of business, I am not justified in saying anything about this matter, for, as a man of business, I know nothing of it. But, as an old fellow, who has carried Miss Manette in his arms, who is the trusted friend of Miss Manette and of her father too, and who has a great affection for them both, I have spoken. The confidence is not of my seeking, recollect. Now, you think I may not be right?\"\n\"Not I!\" said Stryver, whistling. \"I can't undertake to find third parties in common sense; I can only find it for myself. I suppose sense in certain quarters; you suppose mincing bread-and-butter nonsense. It's new to me, but you are right, I dare say.\"\n\"What I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterise for myself--And understand me, sir,\" said Mr. Lorry, quickly flushing again, \"I will not--not even at Tellson's--have it characterised for me by any gentleman breathing.\"\n\"There! I beg your pardon!\" said Stryver.\n\"Granted. Thank you. Well, Mr. Stryver, I was about to say:--it might be painful to you to find yourself mistaken, it might be painful to Doctor Manette to have the task of being explicit with you, it might be very painful to Miss Manette to have the task of being explicit with you. You know the terms upon which I have the honour and happiness to stand with the family. If you please, committing you in no way, representing you in no way, I will undertake to correct my advice by the exercise of a little new observation and judgment expressly brought to bear upon it. If you should then be dissatisfied with it, you can but test its soundness for yourself; if, on the other hand, you should be satisfied with it, and it should be what it now is, it may spare all sides what is best spared. What do you say?\"\n\"How long would you keep me in town?\"\n\"Oh! It is only a question of a few hours. I could go to Soho in the evening, and come to your chambers afterwards.\"\n\"Then I say yes,\" said Stryver: \"I won't go up there now, I am not so hot upon it as that comes to; I say yes, and I shall expect you to look in to-night. Good morning.\"\nThen Mr. Stryver turned and burst out of the Bank, causing such a concussion of air on his passage through, that to stand up against it bowing behind the two counters, required the utmost remaining strength of the two ancient clerks. Those venerable and feeble persons were always seen by the public in the act of bowing, and were popularly believed, when they had bowed a customer out, still to keep on bowing in the empty office until they bowed another customer in.\nThe barrister was keen enough to divine that the banker would not have gone so far in his expression of opinion on any less solid ground than moral certainty. Unprepared as he was for the large pill he had to swallow, he got it down. \"And now,\" said Mr. Stryver, shaking his forensic forefinger at the Temple in general, when it was down, \"my way out of this, is, to put you all in the wrong.\"\nIt was a bit of the art of an Old Bailey tactician, in which he found great relief. \"You shall not put me in the wrong, young lady,\" said Mr. Stryver; \"I'll do that for you.\"\nAccordingly, when Mr. Lorry called that night as late as ten o'clock, Mr. Stryver, among a quantity of books and papers littered out for the purpose, seemed to have nothing less on his mind than the subject of the morning. He even showed surprise when he saw Mr. Lorry, and was altogether in an absent and preoccupied state.\n\"Well!\" said that good-natured emissary, after a full half-hour of bootless attempts to bring him round to the question. \"I have been to Soho.\"\n\"To Soho?\" repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. \"Oh, to be sure! What am I thinking of!\"\n\"And I have no doubt,\" said Mr. Lorry, \"that I was right in the conversation we had. My opinion is confirmed, and I reiterate my advice.\"\n\"I assure you,\" returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way, \"that I am sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor father's account. I know this must always be a sore subject with the family; let us say no more about it.\"\n\"I don't understand you,\" said Mr. Lorry.\n\"I dare say not,\" rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing and final way; \"no matter, no matter.\"\n\"But it does matter,\" Mr. Lorry urged.\n\"No it doesn't; I assure you it doesn't. Having supposed that there was sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition where there is not a laudable ambition, I am well out of my mistake, and no harm is done. Young women have committed similar follies often before, and have repented them in poverty and obscurity often before. In an unselfish aspect, I am sorry that the thing is dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view; in a selfish aspect, I am glad that the thing has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view--it is hardly necessary to say I could have gained nothing by it. There is no harm at all done. I have not proposed to the young lady, and, between ourselves, I am by no means certain, on reflection, that I ever should have committed myself to that extent. Mr. Lorry, you cannot control the mincing vanities and giddinesses of empty-headed girls; you must not expect to do it, or you will always be disappointed. Now, pray say no more about it. I tell you, I regret it on account of others, but I am satisfied on my own account. And I am really very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound you, and for giving me your advice; you know the young lady better than I do; you were right, it never would have done.\"\nMr. Lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite stupidly at Mr. Stryver shouldering him towards the door, with an appearance of showering generosity, forbearance, and goodwill, on his erring head. \"Make the best of it, my dear sir,\" said Stryver; \"say no more about it; thank you again for allowing me to sound you; good night!\"\nMr. Lorry was out in the night, before he knew where he was. Mr. Stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking at his ceiling.", "chosen": "ceiling", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nceiling\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-018-01-734394f7", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAll night the astronomer's mind was on the stretch with curiosity as to what the Bishop could wish to say to him. A dozen conjectures entered his brain, to be abandoned in turn as unlikely. That which finally seemed the most plausible was that the Bishop, having become interested in his pursuits, and entertaining friendly recollections of his father, was going to ask if he could do anything to help him on in the profession he had chosen. Should this be the case, thought the suddenly sanguine youth, it would seem like an encouragement to that spirit of firmness which had led him to reject his late uncle's offer because it involved the renunciation of Lady Constantine.\nAt last he fell asleep; and when he awoke it was so late that the hour was ready to solve what conjecture could not. After a hurried breakfast he paced across the fields, entering the churchyard by the south gate precisely at the appointed minute.\nThe inclosure was well adapted for a private interview, being bounded by bushes of laurel and alder nearly on all sides. He looked round; the Bishop was not there, nor any living creature save himself. Swithin sat down upon a tombstone to await Bishop Helmsdale's arrival.\nWhile he sat he fancied he could hear voices in conversation not far off, and further attention convinced him that they came from Lady Constantine's lawn, which was divided from the churchyard by a high wall and shrubbery only. As the Bishop still delayed his coming, though the time was nearly eleven, and as the lady whose sweet voice mingled with those heard from the lawn was his personal property, Swithin became exceedingly curious to learn what was going on within that screened promenade. A way of doing so occurred to him. The key was in the church door; he opened it, entered, and ascended to the ringers' loft in the west tower. At the back of this was a window commanding a full view of Viviette's garden front.\nThe flowers were all in gayest bloom, and the creepers on the walls of the house were bursting into tufts of young green. A broad gravel-walk ran from end to end of the facade, terminating in a large conservatory. In the walk were three people pacing up and down. Lady Constantine's was the central figure, her brother being on one side of her, and on the other a stately form in a corded shovel-hat of glossy beaver and black breeches. This was the Bishop. Viviette carried over her shoulder a sunshade lined with red, which she twirled idly. They were laughing and chatting gaily, and when the group approached the churchyard many of their remarks entered the silence of the church tower through the ventilator of the window.\nThe conversation was general, yet interesting enough to Swithin. At length Louis stepped upon the grass and picked up something that had lain there, which turned out to be a bowl: throwing it forward he took a second, and bowled it towards the first, or jack. The Bishop, who seemed to be in a sprightly mood, followed suit, and bowled one in a curve towards the jack, turning and speaking to Lady Constantine as he concluded the feat. As she had not left the gravelled terrace he raised his voice, so that the words reached Swithin distinctly.\n'Do you follow us?' he asked gaily.\n'I am not skilful,' she said. 'I always bowl narrow.'\nThe Bishop meditatively paused.\n'This moment reminds one of the scene in Richard the Second,' he said. 'I mean the Duke of York's garden, where the queen and her two ladies play, and the queen says--\n\"What sport shall we devise here in this garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care?\"\nTo which her lady answers, \"Madam, we'll play at bowls.\"'\n'That's an unfortunate quotation for you,' said Lady Constantine; 'for if I don't forget, the queen declines, saying, \"Twill make me think the world is full of rubs, and that my fortune runs against the bias.\"'\n'Then I cite mal a propos. But it is an interesting old game, and might have been played at that very date on this very green.'\nThe Bishop lazily bowled another, and while he was doing it Viviette's glance rose by accident to the church tower window, where she recognized Swithin's face. Her surprise was only momentary; and waiting till both her companions' backs were turned she smiled and blew him a kiss. In another minute she had another opportunity, and blew him another; afterwards blowing him one a third time.\nHer blowings were put a stop to by the Bishop and Louis throwing down the bowls and rejoining her in the path, the house clock at the moment striking half-past eleven.\n'This is a fine way of keeping an engagement,' said Swithin to himself. 'I have waited an hour while you indulge in those trifles!'\nHe fumed, turned, and behold somebody was at his elbow: Tabitha Lark. Swithin started, and said, 'How did you come here, Tabitha?'\n'In the course of my calling, Mr. St. Cleeve,' said the smiling girl. 'I come to practise on the organ. When I entered I saw you up here through the tower arch, and I crept up to see what you were looking at. The Bishop is a striking man, is he not?'\n'Yes, rather,' said Swithin.\n'I think he is much devoted to Lady Constantine, and I am glad of it. Aren't you?'\n'O yes--very,' said Swithin, wondering if Tabitha had seen the tender little salutes between Lady Constantine and himself.\n'I don't think she cares much for him,' added Tabitha judicially. 'Or, even if she does, she could be got away from him in no time by a younger man.'\n'Pooh, that's nothing,' said Swithin impatiently.\nTabitha then remarked that her blower had not come to time, and that she must go to look for him; upon which she descended the stairs, and left Swithin again alone.\nA few minutes later the Bishop suddenly looked at his watch, Lady Constantine having withdrawn towards the house. Apparently apologizing to Louis the Bishop came down the terrace, and through the door into the churchyard. Swithin hastened downstairs and joined him in the path under the sunny wall of the aisle.\nTheir glances met, and it was with some consternation that Swithin beheld the change that a few short minutes had wrought in that episcopal countenance. On the lawn with Lady Constantine the rays of an almost perpetual smile had brightened his dark aspect like flowers in a shady place: now the smile was gone as completely as yesterday; the lines of his face were firm; his dark eyes and whiskers were overspread with gravity; and, as he gazed upon Swithin from the repose of his stable figure it was like an evangelized King of Spades come to have it out with the Knave of Hearts.\nTo return for a moment to Louis Glanville. He had been somewhat struck with the abruptness of the Bishop's departure, and more particularly by the circumstance that he had gone away by the private door into the churchyard instead of by the regular exit on the other side. True, great men were known to suffer from absence of mind, and Bishop Helmsdale, having a dim sense that he had entered by that door yesterday, might have unconsciously turned thitherward now. Louis, upon the whole, thought little of the matter, and being now left quite alone on the lawn, he seated himself in an arbour and began smoking.\nThe arbour was situated against the churchyard wall. The atmosphere was as still as the air of a hot-house; only fourteen inches of brickwork divided Louis from the scene of the Bishop's interview with St. Cleeve, and as voices on the lawn had been audible to Swithin in the churchyard, voices in the churchyard could be heard without difficulty from that close corner of the lawn. No sooner had Louis lit a cigar than the dialogue began.\n'Ah, you are here, St. Cleeve,' said the Bishop, hardly replying to Swithin's good morning. 'I fear I am a little late. Well, my request to you to meet me may have seemed somewhat unusual, seeing that we were strangers till a few hours ago.'\n'I don't mind that, if your lordship wishes to see me.'", "chosen": "[\"Bishop\", \"Constantine\", \"Helmsdale\", \"Swithin\", \"Viviette\", \"Louis\", \"Richard\", \"Second\", \"Duke\", \"York\", \"Twill\", \"Tabitha\", \"Lark\", \"King\", \"Spades\", \"Knave\", \"Hearts\", \"Glanville\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Bishop\", \"Constantine\", \"Helmsdale\", \"Swithin\", \"Viviette\", \"Louis\", \"Richard\", \"Second\", \"Duke\", \"York\", \"Twill\", \"Tabitha\", \"Lark\", \"King\", \"Spades\", \"Knave\", \"Hearts\", \"Glanville\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-3146-026-00-15f109c4", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Though it be songe of old and yonge, That I sholde be to blame, Theyrs be the charge, that spoke so large In hurtynge of my name.\" —The Not-Browne Mayde.\nIt was just after the Lords had thrown out the Reform Bill: that explains how Mr. Cadwallader came to be walking on the slope of the lawn near the great conservatory at Freshitt Hall, holding the \"Times\" in his hands behind him, while he talked with a trout-fisher's dispassionateness about the prospects of the country to Sir James Chettam. Mrs. Cadwallader, the Dowager Lady Chettam, and Celia were sometimes seated on garden-chairs, sometimes walking to meet little Arthur, who was being drawn in his chariot, and, as became the infantine Bouddha, was sheltered by his sacred umbrella with handsome silken fringe.\nThe ladies also talked politics, though more fitfully. Mrs. Cadwallader was strong on the intended creation of peers: she had it for certain from her cousin that Truberry had gone over to the other side entirely at the instigation of his wife, who had scented peerages in the air from the very first introduction of the Reform question, and would sign her soul away to take precedence of her younger sister, who had married a baronet. Lady Chettam thought that such conduct was very reprehensible, and remembered that Mrs. Truberry's mother was a Miss Walsingham of Melspring. Celia confessed it was nicer to be \"Lady\" than \"Mrs.,\" and that Dodo never minded about precedence if she could have her own way. Mrs. Cadwallader held that it was a poor satisfaction to take precedence when everybody about you knew that you had not a drop of good blood in your veins; and Celia again, stopping to look at Arthur, said, \"It would be very nice, though, if he were a Viscount—and his lordship's little tooth coming through! He might have been, if James had been an Earl.\"\n\"My dear Celia,\" said the Dowager, \"James's title is worth far more than any new earldom. I never wished his father to be anything else than Sir James.\"\n\"Oh, I only meant about Arthur's little tooth,\" said Celia, comfortably. \"But see, here is my uncle coming.\"\nShe tripped off to meet her uncle, while Sir James and Mr. Cadwallader came forward to make one group with the ladies. Celia had slipped her arm through her uncle's, and he patted her hand with a rather melancholy \"Well, my dear!\" As they approached, it was evident that Mr. Brooke was looking dejected, but this was fully accounted for by the state of politics; and as he was shaking hands all round without more greeting than a \"Well, you're all here, you know,\" the Rector said, laughingly—\n\"Don't take the throwing out of the Bill so much to heart, Brooke; you've got all the riff-raff of the country on your side.\"\n\"The Bill, eh? ah!\" said Mr. Brooke, with a mild distractedness of manner. \"Thrown out, you know, eh? The Lords are going too far, though. They'll have to pull up. Sad news, you know. I mean, here at home—sad news. But you must not blame me, Chettam.\"\n\"What is the matter?\" said Sir James. \"Not another gamekeeper shot, I hope? It's what I should expect, when a fellow like Trapping Bass is let off so easily.\"\n\"Gamekeeper? No. Let us go in; I can tell you all in the house, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke, nodding at the Cadwalladers, to show that he included them in his confidence. \"As to poachers like Trapping Bass, you know, Chettam,\" he continued, as they were entering, \"when you are a magistrate, you'll not find it so easy to commit. Severity is all very well, but it's a great deal easier when you've got somebody to do it for you. You have a soft place in your heart yourself, you know—you're not a Draco, a Jeffreys, that sort of thing.\"\nMr. Brooke was evidently in a state of nervous perturbation. When he had something painful to tell, it was usually his way to introduce it among a number of disjointed particulars, as if it were a medicine that would get a milder flavor by mixing. He continued his chat with Sir James about the poachers until they were all seated, and Mrs. Cadwallader, impatient of this drivelling, said—\n\"I'm dying to know the sad news. The gamekeeper is not shot: that is settled. What is it, then?\"\n\"Well, it's a very trying thing, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke. \"I'm glad you and the Rector are here; it's a family matter—but you will help us all to bear it, Cadwallader. I've got to break it to you, my dear.\" Here Mr. Brooke looked at Celia—\"You've no notion what it is, you know. And, Chettam, it will annoy you uncommonly—but, you see, you have not been able to hinder it, any more than I have. There's something singular in things: they come round, you know.\"\n\"It must be about Dodo,\" said Celia, who had been used to think of her sister as the dangerous part of the family machinery. She had seated herself on a low stool against her husband's knee.\n\"For God's sake let us hear what it is!\" said Sir James.\n\"Well, you know, Chettam, I couldn't help Casaubon's will: it was a sort of will to make things worse.\"\n\"Exactly,\" said Sir James, hastily. \"But what is worse?\"\n\"Dorothea is going to be married again, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke, nodding towards Celia, who immediately looked up at her husband with a frightened glance, and put her hand on his knee. Sir James was almost white with anger, but he did not speak.\n\"Merciful heaven!\" said Mrs. Cadwallader. \"Not to young Ladislaw?\"\nMr. Brooke nodded, saying, \"Yes; to Ladislaw,\" and then fell into a prudential silence.\n\"You see, Humphrey!\" said Mrs. Cadwallader, waving her arm towards her husband. \"Another time you will admit that I have some foresight; or rather you will contradict me and be just as blind as ever. You supposed that the young gentleman was gone out of the country.\"\n\"So he might be, and yet come back,\" said the Rector, quietly.\n\"When did you learn this?\" said Sir James, not liking to hear any one else speak, though finding it difficult to speak himself.\n\"Yesterday,\" said Mr. Brooke, meekly. \"I went to Lowick. Dorothea sent for me, you know. It had come about quite suddenly—neither of them had any idea two days ago—not any idea, you know. There's something singular in things. But Dorothea is quite determined—it is no use opposing. I put it strongly to her. I did my duty, Chettam. But she can act as she likes, you know.\"\n\"It would have been better if I had called him out and shot him a year ago,\" said Sir James, not from bloody-mindedness, but because he needed something strong to say.\n\"Really, James, that would have been very disagreeable,\" said Celia.\n\"Be reasonable, Chettam. Look at the affair more quietly,\" said Mr. Cadwallader, sorry to see his good-natured friend so overmastered by anger.\n\"That is not so very easy for a man of any dignity—with any sense of right—when the affair happens to be in his own family,\" said Sir James, still in his white indignation. \"It is perfectly scandalous. If Ladislaw had had a spark of honor he would have gone out of the country at once, and never shown his face in it again. However, I am not surprised. The day after Casaubon's funeral I said what ought to be done. But I was not listened to.\"\n\"You wanted what was impossible, you know, Chettam,\" said Mr. Brooke. \"You wanted him shipped off. I told you Ladislaw was not to be done as we liked with: he had his ideas. He was a remarkable fellow—I always said he was a remarkable fellow.\"", "chosen": "Though, It, Cadwallader, Mrs., Cadwallader,, The, Mrs., Cadwallader, Lady, Truberry's, Celia, Mrs., Cadwallader, He, I, But, Cadwallader, Celia, Brooke, ah!\", Brooke,, Thrown, The, They'll, Sad, I, But, Not, It's, No., Let, Brooke,, As, Severity, You, Brooke, When, He, Cadwallader,, The, What, Brooke., I'm, I've, Brooke, And,, There's, She, For, Well,, But, Brooke,, Sir, Merciful, Cadwallader., Not, Brooke, You, Cadwallader,, Another, You, When, Yesterday,\", Brooke,, I, Dorothea, It, There's, But, I, I, But, Really,, Be, Look, Cadwallader,, That, It, If, However,, The, But, Brooke., You, I, He", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nThough, It, Cadwallader, Mrs., Cadwallader,, The, Mrs., Cadwallader, Lady, Truberry's, Celia, Mrs., Cadwallader, He, I, But, Cadwallader, Celia, Brooke, ah!\", Brooke,, Thrown, The, They'll, Sad, I, But, Not, It's, No., Let, Brooke,, As, Severity, You, Brooke, When, He, Cadwallader,, The, What, Brooke., I'm, I've, Brooke, And,, There's, She, For, Well,, But, Brooke,, Sir, Merciful, Cadwallader., Not, Brooke, You, Cadwallader,, Another, You, When, Yesterday,\", Brooke,, I, Dorothea, It, There's, But, I, I, But, Really,, Be, Look, Cadwallader,, That, It, If, However,, The, But, Brooke., You, I, He\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-084-00-4d16f888", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nI found two of my old schoolfellows with him. They seemed to be discussing an important matter. All of them took scarcely any notice of my entrance, which was strange, for I had not met them for years. Evidently they looked upon me as something on the level of a common fly. I had not been treated like that even at school, though they all hated me. I knew, of course, that they must despise me now for my lack of success in the service, and for my having let myself sink so low, going about badly dressed and so on--which seemed to them a sign of my incapacity and insignificance. But I had not expected such contempt. Simonov was positively surprised at my turning up. Even in old days he had always seemed surprised at my coming. All this disconcerted me: I sat down, feeling rather miserable, and began listening to what they were saying.\nThey were engaged in warm and earnest conversation about a farewell dinner which they wanted to arrange for the next day to a comrade of theirs called Zverkov, an officer in the army, who was going away to a distant province. This Zverkov had been all the time at school with me too. I had begun to hate him particularly in the upper forms. In the lower forms he had simply been a pretty, playful boy whom everybody liked. I had hated him, however, even in the lower forms, just because he was a pretty and playful boy. He was always bad at his lessons and got worse and worse as he went on; however, he left with a good certificate, as he had powerful interest. During his last year at school he came in for an estate of two hundred serfs, and as almost all of us were poor he took up a swaggering tone among us. He was vulgar in the extreme, but at the same time he was a good-natured fellow, even in his swaggering. In spite of superficial, fantastic and sham notions of honour and dignity, all but very few of us positively grovelled before Zverkov, and the more so the more he swaggered. And it was not from any interested motive that they grovelled, but simply because he had been favoured by the gifts of nature. Moreover, it was, as it were, an accepted idea among us that Zverkov was a specialist in regard to tact and the social graces. This last fact particularly infuriated me. I hated the abrupt self-confident tone of his voice, his admiration of his own witticisms, which were often frightfully stupid, though he was bold in his language; I hated his handsome, but stupid face (for which I would, however, have gladly exchanged my intelligent one), and the free-and-easy military manners in fashion in the \"'forties.\" I hated the way in which he used to talk of his future conquests of women (he did not venture to begin his attack upon women until he had the epaulettes of an officer, and was looking forward to them with impatience), and boasted of the duels he would constantly be fighting. I remember how I, invariably so taciturn, suddenly fastened upon Zverkov, when one day talking at a leisure moment with his schoolfellows of his future relations with the fair sex, and growing as sportive as a puppy in the sun, he all at once declared that he would not leave a single village girl on his estate unnoticed, that that was his droit de seigneur, and that if the peasants dared to protest he would have them all flogged and double the tax on them, the bearded rascals. Our servile rabble applauded, but I attacked him, not from compassion for the girls and their fathers, but simply because they were applauding such an insect. I got the better of him on that occasion, but though Zverkov was stupid he was lively and impudent, and so laughed it off, and in such a way that my victory was not really complete: the laugh was on his side. He got the better of me on several occasions afterwards, but without malice, jestingly, casually. I remained angrily and contemptuously silent and would not answer him. When we left school he made advances to me; I did not rebuff them, for I was flattered, but we soon parted and quite naturally. Afterwards I heard of his barrack-room success as a lieutenant, and of the fast life he was leading. Then there came other rumours--of his successes in the service. By then he had taken to cutting me in the street, and I suspected that he was afraid of compromising himself by greeting a personage as insignificant as me. I saw him once in the theatre, in the third tier of boxes. By then he was wearing shoulder-straps. He was twisting and twirling about, ingratiating himself with the daughters of an ancient General. In three years he had gone off considerably, though he was still rather handsome and adroit. One could see that by the time he was thirty he would be corpulent. So it was to this Zverkov that my schoolfellows were going to give a dinner on his departure. They had kept up with him for those three years, though privately they did not consider themselves on an equal footing with him, I am convinced of that.\nOf Simonov's two visitors, one was Ferfitchkin, a Russianized German--a little fellow with the face of a monkey, a blockhead who was always deriding every one, a very bitter enemy of mine from our days in the lower forms--a vulgar, impudent, swaggering fellow, who affected a most sensitive feeling of personal honour, though, of course, he was a wretched little coward at heart. He was one of those worshippers of Zverkov who made up to the latter from interested motives, and often borrowed money from him. Simonov's other visitor, Trudolyubov, was a person in no way remarkable--a tall young fellow, in the army, with a cold face, fairly honest, though he worshipped success of every sort, and was only capable of thinking of promotion. He was some sort of distant relation of Zverkov's, and this, foolish as it seems, gave him a certain importance among us. He always thought me of no consequence whatever; his behaviour to me, though not quite courteous, was tolerable.\n\"Well, with seven roubles each,\" said Trudolyubov, \"twenty-one roubles between the three of us, we ought to be able to get a good dinner. Zverkov, of course, won't pay.\"\n\"Of course not, since we are inviting him,\" Simonov decided.\n\"Can you imagine,\" Ferfitchkin interrupted hotly and conceitedly, like some insolent flunkey boasting of his master the General's decorations, \"can you imagine that Zverkov will let us pay alone? He will accept from delicacy, but he will order half a dozen bottles of champagne.\"\n\"Do we want half a dozen for the four of us?\" observed Trudolyubov, taking notice only of the half dozen.\n\"So the three of us, with Zverkov for the fourth, twenty-one roubles, at the Hôtel de Paris at five o'clock to-morrow,\" Simonov, who had been asked to make the arrangements, concluded finally.\n\"How twenty-one roubles?\" I asked in some agitation, with a show of being offended; \"if you count me it will not be twenty-one, but twenty-eight roubles.\"\nIt seemed to me that to invite myself so suddenly and unexpectedly would be positively graceful, and that they would all be conquered at once and would look at me with respect.\n\"Do you want to join, too?\" Simonov observed, with no appearance of pleasure, seeming to avoid looking at me. He knew me through and through.\nIt infuriated me that he knew me so thoroughly.\n\"Why not? I am an old schoolfellow of his, too, I believe, and I must own I feel hurt that you have left me out,\" I said, boiling over again.\n\"And where were we to find you?\" Ferfitchkin put in roughly.\n\"You never were on good terms with Zverkov,\" Trudolyubov added, frowning.\nBut I had already clutched at the idea and would not give it up.", "chosen": "58", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n58\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-36034-004-00-8add30e8", "source": "pg-36034", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Vassal unto Love.\"\nElfride clung closer to Knight as day succeeded day. Whatever else might admit of question, there could be no dispute that the allegiance she bore him absorbed her whole soul and existence. A greater than Stephen had arisen, and she had left all to follow him.\nThe unreserved girl was never chary of letting her lover discover how much she admired him. She never once held an idea in opposition to any one of his, or insisted on any point with him, or showed any independence, or held her own on any subject. His lightest whim she respected and obeyed as law, and if, expressing her opinion on a matter, he took up the subject and differed from her, she instantly threw down her own opinion as wrong and untenable. Even her ambiguities and espieglerie were but media of the same manifestation; acted charades, embodying the words of her prototype, the tender and susceptible daughter-in-law of Naomi: \"Let me find favour in thy sight, my lord; for that thou hast comforted me, and for that thou hast spoken friendly unto thine handmaid.\"\nShe was syringing the plants one wet day in the greenhouse. Knight was sitting under a great passion-flower observing the scene. Sometimes he looked out at the rain from the sky, and then at Elfride's inner rain of larger drops, which fell from trees and shrubs, after having previously hung from the twigs like small silver fruit.\n\"I must give you something to make you think of me during this autumn at your chambers,\" she was saying. \"What shall it be? Portraits do more harm than good, by selecting the worst expression of which your face is capable. Hair is unlucky. And you don't like jewellery.\"\n\"Something which shall bring back to my mind the many scenes we have enacted in this conservatory. I see what I should prize very much. That dwarf myrtle tree in the pot, which you have been so carefully tending.\"\nElfride looked thoughtfully at the myrtle.\n\"I can carry it comfortably in my hat box,\" said Knight. \"And I will put it in my window, and so, it being always before my eyes, I shall think of you continually.\"\nIt so happened that the myrtle which Knight had singled out had a peculiar beginning and history. It had originally been a twig worn in Stephen Smith's button-hole, and he had taken it thence, stuck it into the pot, and told her that if it grew, she was to take care of it, and keep it in remembrance of him when he was far away.\nShe looked wistfully at the plant, and a sense of fairness to Smith's memory caused her a pang of regret that Knight should have asked for that very one. It seemed exceeding a common heartlessness to let it go.\n\"Is there not anything you like better?\" she said sadly. \"That is only an ordinary myrtle.\"\n\"No: I am fond of myrtle.\" Seeing that she did not take kindly to the idea, he said again, \"Why do you object to my having that?\"\n\"Oh no—I don't object precisely—it was a feeling.—Ah, here's another cutting lately struck, and just as small—of a better kind, and with prettier leaves—myrtus microphylla.\"\n\"That will do nicely. Let it be put in my room, that I may not forget it. What romance attaches to the other?\"\n\"It was a gift to me.\"\nThe subject then dropped. Knight thought no more of the matter till, on entering his bedroom in the evening, he found the second myrtle placed upon his dressing-table as he had directed. He stood for a moment admiring the fresh appearance of the leaves by candlelight, and then he thought of the transaction of the day.\nMale lovers as well as female can be spoilt by too much kindness, and Elfride's uniform submissiveness had given Knight a rather exacting manner at crises, attached to her as he was. \"Why should she have refused the one I first chose?\" he now asked himself. Even such slight opposition as she had shown then was exceptional enough to make itself noticeable. He was not vexed with her in the least: the mere variation of her way to-day from her usual ways kept him musing on the subject, because it perplexed him. \"It was a gift\"—those were her words. Admitting it to be a gift, he thought she could hardly value a mere friend more than she valued him as a lover, and giving the plant into his charge would have made no difference. \"Except, indeed, it was the gift of a lover,\" he murmured.\n\"I wonder if Elfride has ever had a lover before?\" he said aloud, as a new idea, quite. This and companion thoughts were enough to occupy him completely till he fell asleep—rather later than usual.\nThe next day, when they were again alone, he said to her rather suddenly—\n\"Do you love me more or less, Elfie, for what I told you on board the steamer?\"\n\"You told me so many things,\" she returned, lifting her eyes to his and smiling.\n\"I mean the confession you coaxed out of me—that I had never been in the position of lover before.\"\n\"It is a satisfaction, I suppose, to be the first in your heart,\" she said to him, with an attempt to continue her smiling.\n\"I am going to ask you a question now,\" said Knight, somewhat awkwardly. \"I only ask it in a whimsical way, you know: not with great seriousness, Elfride. You may think it odd, perhaps.\"\nElfride tried desperately to keep the colour in her face. She could not, though distressed to think that getting pale showed consciousness of deeper guilt than merely getting red.\n\"Oh no—I shall not think that,\" she said, because obliged to say something to fill the pause which followed her questioner's remark.\n\"It is this: have you ever had a lover? I am almost sure you have not; but, have you?\"\n\"Not, as it were, a lover; I mean, not worth mentioning, Harry,\" she faltered.\nKnight, overstrained in sentiment as he knew the feeling to be, felt some sickness of heart.\n\"Still, he was a lover?\"\n\"Well, a sort of lover, I suppose,\" she responded tardily.\n\"A man, I mean, you know.\"\n\"Yes; but only a mere person, and——\"\n\"But truly your lover?\"\n\"Yes; a lover certainly—he was that. Yes, he might have been called my lover.\"\nKnight said nothing to this for a minute or more, and kept silent time with his finger to the tick of the old library clock, in which room the colloquy was going on.\n\"You don't mind, Harry, do you?\" she said anxiously, nestling close to him, and watching his face.\n\"Of course, I don't seriously mind. In reason, a man cannot object to such a trifle. I only thought you hadn't—that was all.\"\nHowever, one ray was abstracted from the glory about her head. But afterwards, when Knight was wandering by himself over the bare and breezy hills, and meditating on the subject, that ray suddenly returned. For she might have had a lover, and never have cared in the least for him. She might have used the word improperly, and meant \"admirer\" all the time. Of course she had been admired; and one man might have made his admiration more prominent than that of the rest—a very natural case.\nThey were sitting on one of the garden seats when he found occasion to put the supposition to the test. \"Did you love that lover or admirer of yours ever so little, Elfie?\"\nShe murmured reluctantly, \"Yes, I think I did.\"\nKnight felt the same faint touch of misery. \"Only a very little?\" he said.\n\"I am not sure how much.\"\n\"But you are sure, darling, you loved him a little?\"\n\"I think I am sure I loved him a little.\"\n\"And not a great deal, Elfie?\"\n\"My love was not supported by reverence for his powers.\"\n\"But, Elfride, did you love him deeply?\" said Knight restlessly.\n\"I don't exactly know how deep you mean by deeply.\"\n\"That's nonsense.\"", "chosen": "Even her ambiguities and espieglerie were but media of the same manifestation; acted charades, embodying the words of her prototype, the tender and susceptible daughter-in-law of Naomi: \"Let me find favour in thy sight, my lord; for that thou hast comforted me, and for that thou hast spoken friendly unto thine handmaid.\"\nShe was syringing the plants one wet day in the greenhouse.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nEven her ambiguities and espieglerie were but media of the same manifestation; acted charades, embodying the words of her prototype, the tender and susceptible daughter-in-law of Naomi: \"Let me find favour in thy sight, my lord; for that thou hast comforted me, and for that thou hast spoken friendly unto thine handmaid.\"\nShe was syringing the plants one wet day in the greenhouse.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-029-00-32093748", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIn the first fright and horror of her situation, Miss Pross passed the body as far from it as she could, and ran down the stairs to call for fruitless help. Happily, she bethought herself of the consequences of what she did, in time to check herself and go back. It was dreadful to go in at the door again; but, she did go in, and even went near it, to get the bonnet and other things that she must wear. These she put on, out on the staircase, first shutting and locking the door and taking away the key. She then sat down on the stairs a few moments to breathe and to cry, and then got up and hurried away.\nBy good fortune she had a veil on her bonnet, or she could hardly have gone along the streets without being stopped. By good fortune, too, she was naturally so peculiar in appearance as not to show disfigurement like any other woman. She needed both advantages, for the marks of gripping fingers were deep in her face, and her hair was torn, and her dress (hastily composed with unsteady hands) was clutched and dragged a hundred ways.\nIn crossing the bridge, she dropped the door key in the river. Arriving at the cathedral some few minutes before her escort, and waiting there, she thought, what if the key were already taken in a net, what if it were identified, what if the door were opened and the remains discovered, what if she were stopped at the gate, sent to prison, and charged with murder! In the midst of these fluttering thoughts, the escort appeared, took her in, and took her away.\n\"Is there any noise in the streets?\" she asked him.\n\"The usual noises,\" Mr. Cruncher replied; and looked surprised by the question and by her aspect.\n\"I don't hear you,\" said Miss Pross. \"What do you say?\"\nIt was in vain for Mr. Cruncher to repeat what he said; Miss Pross could not hear him. \"So I'll nod my head,\" thought Mr. Cruncher, amazed, \"at all events she'll see that.\" And she did.\n\"Is there any noise in the streets now?\" asked Miss Pross again, presently.\nAgain Mr. Cruncher nodded his head.\n\"I don't hear it.\"\n\"Gone deaf in an hour?\" said Mr. Cruncher, ruminating, with his mind much disturbed; \"wot's come to her?\"\n\"I feel,\" said Miss Pross, \"as if there had been a flash and a crash, and that crash was the last thing I should ever hear in this life.\"\n\"Blest if she ain't in a queer condition!\" said Mr. Cruncher, more and more disturbed. \"Wot can she have been a takin', to keep her courage up? Hark! There's the roll of them dreadful carts! You can hear that, miss?\"\n\"I can hear,\" said Miss Pross, seeing that he spoke to her, \"nothing. O, my good man, there was first a great crash, and then a great stillness, and that stillness seems to be fixed and unchangeable, never to be broken any more as long as my life lasts.\"\n\"If she don't hear the roll of those dreadful carts, now very nigh their journey's end,\" said Mr. Cruncher, glancing over his shoulder, \"it's my opinion that indeed she never will hear anything else in this world.\"\nAnd indeed she never did.", "chosen": "did", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\ndid\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-044-03-88685b52", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nM. Rivière was visibly touched and surprised. \"You're too kind. But I was only going to ask if you would tell me how to reach some sort of conveyance. There are no porters, and no one here seems to listen--\"\n\"I know: our American stations must surprise you. When you ask for a porter they give you chewing-gum. But if you'll come along I'll extricate you; and you must really lunch with me, you know.\"\nThe young man, after a just perceptible hesitation, replied, with profuse thanks, and in a tone that did not carry complete conviction, that he was already engaged; but when they had reached the comparative reassurance of the street he asked if he might call that afternoon.\nArcher, at ease in the midsummer leisure of the office, fixed an hour and scribbled his address, which the Frenchman pocketed with reiterated thanks and a wide flourish of his hat. A horse-car received him, and Archer walked away.\nPunctually at the hour M. Rivière appeared, shaved, smoothed-out, but still unmistakably drawn and serious. Archer was alone in his office, and the young man, before accepting the seat he proffered, began abruptly: \"I believe I saw you, sir, yesterday in Boston.\"\nThe statement was insignificant enough, and Archer was about to frame an assent when his words were checked by something mysterious yet illuminating in his visitor's insistent gaze.\n\"It is extraordinary, very extraordinary,\" M. Rivière continued, \"that we should have met in the circumstances in which I find myself.\"\n\"What circumstances?\" Archer asked, wondering a little crudely if he needed money.\nM. Rivière continued to study him with tentative eyes. \"I have come, not to look for employment, as I spoke of doing when we last met, but on a special mission--\"\n\"Ah--!\" Archer exclaimed. In a flash the two meetings had connected themselves in his mind. He paused to take in the situation thus suddenly lighted up for him, and M. Rivière also remained silent, as if aware that what he had said was enough.\n\"A special mission,\" Archer at length repeated.\nThe young Frenchman, opening his palms, raised them slightly, and the two men continued to look at each other across the office-desk till Archer roused himself to say: \"Do sit down\"; whereupon M. Rivière bowed, took a distant chair, and again waited.\n\"It was about this mission that you wanted to consult me?\" Archer finally asked.\nM. Rivière bent his head. \"Not in my own behalf: on that score I--I have fully dealt with myself. I should like--if I may--to speak to you about the Countess Olenska.\"\nArcher had known for the last few minutes that the words were coming; but when they came they sent the blood rushing to his temples as if he had been caught by a bent-back branch in a thicket.\n\"And on whose behalf,\" he said, \"do you wish to do this?\"\nM. Rivière met the question sturdily. \"Well--I might say hers, if it did not sound like a liberty. Shall I say instead: on behalf of abstract justice?\"\nArcher considered him ironically. \"In other words: you are Count Olenski's messenger?\"\nHe saw his blush more darkly reflected in M. Rivière's sallow countenance. \"Not to you, Monsieur. If I come to you, it is on quite other grounds.\"\n\"What right have you, in the circumstances, to be on any other ground?\" Archer retorted. \"If you're an emissary you're an emissary.\"\nThe young man considered. \"My mission is over: as far as the Countess Olenska goes, it has failed.\"\n\"I can't help that,\" Archer rejoined on the same note of irony.\n\"No: but you can help--\" M. Rivière paused, turned his hat about in his still carefully gloved hands, looked into its lining and then back at Archer's face. \"You can help, Monsieur, I am convinced, to make it equally a failure with her family.\"\nArcher pushed back his chair and stood up. \"Well--and by God I will!\" he exclaimed. He stood with his hands in his pockets, staring down wrathfully at the little Frenchman, whose face, though he too had risen, was still an inch or two below the line of Archer's eyes.\nM. Rivière paled to his normal hue: paler than that his complexion could hardly turn.\n\"Why the devil,\" Archer explosively continued, \"should you have thought--since I suppose you're appealing to me on the ground of my relationship to Madame Olenska--that I should take a view contrary to the rest of her family?\"\nThe change of expression in M. Rivière's face was for a time his only answer. His look passed from timidity to absolute distress: for a young man of his usually resourceful mien it would have been difficult to appear more disarmed and defenceless. \"Oh, Monsieur--\"\n\"I can't imagine,\" Archer continued, \"why you should have come to me when there are others so much nearer to the Countess; still less why you thought I should be more accessible to the arguments I suppose you were sent over with.\"\nM. Rivière took this onslaught with a disconcerting humility. \"The arguments I want to present to you, Monsieur, are my own and not those I was sent over with.\"\n\"Then I see still less reason for listening to them.\"\nM. Rivière again looked into his hat, as if considering whether these last words were not a sufficiently broad hint to put it on and be gone. Then he spoke with sudden decision. \"Monsieur--will you tell me one thing? Is it my right to be here that you question? Or do you perhaps believe the whole matter to be already closed?\"\nHis quiet insistence made Archer feel the clumsiness of his own bluster. M. Rivière had succeeded in imposing himself: Archer, reddening slightly, dropped into his chair again, and signed to the young man to be seated.\n\"I beg your pardon: but why isn't the matter closed?\"\nM. Rivière gazed back at him with anguish. \"You do, then, agree with the rest of the family that, in face of the new proposals I have brought, it is hardly possible for Madame Olenska not to return to her husband?\"\n\"Good God!\" Archer exclaimed; and his visitor gave out a low murmur of confirmation.\n\"Before seeing her, I saw--at Count Olenski's request--Mr. Lovell Mingott, with whom I had several talks before going to Boston. I understand that he represents his mother's view; and that Mrs. Manson Mingott's influence is great throughout her family.\"\nArcher sat silent, with the sense of clinging to the edge of a sliding precipice. The discovery that he had been excluded from a share in these negotiations, and even from the knowledge that they were on foot, caused him a surprise hardly dulled by the acuter wonder of what he was learning. He saw in a flash that if the family had ceased to consult him it was because some deep tribal instinct warned them that he was no longer on their side; and he recalled, with a start of comprehension, a remark of May's during their drive home from Mrs. Manson Mingott's on the day of the Archery Meeting: \"Perhaps, after all, Ellen would be happier with her husband.\"\nEven in the tumult of new discoveries Archer remembered his indignant exclamation, and the fact that since then his wife had never named Madame Olenska to him. Her careless allusion had no doubt been the straw held up to see which way the wind blew; the result had been reported to the family, and thereafter Archer had been tacitly omitted from their counsels. He admired the tribal discipline which made May bow to this decision. She would not have done so, he knew, had her conscience protested; but she probably shared the family view that Madame Olenska would be better off as an unhappy wife than as a separated one, and that there was no use in discussing the case with Newland, who had an awkward way of suddenly not seeming to take the most fundamental things for granted.\nArcher looked up and met his visitor's anxious gaze. \"Don't you know, Monsieur--is it possible you don't know--that the family begin to doubt if they have the right to advise the Countess to refuse her husband's last proposals?\"\n\"The proposals you brought?\"\n\"The proposals I brought.\"", "chosen": "[\"American\", \"Frenchman\", \"Archer\", \"Boston\", \"Not\", \"Countess\", \"Olenska\", \"Count\", \"Olenski\", \"Monsieur\", \"God\", \"Madame\", \"Good\", \"Before\", \"Mingott\", \"May\", \"Archery\", \"Meeting\", \"Perhaps\", \"Ellen\", \"Newland\", \"Don\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"American\", \"Frenchman\", \"Archer\", \"Boston\", \"Not\", \"Countess\", \"Olenska\", \"Count\", \"Olenski\", \"Monsieur\", \"God\", \"Madame\", \"Good\", \"Before\", \"Mingott\", \"May\", \"Archery\", \"Meeting\", \"Perhaps\", \"Ellen\", \"Newland\", \"Don\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-541-011-04-dac4d2c0", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nHe stood up at this, wandered across the room, stared with void eyes at one of the pictures against the old red damask, and came back irresolutely to her side. How could he say: \"Yes, if what your husband hints is true, or if you've no way of disproving it?\"\n\"Sincerely--\" she interjected, as he was about to speak.\nHe looked down into the fire. \"Sincerely, then--what should you gain that would compensate for the possibility--the certainty--of a lot of beastly talk?\"\n\"But my freedom--is that nothing?\"\nIt flashed across him at that instant that the charge in the letter was true, and that she hoped to marry the partner of her guilt. How was he to tell her that, if she really cherished such a plan, the laws of the State were inexorably opposed to it? The mere suspicion that the thought was in her mind made him feel harshly and impatiently toward her. \"But aren't you as free as air as it is?\" he returned. \"Who can touch you? Mr. Letterblair tells me the financial question has been settled--\"\n\"Oh, yes,\" she said indifferently.\n\"Well, then: is it worth while to risk what may be infinitely disagreeable and painful? Think of the newspapers--their vileness! It's all stupid and narrow and unjust--but one can't make over society.\"\n\"No,\" she acquiesced; and her tone was so faint and desolate that he felt a sudden remorse for his own hard thoughts.\n\"The individual, in such cases, is nearly always sacrificed to what is supposed to be the collective interest: people cling to any convention that keeps the family together--protects the children, if there are any,\" he rambled on, pouring out all the stock phrases that rose to his lips in his intense desire to cover over the ugly reality which her silence seemed to have laid bare. Since she would not or could not say the one word that would have cleared the air, his wish was not to let her feel that he was trying to probe into her secret. Better keep on the surface, in the prudent old New York way, than risk uncovering a wound he could not heal.\n\"It's my business, you know,\" he went on, \"to help you to see these things as the people who are fondest of you see them. The Mingotts, the Wellands, the van der Luydens, all your friends and relations: if I didn't show you honestly how they judge such questions, it wouldn't be fair of me, would it?\" He spoke insistently, almost pleading with her in his eagerness to cover up that yawning silence.\nShe said slowly: \"No; it wouldn't be fair.\"\nThe fire had crumbled down to greyness, and one of the lamps made a gurgling appeal for attention. Madame Olenska rose, wound it up and returned to the fire, but without resuming her seat.\nHer remaining on her feet seemed to signify that there was nothing more for either of them to say, and Archer stood up also.\n\"Very well; I will do what you wish,\" she said abruptly. The blood rushed to his forehead; and, taken aback by the suddenness of her surrender, he caught her two hands awkwardly in his.\n\"I--I do want to help you,\" he said.\n\"You do help me. Good night, my cousin.\"\nHe bent and laid his lips on her hands, which were cold and lifeless. She drew them away, and he turned to the door, found his coat and hat under the faint gas-light of the hall, and plunged out into the winter night bursting with the belated eloquence of the inarticulate.", "chosen": "He, How, He, Sincerely,, How, The, But, Who, Mr., Letterblair, Well,, Think, It's, The, Since, Better, It's, The, She, Madame, Her, Very, The, I--I, You, Good, She", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nHe, How, He, Sincerely,, How, The, But, Who, Mr., Letterblair, Well,, Think, It's, The, Since, Better, It's, The, She, Madame, Her, Very, The, I--I, You, Good, She\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-541-005-04-60d7efb9", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nIn the five minutes' drive to the Hospital she had time for some reflections that were quite new to her. Her decision to go, and her preoccupation in leaving the room, had come from the sudden sense that there would be a sort of deception in her voluntarily allowing any further intercourse between herself and Will which she was unable to mention to her husband, and already her errand in seeking Lydgate was a matter of concealment. That was all that had been explicitly in her mind; but she had been urged also by a vague discomfort. Now that she was alone in her drive, she heard the notes of the man's voice and the accompanying piano, which she had not noted much at the time, returning on her inward sense; and she found herself thinking with some wonder that Will Ladislaw was passing his time with Mrs. Lydgate in her husband's absence. And then she could not help remembering that he had passed some time with her under like circumstances, so why should there be any unfitness in the fact? But Will was Mr. Casaubon's relative, and one towards whom she was bound to show kindness. Still there had been signs which perhaps she ought to have understood as implying that Mr. Casaubon did not like his cousin's visits during his own absence. \"Perhaps I have been mistaken in many things,\" said poor Dorothea to herself, while the tears came rolling and she had to dry them quickly. She felt confusedly unhappy, and the image of Will which had been so clear to her before was mysteriously spoiled. But the carriage stopped at the gate of the Hospital. She was soon walking round the grass plots with Lydgate, and her feelings recovered the strong bent which had made her seek for this interview.\nWill Ladislaw, meanwhile, was mortified, and knew the reason of it clearly enough. His chances of meeting Dorothea were rare; and here for the first time there had come a chance which had set him at a disadvantage. It was not only, as it had been hitherto, that she was not supremely occupied with him, but that she had seen him under circumstances in which he might appear not to be supremely occupied with her. He felt thrust to a new distance from her, amongst the circles of Middlemarchers who made no part of her life. But that was not his fault: of course, since he had taken his lodgings in the town, he had been making as many acquaintances as he could, his position requiring that he should know everybody and everything. Lydgate was really better worth knowing than any one else in the neighborhood, and he happened to have a wife who was musical and altogether worth calling upon. Here was the whole history of the situation in which Diana had descended too unexpectedly on her worshipper. It was mortifying. Will was conscious that he should not have been at Middlemarch but for Dorothea; and yet his position there was threatening to divide him from her with those barriers of habitual sentiment which are more fatal to the persistence of mutual interest than all the distance between Rome and Britain. Prejudices about rank and status were easy enough to defy in the form of a tyrannical letter from Mr. Casaubon; but prejudices, like odorous bodies, have a double existence both solid and subtle—solid as the pyramids, subtle as the twentieth echo of an echo, or as the memory of hyacinths which once scented the darkness. And Will was of a temperament to feel keenly the presence of subtleties: a man of clumsier perceptions would not have felt, as he did, that for the first time some sense of unfitness in perfect freedom with him had sprung up in Dorothea's mind, and that their silence, as he conducted her to the carriage, had had a chill in it. Perhaps Casaubon, in his hatred and jealousy, had been insisting to Dorothea that Will had slid below her socially. Confound Casaubon!\nWill re-entered the drawing-room, took up his hat, and looking irritated as he advanced towards Mrs. Lydgate, who had seated herself at her work-table, said—\n\"It is always fatal to have music or poetry interrupted. May I come another day and just finish about the rendering of 'Lungi dal caro bene'?\"\n\"I shall be happy to be taught,\" said Rosamond. \"But I am sure you admit that the interruption was a very beautiful one. I quite envy your acquaintance with Mrs. Casaubon. Is she very clever? She looks as if she were.\"\n\"Really, I never thought about it,\" said Will, sulkily.\n\"That is just the answer Tertius gave me, when I first asked him if she were handsome. What is it that you gentlemen are thinking of when you are with Mrs. Casaubon?\"\n\"Herself,\" said Will, not indisposed to provoke the charming Mrs. Lydgate. \"When one sees a perfect woman, one never thinks of her attributes—one is conscious of her presence.\"\n\"I shall be jealous when Tertius goes to Lowick,\" said Rosamond, dimpling, and speaking with aery lightness. \"He will come back and think nothing of me.\"\n\"That does not seem to have been the effect on Lydgate hitherto. Mrs. Casaubon is too unlike other women for them to be compared with her.\"\n\"You are a devout worshipper, I perceive. You often see her, I suppose.\"\n\"No,\" said Will, almost pettishly. \"Worship is usually a matter of theory rather than of practice. But I am practising it to excess just at this moment—I must really tear myself away.\"\n\"Pray come again some evening: Mr. Lydgate will like to hear the music, and I cannot enjoy it so well without him.\"\nWhen her husband was at home again, Rosamond said, standing in front of him and holding his coat-collar with both her hands, \"Mr. Ladislaw was here singing with me when Mrs. Casaubon came in. He seemed vexed. Do you think he disliked her seeing him at our house? Surely your position is more than equal to his—whatever may be his relation to the Casaubons.\"\n\"No, no; it must be something else if he were really vexed. Ladislaw is a sort of gypsy; he thinks nothing of leather and prunella.\"\n\"Music apart, he is not always very agreeable. Do you like him?\"\n\"Yes: I think he is a good fellow: rather miscellaneous and bric-a-brac, but likable.\"\n\"Do you know, I think he adores Mrs. Casaubon.\"\n\"Poor devil!\" said Lydgate, smiling and pinching his wife's ears.\nRosamond felt herself beginning to know a great deal of the world, especially in discovering what when she was in her unmarried girlhood had been inconceivable to her except as a dim tragedy in by-gone costumes—that women, even after marriage, might make conquests and enslave men. At that time young ladies in the country, even when educated at Mrs. Lemon's, read little French literature later than Racine, and public prints had not cast their present magnificent illumination over the scandals of life. Still, vanity, with a woman's whole mind and day to work in, can construct abundantly on slight hints, especially on such a hint as the possibility of indefinite conquests. How delightful to make captives from the throne of marriage with a husband as crown-prince by your side—himself in fact a subject—while the captives look up forever hopeless, losing their rest probably, and if their appetite too, so much the better! But Rosamond's romance turned at present chiefly on her crown-prince, and it was enough to enjoy his assured subjection. When he said, \"Poor devil!\" she asked, with playful curiosity—\n\"Why so?\"\n\"Why, what can a man do when he takes to adoring one of you mermaids? He only neglects his work and runs up bills.\"\n\"I am sure you do not neglect your work. You are always at the Hospital, or seeing poor patients, or thinking about some doctor's quarrel; and then at home you always want to pore over your microscope and phials. Confess you like those things better than me.\"\n\"Haven't you ambition enough to wish that your husband should be something better than a Middlemarch doctor?\" said Lydgate, letting his hands fall on to his wife's shoulders, and looking at her with affectionate gravity. \"I shall make you learn my favorite bit from an old poet—", "chosen": "67", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n67\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-043-01-c1709d30", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nVery shortly after getting his four-year-old Mitya off his hands Fyodor Pavlovitch married a second time. His second marriage lasted eight years. He took this second wife, Sofya Ivanovna, also a very young girl, from another province, where he had gone upon some small piece of business in company with a Jew. Though Fyodor Pavlovitch was a drunkard and a vicious debauchee he never neglected investing his capital, and managed his business affairs very successfully, though, no doubt, not over-scrupulously. Sofya Ivanovna was the daughter of an obscure deacon, and was left from childhood an orphan without relations. She grew up in the house of a general's widow, a wealthy old lady of good position, who was at once her benefactress and tormentor. I do not know the details, but I have only heard that the orphan girl, a meek and gentle creature, was once cut down from a halter in which she was hanging from a nail in the loft, so terrible were her sufferings from the caprice and everlasting nagging of this old woman, who was apparently not bad-hearted but had become an insufferable tyrant through idleness.\nFyodor Pavlovitch made her an offer; inquiries were made about him and he was refused. But again, as in his first marriage, he proposed an elopement to the orphan girl. There is very little doubt that she would not on any account have married him if she had known a little more about him in time. But she lived in another province; besides, what could a little girl of sixteen know about it, except that she would be better at the bottom of the river than remaining with her benefactress. So the poor child exchanged a benefactress for a benefactor. Fyodor Pavlovitch did not get a penny this time, for the general's widow was furious. She gave them nothing and cursed them both. But he had not reckoned on a dowry; what allured him was the remarkable beauty of the innocent girl, above all her innocent appearance, which had a peculiar attraction for a vicious profligate, who had hitherto admired only the coarser types of feminine beauty.\n\"Those innocent eyes slit my soul up like a razor,\" he used to say afterwards, with his loathsome snigger. In a man so depraved this might, of course, mean no more than sensual attraction. As he had received no dowry with his wife, and had, so to speak, taken her \"from the halter,\" he did not stand on ceremony with her. Making her feel that she had \"wronged\" him, he took advantage of her phenomenal meekness and submissiveness to trample on the elementary decencies of marriage. He gathered loose women into his house, and carried on orgies of debauchery in his wife's presence. To show what a pass things had come to, I may mention that Grigory, the gloomy, stupid, obstinate, argumentative servant, who had always hated his first mistress, Adelaïda Ivanovna, took the side of his new mistress. He championed her cause, abusing Fyodor Pavlovitch in a manner little befitting a servant, and on one occasion broke up the revels and drove all the disorderly women out of the house. In the end this unhappy young woman, kept in terror from her childhood, fell into that kind of nervous disease which is most frequently found in peasant women who are said to be \"possessed by devils.\" At times after terrible fits of hysterics she even lost her reason. Yet she bore Fyodor Pavlovitch two sons, Ivan and Alexey, the eldest in the first year of marriage and the second three years later. When she died, little Alexey was in his fourth year, and, strange as it seems, I know that he remembered his mother all his life, like a dream, of course. At her death almost exactly the same thing happened to the two little boys as to their elder brother, Mitya. They were completely forgotten and abandoned by their father. They were looked after by the same Grigory and lived in his cottage, where they were found by the tyrannical old lady who had brought up their mother. She was still alive, and had not, all those eight years, forgotten the insult done her. All that time she was obtaining exact information as to her Sofya's manner of life, and hearing of her illness and hideous surroundings she declared aloud two or three times to her retainers:\n\"It serves her right. God has punished her for her ingratitude.\"\nExactly three months after Sofya Ivanovna's death the general's widow suddenly appeared in our town, and went straight to Fyodor Pavlovitch's house. She spent only half an hour in the town but she did a great deal. It was evening. Fyodor Pavlovitch, whom she had not seen for those eight years, came in to her drunk. The story is that instantly upon seeing him, without any sort of explanation, she gave him two good, resounding slaps on the face, seized him by a tuft of hair, and shook him three times up and down. Then, without a word, she went straight to the cottage to the two boys. Seeing, at the first glance, that they were unwashed and in dirty linen, she promptly gave Grigory, too, a box on the ear, and announcing that she would carry off both the children she wrapped them just as they were in a rug, put them in the carriage, and drove off to her own town. Grigory accepted the blow like a devoted slave, without a word, and when he escorted the old lady to her carriage he made her a low bow and pronounced impressively that, \"God would repay her for the orphans.\" \"You are a blockhead all the same,\" the old lady shouted to him as she drove away.\nFyodor Pavlovitch, thinking it over, decided that it was a good thing, and did not refuse the general's widow his formal consent to any proposition in regard to his children's education. As for the slaps she had given him, he drove all over the town telling the story.", "chosen": "I do not know the details, but I have only heard that the orphan girl, a meek and gentle creature, was once cut down from a halter in which she was hanging from a nail in the loft, so terrible were her sufferings from the caprice and everlasting nagging of this old woman, who was apparently not bad-hearted but had become an insufferable tyrant through idleness.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nI do not know the details, but I have only heard that the orphan girl, a meek and gentle creature, was once cut down from a halter in which she was hanging from a nail in the loft, so terrible were her sufferings from the caprice and everlasting nagging of this old woman, who was apparently not bad-hearted but had become an insufferable tyrant through idleness.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-003-00-5b9e5a95", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Then I will!\" he rejoined, with that singular earnestness about a small matter—in the eyes of a ladies' man but a momentary peg for flirtation or jest—which is only found in deep natures who have been wholly unused to toying with womankind, and which, from its unwontedness, is in itself a tribute the most precious that can be rendered, and homage the most exquisite to be received.\n\"And you shall,\" she whispered, without reserve, and no longer mistress of the ceremonies. And then Elfride inclined herself towards him, thrust back her hair, and poised her head sideways. In doing this her arm and shoulder necessarily rested against his breast.\nAt the touch, the sensation of both seemed to be concentrated at the point of contact. All the time he was performing the delicate manoeuvre Knight trembled like a young surgeon in his first operation.\n\"Now the other,\" said Knight in a whisper.\n\"No, no.\"\n\"Why not?\"\n\"I don't know exactly.\"\n\"You must know.\"\n\"Your touch agitates me so. Let us go home.\"\n\"Don't say that, Elfride. What is it, after all? A mere nothing. Now turn round, dearest.\"\nShe was powerless to disobey, and turned forthwith; and then, without any defined intention in either's mind, his face and hers drew closer together; and he supported her there, and kissed her.\nKnight was at once the most ardent and the coolest man alive. When his emotions slumbered he appeared almost phlegmatic; when they were moved he was no less than passionate. And now, without having quite intended an early marriage, he put the question plainly. It came with all the ardour which was the accumulation of long years behind a natural reserve.\n\"Elfride, when shall we be married?\"\nThe words were sweet to her; but there was a bitter in the sweet. These newly-overt acts of his, which had culminated in this plain question, coming on the very day of Mrs. Jethway's blasting reproaches, painted distinctly her fickleness as an enormity. Loving him in secret had not seemed such thorough-going inconstancy as the same love recognized and acted upon in the face of threats. Her distraction was interpreted by him at her side as the outward signs of an unwonted experience.\n\"I don't press you for an answer now, darling,\" he said, seeing she was not likely to give a lucid reply. \"Take your time.\"\nKnight was as honourable a man as was ever loved and deluded by woman. It may be said that his blindness in love proved the point, for shrewdness in love usually goes with meanness in general. Once the passion had mastered him, the intellect had gone for naught. Knight, as a lover, was more single-minded and far simpler than his friend Stephen, who in other capacities was shallow beside him.\nWithout saying more on the subject of their marriage, Knight held her at arm's length, as if she had been a large bouquet, and looked at her with critical affection.\n\"Does your pretty gift become me?\" she inquired, with tears of excitement on the fringes of her eyes.\n\"Undoubtedly, perfectly!\" said her lover, adopting a lighter tone to put her at her ease. \"Ah, you should see them; you look shinier than ever. Fancy that I have been able to improve you!\"\n\"Am I really so nice? I am glad for your sake. I wish I could see myself.\"\n\"You can't. You must wait till we get home.\"\n\"I shall never be able,\" she said, laughing. \"Look: here's a way.\"\n\"So there is. Well done, woman's wit!\"\n\"Hold me steady!\"\n\"Oh yes.\"\n\"And don't let me fall, will you?\"\n\"By no means.\"\nBelow their seat the thread of water paused to spread out into a smooth small pool. Knight supported her whilst she knelt down and leant over it.\n\"I can see myself. Really, try as religiously as I will, I cannot help admiring my appearance in them.\"\n\"Doubtless. How can you be so fond of finery? I believe you are corrupting me into a taste for it. I used to hate every such thing before I knew you.\"\n\"I like ornaments, because I want people to admire what you possess, and envy you, and say, 'I wish I was he.'\"\n\"I suppose I ought not to object after that. And how much longer are you going to look in there at yourself?\"\n\"Until you are tired of holding me? Oh, I want to ask you something.\" And she turned round. \"Now tell truly, won't you? What colour of hair do you like best now?\"\nKnight did not answer at the moment.\n\"Say light, do!\" she whispered coaxingly. \"Don't say dark, as you did that time.\"\n\"Light-brown, then. Exactly the colour of my sweetheart's.\"\n\"Really?\" said Elfride, enjoying as truth what she knew to be flattery.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"And blue eyes, too, not hazel? Say yes, say yes!\"\n\"One recantation is enough for to-day.\"\n\"No, no.\"\n\"Very well, blue eyes.\" And Knight laughed, and drew her close and kissed her the second time, which operations he performed with the carefulness of a fruiterer touching a bunch of grapes so as not to disturb their bloom.\nElfride objected to a second, and flung away her face, the movement causing a slight disarrangement of hat and hair. Hardly thinking what she said in the trepidation of the moment, she exclaimed, clapping her hand to her ear—\n\"Ah, we must be careful! I lost the other earring doing like this.\"\nNo sooner did she realise the significant words than a troubled look passed across her face, and she shut her lips as if to keep them back.\n\"Doing like what?\" said Knight, perplexed.\n\"Oh, sitting down out of doors,\" she replied hastily.", "chosen": "hastily", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nhastily\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-027-02-200c2b3a", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Well, we hollered and took on, but it's so wide there we couldn't make nobody hear. So pap said somebody got to get ashore and get help somehow. I was the only one that could swim, so I made a dash for it, and Miss Hooker she said if I didn't strike help sooner, come here and hunt up her uncle, and he'd fix the thing. I made the land about a mile below, and been fooling along ever since, trying to get people to do something, but they said, 'What, in such a night and such a current? There ain't no sense in it; go for the steam ferry.' Now if you'll go and—\"\n\"By Jackson, I'd like to, and, blame it, I don't know but I will; but who in the dingnation's a-going' to pay for it? Do you reckon your pap—\"\n\"Why that's all right. Miss Hooker she tole me, particular, that her uncle Hornback—\"\n\"Great guns! is he her uncle? Looky here, you break for that light over yonder-way, and turn out west when you git there, and about a quarter of a mile out you'll come to the tavern; tell 'em to dart you out to Jim Hornback's, and he'll foot the bill. And don't you fool around any, because he'll want to know the news. Tell him I'll have his niece all safe before he can get to town. Hump yourself, now; I'm a-going up around the corner here to roust out my engineer.\"\nI struck for the light, but as soon as he turned the corner I went back and got into my skiff and bailed her out, and then pulled up shore in the easy water about six hundred yards, and tucked myself in among some woodboats; for I couldn't rest easy till I could see the ferry-boat start. But take it all around, I was feeling ruther comfortable on accounts of taking all this trouble for that gang, for not many would a done it. I wished the widow knowed about it. I judged she would be proud of me for helping these rapscallions, because rapscallions and dead beats is the kind the widow and good people takes the most interest in.\nWell, before long, here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, sliding along down! A kind of cold shiver went through me, and then I struck out for her. She was very deep, and I see in a minute there warn't much chance for anybody being alive in her. I pulled all around her and hollered a little, but there wasn't any answer; all dead still. I felt a little bit heavy-hearted about the gang, but not much, for I reckoned if they could stand it, I could.\nThen here comes the ferry-boat; so I shoved for the middle of the river on a long down-stream slant; and when I judged I was out of eye-reach, I laid on my oars, and looked back and see her go and smell around the wreck for Miss Hooker's remainders, because the captain would know her uncle Hornback would want them; and then pretty soon the ferry-boat give it up and went for the shore, and I laid into my work and went a-booming down the river.\nIt did seem a powerful long time before Jim's light showed up; and when it did show, it looked like it was a thousand mile off. By the time I got there the sky was beginning to get a little gray in the east; so we struck for an island, and hid the raft, and sunk the skiff, and turned in and slept like dead people.", "chosen": "[\"Hooker\", \"Jackson\", \"Hornback\", \"Great\", \"Jim\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Hooker\", \"Jackson\", \"Hornback\", \"Great\", \"Jim\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-76-013-01-6fc8a261", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Neither,\" said Dorothea. \"James spoke out of delicacy to me, but he was mistaken in supposing that I minded what Mrs. Cadwallader said. I should only mind if there were a law obliging me to take any piece of blood and beauty that she or anybody else recommended.\"\n\"But you know, Dodo, if you ever did marry, it would be all the better to have blood and beauty,\" said Celia, reflecting that Mr. Casaubon had not been richly endowed with those gifts, and that it would be well to caution Dorothea in time.\n\"Don't be anxious, Kitty; I have quite other thoughts about my life. I shall never marry again,\" said Dorothea, touching her sister's chin, and looking at her with indulgent affection. Celia was nursing her baby, and Dorothea had come to say good-night to her.\n\"Really—quite?\" said Celia. \"Not anybody at all—if he were very wonderful indeed?\"\nDorothea shook her head slowly. \"Not anybody at all. I have delightful plans. I should like to take a great deal of land, and drain it, and make a little colony, where everybody should work, and all the work should be done well. I should know every one of the people and be their friend. I am going to have great consultations with Mr. Garth: he can tell me almost everything I want to know.\"\n\"Then you will be happy, if you have a plan, Dodo?\" said Celia. \"Perhaps little Arthur will like plans when he grows up, and then he can help you.\"\nSir James was informed that same night that Dorothea was really quite set against marrying anybody at all, and was going to take to \"all sorts of plans,\" just like what she used to have. Sir James made no remark. To his secret feeling there was something repulsive in a woman's second marriage, and no match would prevent him from feeling it a sort of desecration for Dorothea. He was aware that the world would regard such a sentiment as preposterous, especially in relation to a woman of one-and-twenty; the practice of \"the world\" being to treat of a young widow's second marriage as certain and probably near, and to smile with meaning if the widow acts accordingly. But if Dorothea did choose to espouse her solitude, he felt that the resolution would well become her.", "chosen": "Neither,\", James, Cadwallader, I, Casaubon, Don't, I, Celia, Really—quite?\", Not, Not, I, I, I, I, Garth:, Perhaps, Sir, To, He, But", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nNeither,\", James, Cadwallader, I, Casaubon, Don't, I, Celia, Really—quite?\", Not, Not, I, I, I, I, Garth:, Perhaps, Sir, To, He, But\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-055-01-1499578f", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nOf the pride of Satan what I think is this: it is hard for us on earth to comprehend it, and therefore it is so easy to fall into error and to share it, even imagining that we are doing something grand and fine. Indeed, many of the strongest feelings and movements of our nature we cannot comprehend on earth. Let not that be a stumbling-block, and think not that it may serve as a justification to you for anything. For the Eternal Judge asks of you what you can comprehend and not what you cannot. You will know that yourself hereafter, for you will behold all things truly then and will not dispute them. On earth, indeed, we are as it were astray, and if it were not for the precious image of Christ before us, we should be undone and altogether lost, as was the human race before the flood. Much on earth is hidden from us, but to make up for that we have been given a precious mystic sense of our living bond with the other world, with the higher heavenly world, and the roots of our thoughts and feelings are not here but in other worlds. That is why the philosophers say that we cannot apprehend the reality of things on earth.\nGod took seeds from different worlds and sowed them on this earth, and His garden grew up and everything came up that could come up, but what grows lives and is alive only through the feeling of its contact with other mysterious worlds. If that feeling grows weak or is destroyed in you, the heavenly growth will die away in you. Then you will be indifferent to life and even grow to hate it. That's what I think.\n(h) Can a Man judge his Fellow Creatures? Faith to the End\nRemember particularly that you cannot be a judge of any one. For no one can judge a criminal, until he recognizes that he is just such a criminal as the man standing before him, and that he perhaps is more than all men to blame for that crime. When he understands that, he will be able to be a judge. Though that sounds absurd, it is true. If I had been righteous myself, perhaps there would have been no criminal standing before me. If you can take upon yourself the crime of the criminal your heart is judging, take it at once, suffer for him yourself, and let him go without reproach. And even if the law itself makes you his judge, act in the same spirit so far as possible, for he will go away and condemn himself more bitterly than you have done. If, after your kiss, he goes away untouched, mocking at you, do not let that be a stumbling-block to you. It shows his time has not yet come, but it will come in due course. And if it come not, no matter; if not he, then another in his place will understand and suffer, and judge and condemn himself, and the truth will be fulfilled. Believe that, believe it without doubt; for in that lies all the hope and faith of the saints.\nWork without ceasing. If you remember in the night as you go to sleep, \"I have not done what I ought to have done,\" rise up at once and do it. If the people around you are spiteful and callous and will not hear you, fall down before them and beg their forgiveness; for in truth you are to blame for their not wanting to hear you. And if you cannot speak to them in their bitterness, serve them in silence and in humility, never losing hope. If all men abandon you and even drive you away by force, then when you are left alone fall on the earth and kiss it, water it with your tears and it will bring forth fruit even though no one has seen or heard you in your solitude. Believe to the end, even if all men went astray and you were left the only one faithful; bring your offering even then and praise God in your loneliness. And if two of you are gathered together—then there is a whole world, a world of living love. Embrace each other tenderly and praise God, for if only in you two His truth has been fulfilled.\nIf you sin yourself and grieve even unto death for your sins or for your sudden sin, then rejoice for others, rejoice for the righteous man, rejoice that if you have sinned, he is righteous and has not sinned.\nIf the evil-doing of men moves you to indignation and overwhelming distress, even to a desire for vengeance on the evil-doers, shun above all things that feeling. Go at once and seek suffering for yourself, as though you were yourself guilty of that wrong. Accept that suffering and bear it and your heart will find comfort, and you will understand that you too are guilty, for you might have been a light to the evil-doers, even as the one man sinless, and you were not a light to them. If you had been a light, you would have lightened the path for others too, and the evil-doer might perhaps have been saved by your light from his sin. And even though your light was shining, yet you see men were not saved by it, hold firm and doubt not the power of the heavenly light. Believe that if they were not saved, they will be saved hereafter. And if they are not saved hereafter, then their sons will be saved, for your light will not die even when you are dead. The righteous man departs, but his light remains. Men are always saved after the death of the deliverer. Men reject their prophets and slay them, but they love their martyrs and honor those whom they have slain. You are working for the whole, you are acting for the future. Seek no reward, for great is your reward on this earth: the spiritual joy which is only vouchsafed to the righteous man. Fear not the great nor the mighty, but be wise and ever serene. Know the measure, know the times, study that. When you are left alone, pray. Love to throw yourself on the earth and kiss it. Kiss the earth and love it with an unceasing, consuming love. Love all men, love everything. Seek that rapture and ecstasy. Water the earth with the tears of your joy and love those tears. Don't be ashamed of that ecstasy, prize it, for it is a gift of God and a great one; it is not given to many but only to the elect.\n(i) Of Hell and Hell Fire, a Mystic Reflection", "chosen": "55", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n55\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-28054-039-03-36428942", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nHalf-an-hour later, the carriage drove off with the elderly gentleman, and two or three messengers left the house, speeding in various directions. Rustics in smock-frocks began to hang about the road opposite the house, or lean against trees, looking idly at the windows and chimneys.\nA tap came to Cytherea's door. She opened it to a young maid-servant.\n'Miss Aldclyffe wishes to see you, ma'am.' Cytherea hastened down.\nMiss Aldclyffe was standing on the hearthrug, her elbow on the mantel, her hand to her temples, her eyes on the ground; perfectly calm, but very pale.\n'Cytherea,' she said in a whisper, 'come here.'\nCytherea went close.\n'Something very serious has taken place,' she said again, and then paused, with a tremulous movement of her mouth.\n'Yes,' said Cytherea.\n'My father. He was found dead in his bed this morning.'\n'Dead!' echoed the younger woman. It seemed impossible that the announcement could be true; that knowledge of so great a fact could be contained in a statement so small.\n'Yes, dead,' murmured Miss Aldclyffe solemnly. 'He died alone, though within a few feet of me. The room we slept in is exactly over his own.'\nCytherea said hurriedly, 'Do they know at what hour?'\n'The doctor says it must have been between two and three o'clock this morning.'\n'Then I heard him!'\n'Heard him?'\n'Heard him die!'\n'You heard him die? What did you hear?'\n'A sound I heard once before in my life--at the deathbed of my mother. I could not identify it--though I recognized it. Then the dog howled: you remarked it. I did not think it worth while to tell you what I had heard a little earlier.' She looked agonized.\n'It would have been useless,' said Miss Aldclyffe. 'All was over by that time.' She addressed herself as much as Cytherea when she continued, 'Is it a Providence who sent you here at this juncture that I might not be left entirely alone?'\nTill this instant Miss Aldclyffe had forgotten the reason of Cytherea's seclusion in her own room. So had Cytherea herself. The fact now recurred to both in one moment.\n'Do you still wish to go?' said Miss Aldclyffe anxiously.\n'I don't want to go now,' Cytherea had remarked simultaneously with the other's question. She was pondering on the strange likeness which Miss Aldclyffe's bereavement bore to her own; it had the appearance of being still another call to her not to forsake this woman so linked to her life, for the sake of any trivial vexation.\nMiss Aldclyffe held her almost as a lover would have held her, and said musingly--\n'We get more and more into one groove. I now am left fatherless and motherless as you were.' Other ties lay behind in her thoughts, but she did not mention them.\n'You loved your father, Cytherea, and wept for him?'\n'Yes, I did. Poor papa!'\n'I was always at variance with mine, and can't weep for him now! But you must stay here always, and make a better woman of me.'\nThe compact was thus sealed, and Cytherea, in spite of the failure of her advertisements, was installed as a veritable Companion. And, once more in the history of human endeavour, a position which it was impossible to reach by any direct attempt, was come to by the seeker's swerving from the path, and regarding the original object as one of secondary importance.", "chosen": "'All was over by that time.' She addressed herself as much as Cytherea when she continued, 'Is it a Providence who sent you here at this juncture that I might not be left entirely alone?'\nTill this instant Miss Aldclyffe had forgotten the reason of Cytherea's seclusion in her own room.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n'All was over by that time.' She addressed herself as much as Cytherea when she continued, 'Is it a Providence who sent you here at this juncture that I might not be left entirely alone?'\nTill this instant Miss Aldclyffe had forgotten the reason of Cytherea's seclusion in her own room.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-3044-006-05-031527fe", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe sudden heat of his tone made her colour mount again, not with a rush, but gradually, delicately, like the reflection of a thought stealing slowly across her heart. She sat silent, her hands clasped on her work, and it seemed to him that a warm current flowed toward him along the strip of stuff that still lay unrolled between them. Cautiously he slid his hand palm-downward along the table till his finger-tips touched the end of the stuff. A faint vibration of her lashes seemed to show that she was aware of his gesture, and that it had sent a counter-current back to her; and she let her hands lie motionless on the other end of the strip.\nAs they sat thus he heard a sound behind him and turned his head. The cat had jumped from Zeena's chair to dart at a mouse in the wainscot, and as a result of the sudden movement the empty chair had set up a spectral rocking.\n\"She'll be rocking in it herself this time to-morrow,\" Ethan thought. \"I've been in a dream, and this is the only evening we'll ever have together.\" The return to reality was as painful as the return to consciousness after taking an anaesthetic. His body and brain ached with indescribable weariness, and he could think of nothing to say or to do that should arrest the mad flight of the moments.\nHis alteration of mood seemed to have communicated itself to Mattie. She looked up at him languidly, as though her lids were weighted with sleep and it cost her an effort to raise them. Her glance fell on his hand, which now completely covered the end of her work and grasped it as if it were a part of herself. He saw a scarcely perceptible tremor cross her face, and without knowing what he did he stooped his head and kissed the bit of stuff in his hold. As his lips rested on it he felt it glide slowly from beneath them, and saw that Mattie had risen and was silently rolling up her work. She fastened it with a pin, and then, finding her thimble and scissors, put them with the roll of stuff into the box covered with fancy paper which he had once brought to her from Bettsbridge.\nHe stood up also, looking vaguely about the room. The clock above the dresser struck eleven.\n\"Is the fire all right?\" she asked in a low voice.\nHe opened the door of the stove and poked aimlessly at the embers. When he raised himself again he saw that she was dragging toward the stove the old soap-box lined with carpet in which the cat made its bed. Then she recrossed the floor and lifted two of the geranium pots in her arms, moving them away from the cold window. He followed her and brought the other geraniums, the hyacinth bulbs in a cracked custard bowl and the German ivy trained over an old croquet hoop.\nWhen these nightly duties were performed there was nothing left to do but to bring in the tin candlestick from the passage, light the candle and blow out the lamp. Ethan put the candlestick in Mattie's hand and she went out of the kitchen ahead of him, the light that she carried before her making her dark hair look like a drift of mist on the moon.\n\"Good night, Matt,\" he said as she put her foot on the first step of the stairs.\nShe turned and looked at him a moment. \"Good night, Ethan,\" she answered, and went up.\nWhen the door of her room had closed on her he remembered that he had not even touched her hand.", "chosen": "[\"She'll be rocking in it herself this time to-morrow,\", \"I've been in a dream, and this is the only evening we'll ever have together.\", \"Is the fire all right?\", \"Good night, Matt,\", \"Good night, Ethan,\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"She'll be rocking in it herself this time to-morrow,\", \"I've been in a dream, and this is the only evening we'll ever have together.\", \"Is the fire all right?\", \"Good night, Matt,\", \"Good night, Ethan,\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-4517-006-01-de71b465", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"That my father,\" said Lucie, hurriedly taking the paper from her breast, but with her alarmed eyes on her questioner and not on it, \"has much influence around him.\"\n\"Surely it will release him!\" said Madame Defarge. \"Let it do so.\"\n\"As a wife and mother,\" cried Lucie, most earnestly, \"I implore you to have pity on me and not to exercise any power that you possess, against my innocent husband, but to use it in his behalf. O sister-woman, think of me. As a wife and mother!\"\nMadame Defarge looked, coldly as ever, at the suppliant, and said, turning to her friend The Vengeance:\n\"The wives and mothers we have been used to see, since we were as little as this child, and much less, have not been greatly considered? We have known their husbands and fathers laid in prison and kept from them, often enough? All our lives, we have seen our sister-women suffer, in themselves and in their children, poverty, nakedness, hunger, thirst, sickness, misery, oppression and neglect of all kinds?\"\n\"We have seen nothing else,\" returned The Vengeance.\n\"We have borne this a long time,\" said Madame Defarge, turning her eyes again upon Lucie. \"Judge you! Is it likely that the trouble of one wife and mother would be much to us now?\"\nShe resumed her knitting and went out. The Vengeance followed. Defarge went last, and closed the door.\n\"Courage, my dear Lucie,\" said Mr. Lorry, as he raised her. \"Courage, courage! So far all goes well with us--much, much better than it has of late gone with many poor souls. Cheer up, and have a thankful heart.\"\n\"I am not thankless, I hope, but that dreadful woman seems to throw a shadow on me and on all my hopes.\"\n\"Tut, tut!\" said Mr. Lorry; \"what is this despondency in the brave little breast? A shadow indeed! No substance in it, Lucie.\"\nBut the shadow of the manner of these Defarges was dark upon himself, for all that, and in his secret mind it troubled him greatly.", "chosen": "greatly", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\ngreatly\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-033-01-77347a38", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nI quickly followed suit, and descending into the bar-room accosted the grinning landlord very pleasantly. I cherished no malice towards him, though he had been skylarking with me not a little in the matter of my bedfellow.\nHowever, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing; the more's the pity. So, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him not be backward, but let him cheerfully allow himself to spend and be spent in that way. And the man that has anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than you perhaps think for.\nThe bar-room was now full of the boarders who had been dropping in the night previous, and whom I had not as yet had a good look at. They were nearly all whalemen; chief mates, and second mates, and third mates, and sea carpenters, and sea coopers, and sea blacksmiths, and harpooneers, and ship keepers; a brown and brawny company, with bosky beards; an unshorn, shaggy set, all wearing monkey jackets for morning gowns.\nYou could pretty plainly tell how long each one had been ashore. This young fellow's healthy cheek is like a sun-toasted pear in hue, and would seem to smell almost as musky; he cannot have been three days landed from his Indian voyage. That man next him looks a few shades lighter; you might say a touch of satin wood is in him. In the complexion of a third still lingers a tropic tawn, but slightly bleached withal; he doubtless has tarried whole weeks ashore. But who could show a cheek like Queequeg? which, barred with various tints, seemed like the Andes' western slope, to show forth in one array, contrasting climates, zone by zone.\n\"Grub, ho!\" now cried the landlord, flinging open a door, and in we went to breakfast.\nThey say that men who have seen the world, thereby become quite at ease in manner, quite self-possessed in company. Not always, though: Ledyard, the great New England traveller, and Mungo Park, the Scotch one; of all men, they possessed the least assurance in the parlor. But perhaps the mere crossing of Siberia in a sledge drawn by dogs as Ledyard did, or the taking a long solitary walk on an empty stomach, in the negro heart of Africa, which was the sum of poor Mungo's performances—this kind of travel, I say, may not be the very best mode of attaining a high social polish. Still, for the most part, that sort of thing is to be had anywhere.\nThese reflections just here are occasioned by the circumstance that after we were all seated at the table, and I was preparing to hear some good stories about whaling; to my no small surprise, nearly every man maintained a profound silence. And not only that, but they looked embarrassed. Yes, here were a set of sea-dogs, many of whom without the slightest bashfulness had boarded great whales on the high seas—entire strangers to them—and duelled them dead without winking; and yet, here they sat at a social breakfast table—all of the same calling, all of kindred tastes—looking round as sheepishly at each other as though they had never been out of sight of some sheepfold among the Green Mountains. A curious sight; these bashful bears, these timid warrior whalemen!\nBut as for Queequeg—why, Queequeg sat there among them—at the head of the table, too, it so chanced; as cool as an icicle. To be sure I cannot say much for his breeding. His greatest admirer could not have cordially justified his bringing his harpoon into breakfast with him, and using it there without ceremony; reaching over the table with it, to the imminent jeopardy of many heads, and grappling the beefsteaks towards him. But that was certainly very coolly done by him, and every one knows that in most people's estimation, to do anything coolly is to do it genteelly.\nWe will not speak of all Queequeg's peculiarities here; how he eschewed coffee and hot rolls, and applied his undivided attention to beefsteaks, done rare. Enough, that when breakfast was over he withdrew like the rest into the public room, lighted his tomahawk-pipe, and was sitting there quietly digesting and smoking with his inseparable hat on, when I sallied out for a stroll.", "chosen": "[\"Indian\", \"Queequeg\", \"Andes\", \"Grub\", \"Ledyard\", \"New\", \"England\", \"Mungo\", \"Park\", \"Scotch\", \"Siberia\", \"Africa\", \"Green\", \"Mountains\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Indian\", \"Queequeg\", \"Andes\", \"Grub\", \"Ledyard\", \"New\", \"England\", \"Mungo\", \"Park\", \"Scotch\", \"Siberia\", \"Africa\", \"Green\", \"Mountains\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-005-00-45fb6a2e", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIt was a cloudy, sultry afternoon; the seamen were lazily lounging about the decks, or vacantly gazing over into the lead-coloured waters. Queequeg and I were mildly employed weaving what is called a sword-mat, for an additional lashing to our boat. So still and subdued and yet somehow preluding was all the scene, and such an incantation of reverie lurked in the air, that each silent sailor seemed resolved into his own invisible self.\nI was the attendant or page of Queequeg, while busy at the mat. As I kept passing and repassing the filling or woof of marline between the long yarns of the warp, using my own hand for the shuttle, and as Queequeg, standing sideways, ever and anon slid his heavy oaken sword between the threads, and idly looking off upon the water, carelessly and unthinkingly drove home every yarn: I say so strange a dreaminess did there then reign all over the ship and all over the sea, only broken by the intermitting dull sound of the sword, that it seemed as if this were the Loom of Time, and I myself were a shuttle mechanically weaving and weaving away at the Fates. There lay the fixed threads of the warp subject to but one single, ever returning, unchanging vibration, and that vibration merely enough to admit of the crosswise interblending of other threads with its own. This warp seemed necessity; and here, thought I, with my own hand I ply my own shuttle and weave my own destiny into these unalterable threads. Meantime, Queequeg's impulsive, indifferent sword, sometimes hitting the woof slantingly, or crookedly, or strongly, or weakly, as the case might be; and by this difference in the concluding blow producing a corresponding contrast in the final aspect of the completed fabric; this savage's sword, thought I, which thus finally shapes and fashions both warp and woof; this easy, indifferent sword must be chance—aye, chance, free will, and necessity—nowise incompatible—all interweavingly working together. The straight warp of necessity, not to be swerved from its ultimate course—its every alternating vibration, indeed, only tending to that; free will still free to ply her shuttle between given threads; and chance, though restrained in its play within the right lines of necessity, and sideways in its motions directed by free will, though thus prescribed to by both, chance by turns rules either, and has the last featuring blow at events.\nThus we were weaving and weaving away when I started at a sound so strange, long drawn, and musically wild and unearthly, that the ball of free will dropped from my hand, and I stood gazing up at the clouds whence that voice dropped like a wing. High aloft in the cross-trees was that mad Gay-Header, Tashtego. His body was reaching eagerly forward, his hand stretched out like a wand, and at brief sudden intervals he continued his cries. To be sure the same sound was that very moment perhaps being heard all over the seas, from hundreds of whalemen's look-outs perched as high in the air; but from few of those lungs could that accustomed old cry have derived such a marvellous cadence as from Tashtego the Indian's.\nAs he stood hovering over you half suspended in air, so wildly and eagerly peering towards the horizon, you would have thought him some prophet or seer beholding the shadows of Fate, and by those wild cries announcing their coming.\n\"There she blows! there! there! there! she blows! she blows!\"\n\"Where-away?\"\n\"On the lee-beam, about two miles off! a school of them!\"\nInstantly all was commotion.\nThe Sperm Whale blows as a clock ticks, with the same undeviating and reliable uniformity. And thereby whalemen distinguish this fish from other tribes of his genus.\n\"There go flukes!\" was now the cry from Tashtego; and the whales disappeared.\n\"Quick, steward!\" cried Ahab. \"Time! time!\"\nDough-Boy hurried below, glanced at the watch, and reported the exact minute to Ahab.\nThe ship was now kept away from the wind, and she went gently rolling before it. Tashtego reporting that the whales had gone down heading to leeward, we confidently looked to see them again directly in advance of our bows. For that singular craft at times evinced by the Sperm Whale when, sounding with his head in one direction, he nevertheless, while concealed beneath the surface, mills round, and swiftly swims off in the opposite quarter—this deceitfulness of his could not now be in action; for there was no reason to suppose that the fish seen by Tashtego had been in any way alarmed, or indeed knew at all of our vicinity. One of the men selected for shipkeepers—that is, those not appointed to the boats, by this time relieved the Indian at the main-mast head. The sailors at the fore and mizzen had come down; the line tubs were fixed in their places; the cranes were thrust out; the mainyard was backed, and the three boats swung over the sea like three samphire baskets over high cliffs. Outside of the bulwarks their eager crews with one hand clung to the rail, while one foot was expectantly poised on the gunwale. So look the long line of man-of-war's men about to throw themselves on board an enemy's ship.\nBut at this critical instant a sudden exclamation was heard that took every eye from the whale. With a start all glared at dark Ahab, who was surrounded by five dusky phantoms that seemed fresh formed out of air.", "chosen": "It, Queequeg, So, I, As, There, This, Meantime,, The, Thus, High, His, To, As, There, there!, there!, there!, she, she, a, The, And, There, Quick,, Time!, time!\", The, Tashtego, For, One, The, Outside, So, But, With", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nIt, Queequeg, So, I, As, There, This, Meantime,, The, Thus, High, His, To, As, There, there!, there!, there!, she, she, a, The, And, There, Quick,, Time!, time!\", The, Tashtego, For, One, The, Outside, So, But, With\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-040-00-dfef2be2", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nA monk was suddenly commanded by his elder to quit Athos, which he loved as a sacred place and a haven of refuge, and to go first to Jerusalem to do homage to the Holy Places and then to go to the north to Siberia: \"There is the place for thee and not here.\" The monk, overwhelmed with sorrow, went to the Œcumenical Patriarch at Constantinople and besought him to release him from his obedience. But the Patriarch replied that not only was he unable to release him, but there was not and could not be on earth a power which could release him except the elder who had himself laid that duty upon him. In this way the elders are endowed in certain cases with unbounded and inexplicable authority. That is why in many of our monasteries the institution was at first resisted almost to persecution. Meantime the elders immediately began to be highly esteemed among the people. Masses of the ignorant people as well as men of distinction flocked, for instance, to the elders of our monastery to confess their doubts, their sins, and their sufferings, and ask for counsel and admonition. Seeing this, the opponents of the elders declared that the sacrament of confession was being arbitrarily and frivolously degraded, though the continual opening of the heart to the elder by the monk or the layman had nothing of the character of the sacrament. In the end, however, the institution of elders has been retained and is becoming established in Russian monasteries. It is true, perhaps, that this instrument which had stood the test of a thousand years for the moral regeneration of a man from slavery to freedom and to moral perfectibility may be a two-edged weapon and it may lead some not to humility and complete self-control but to the most Satanic pride, that is, to bondage and not to freedom.\nThe elder Zossima was sixty-five. He came of a family of landowners, had been in the army in early youth, and served in the Caucasus as an officer. He had, no doubt, impressed Alyosha by some peculiar quality of his soul. Alyosha lived in the cell of the elder, who was very fond of him and let him wait upon him. It must be noted that Alyosha was bound by no obligation and could go where he pleased and be absent for whole days. Though he wore the monastic dress it was voluntarily, not to be different from others. No doubt he liked to do so. Possibly his youthful imagination was deeply stirred by the power and fame of his elder. It was said that so many people had for years past come to confess their sins to Father Zossima and to entreat him for words of advice and healing, that he had acquired the keenest intuition and could tell from an unknown face what a new-comer wanted, and what was the suffering on his conscience. He sometimes astounded and almost alarmed his visitors by his knowledge of their secrets before they had spoken a word.\nAlyosha noticed that many, almost all, went in to the elder for the first time with apprehension and uneasiness, but came out with bright and happy faces. Alyosha was particularly struck by the fact that Father Zossima was not at all stern. On the contrary, he was always almost gay. The monks used to say that he was more drawn to those who were more sinful, and the greater the sinner the more he loved him. There were, no doubt, up to the end of his life, among the monks some who hated and envied him, but they were few in number and they were silent, though among them were some of great dignity in the monastery, one, for instance, of the older monks distinguished for his strict keeping of fasts and vows of silence. But the majority were on Father Zossima's side and very many of them loved him with all their hearts, warmly and sincerely. Some were almost fanatically devoted to him, and declared, though not quite aloud, that he was a saint, that there could be no doubt of it, and, seeing that his end was near, they anticipated miracles and great glory to the monastery in the immediate future from his relics. Alyosha had unquestioning faith in the miraculous power of the elder, just as he had unquestioning faith in the story of the coffin that flew out of the church. He saw many who came with sick children or relatives and besought the elder to lay hands on them and to pray over them, return shortly after—some the next day—and, falling in tears at the elder's feet, thank him for healing their sick.\nWhether they had really been healed or were simply better in the natural course of the disease was a question which did not exist for Alyosha, for he fully believed in the spiritual power of his teacher and rejoiced in his fame, in his glory, as though it were his own triumph. His heart throbbed, and he beamed, as it were, all over when the elder came out to the gates of the hermitage into the waiting crowd of pilgrims of the humbler class who had flocked from all parts of Russia on purpose to see the elder and obtain his blessing. They fell down before him, wept, kissed his feet, kissed the earth on which he stood, and wailed, while the women held up their children to him and brought him the sick \"possessed with devils.\" The elder spoke to them, read a brief prayer over them, blessed them, and dismissed them. Of late he had become so weak through attacks of illness that he was sometimes unable to leave his cell, and the pilgrims waited for him to come out for several days. Alyosha did not wonder why they loved him so, why they fell down before him and wept with emotion merely at seeing his face. Oh! he understood that for the humble soul of the Russian peasant, worn out by grief and toil, and still more by the everlasting injustice and everlasting sin, his own and the world's, it was the greatest need and comfort to find some one or something holy to fall down before and worship.\n\"Among us there is sin, injustice, and temptation, but yet, somewhere on earth there is some one holy and exalted. He has the truth; he knows the truth; so it is not dead upon the earth; so it will come one day to us, too, and rule over all the earth according to the promise.\"\nAlyosha knew that this was just how the people felt and even reasoned. He understood it, but that the elder Zossima was this saint and custodian of God's truth—of that he had no more doubt than the weeping peasants and the sick women who held out their children to the elder. The conviction that after his death the elder would bring extraordinary glory to the monastery was even stronger in Alyosha than in any one there, and, of late, a kind of deep flame of inner ecstasy burnt more and more strongly in his heart. He was not at all troubled at this elder's standing as a solitary example before him.\n\"No matter. He is holy. He carries in his heart the secret of renewal for all: that power which will, at last, establish truth on the earth, and all men will be holy and love one another, and there will be no more rich nor poor, no exalted nor humbled, but all will be as the children of God, and the true Kingdom of Christ will come.\" That was the dream in Alyosha's heart.", "chosen": "43", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n43\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-28054-005-01-32f4e0d9", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nIn consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the next morning to her mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for them in the course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on her daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which would exactly finish Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive them with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not propitious, at least not to Elizabeth's wishes, for she was impatient to get home. Mrs. Bennet sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added, that if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well. Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively resolved--nor did she much expect it would be asked; and fearful, on the contrary, of being considered as intruding themselves needlessly long, she urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley's carriage immediately, and at length it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield that morning should be mentioned, and the request made.\nThe communication excited many professions of concern; and enough was said of wishing them to stay at least till the following day to work on Jane; and till the morrow their going was deferred. Miss Bingley was then sorry that she had proposed the delay; for her jealousy and dislike of one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.\nThe master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be safe for her--that she was not enough recovered; but Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right.\nTo Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence: Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked; and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her and more teasing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him--nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that, if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday: and though they were at one time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.\nOn Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth took leave of the whole party in the liveliest spirits.\nThey were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at their coming, and thought them very wrong to give so much trouble, and was sure Jane would have caught cold again. But their father, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really glad to see them; he had felt their importance in the family circle. The evening conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost much of its animation, and almost all its sense, by the absence of Jane and Elizabeth.\nThey found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough bass and human nature; and had some new extracts to admire and some new observations of threadbare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had information for them of a different sort. Much had been done, and much had been said in the regiment since the preceding Wednesday; several of the officers had dined lately with their uncle; a private had been flogged; and it had actually been hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.", "chosen": "Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nMiss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-1342-012-00-a504b0ee", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nFather Païssy, of course, was not wrong when he decided that his \"dear boy\" would come back again. Perhaps indeed, to some extent, he penetrated with insight into the true meaning of Alyosha's spiritual condition. Yet I must frankly own that it would be very difficult for me to give a clear account of that strange, vague moment in the life of the young hero I love so much. To Father Païssy's sorrowful question, \"Are you too with those of little faith?\" I could of course confidently answer for Alyosha, \"No, he is not with those of little faith. Quite the contrary.\" Indeed, all his trouble came from the fact that he was of great faith. But still the trouble was there and was so agonizing that even long afterwards Alyosha thought of that sorrowful day as one of the bitterest and most fatal days of his life. If the question is asked: \"Could all his grief and disturbance have been only due to the fact that his elder's body had shown signs of premature decomposition instead of at once performing miracles?\" I must answer without beating about the bush, \"Yes, it certainly was.\" I would only beg the reader not to be in too great a hurry to laugh at my young hero's pure heart. I am far from intending to apologize for him or to justify his innocent faith on the ground of his youth, or the little progress he had made in his studies, or any such reason. I must declare, on the contrary, that I have genuine respect for the qualities of his heart. No doubt a youth who received impressions cautiously, whose love was lukewarm, and whose mind was too prudent for his age and so of little value, such a young man might, I admit, have avoided what happened to my hero. But in some cases it is really more creditable to be carried away by an emotion, however unreasonable, which springs from a great love, than to be unmoved. And this is even truer in youth, for a young man who is always sensible is to be suspected and is of little worth—that's my opinion!\n\"But,\" reasonable people will exclaim perhaps, \"every young man cannot believe in such a superstition and your hero is no model for others.\"\nTo this I reply again, \"Yes! my hero had faith, a faith holy and steadfast, but still I am not going to apologize for him.\"\nThough I declared above, and perhaps too hastily, that I should not explain or justify my hero, I see that some explanation is necessary for the understanding of the rest of my story. Let me say then, it was not a question of miracles. There was no frivolous and impatient expectation of miracles in his mind. And Alyosha needed no miracles at the time, for the triumph of some preconceived idea—oh, no, not at all—what he saw before all was one figure—the figure of his beloved elder, the figure of that holy man whom he revered with such adoration. The fact is that all the love that lay concealed in his pure young heart for every one and everything had, for the past year, been concentrated—and perhaps wrongly so—on one being, his beloved elder. It is true that being had for so long been accepted by him as his ideal, that all his young strength and energy could not but turn towards that ideal, even to the forgetting at the moment \"of every one and everything.\" He remembered afterwards how, on that terrible day, he had entirely forgotten his brother Dmitri, about whom he had been so anxious and troubled the day before; he had forgotten, too, to take the two hundred roubles to Ilusha's father, though he had so warmly intended to do so the preceding evening. But again it was not miracles he needed but only \"the higher justice\" which had been in his belief outraged by the blow that had so suddenly and cruelly wounded his heart. And what does it signify that this \"justice\" looked for by Alyosha inevitably took the shape of miracles to be wrought immediately by the ashes of his adored teacher? Why, every one in the monastery cherished the same thought and the same hope, even those whose intellects Alyosha revered, Father Païssy himself, for instance. And so Alyosha, untroubled by doubts, clothed his dreams too in the same form as all the rest. And a whole year of life in the monastery had formed the habit of this expectation in his heart. But it was justice, justice, he thirsted for, not simply miracles.\nAnd now the man who should, he believed, have been exalted above every one in the whole world, that man, instead of receiving the glory that was his due, was suddenly degraded and dishonored! What for? Who had judged him? Who could have decreed this? Those were the questions that wrung his inexperienced and virginal heart. He could not endure without mortification, without resentment even, that the holiest of holy men should have been exposed to the jeering and spiteful mockery of the frivolous crowd so inferior to him. Even had there been no miracles, had there been nothing marvelous to justify his hopes, why this indignity, why this humiliation, why this premature decay, \"in excess of nature,\" as the spiteful monks said? Why this \"sign from heaven,\" which they so triumphantly acclaimed in company with Father Ferapont, and why did they believe they had gained the right to acclaim it? Where is the finger of Providence? Why did Providence hide its face \"at the most critical moment\" (so Alyosha thought it), as though voluntarily submitting to the blind, dumb, pitiless laws of nature?\nThat was why Alyosha's heart was bleeding, and, of course, as I have said already, the sting of it all was that the man he loved above everything on earth should be put to shame and humiliated! This murmuring may have been shallow and unreasonable in my hero, but I repeat again for the third time—and am prepared to admit that it might be difficult to defend my feeling—I am glad that my hero showed himself not too reasonable at that moment, for any man of sense will always come back to reason in time, but, if love does not gain the upper hand in a boy's heart at such an exceptional moment, when will it? I will not, however, omit to mention something strange, which came for a time to the surface of Alyosha's mind at this fatal and obscure moment. This new something was the harassing impression left by the conversation with Ivan, which now persistently haunted Alyosha's mind. At this moment it haunted him. Oh, it was not that something of the fundamental, elemental, so to speak, faith of his soul had been shaken. He loved his God and believed in Him steadfastly, though he was suddenly murmuring against Him. Yet a vague but tormenting and evil impression left by his conversation with Ivan the day before, suddenly revived again now in his soul and seemed forcing its way to the surface of his consciousness.\nIt had begun to get dusk when Rakitin, crossing the pine copse from the hermitage to the monastery, suddenly noticed Alyosha, lying face downwards on the ground under a tree, not moving and apparently asleep. He went up and called him by his name.\n\"You here, Alexey? Can you have—\" he began wondering but broke off. He had meant to say, \"Can you have come to this?\"\nAlyosha did not look at him, but from a slight movement Rakitin at once saw that he heard and understood him.\n\"What's the matter?\" he went on; but the surprise in his face gradually passed into a smile that became more and more ironical.\n\"I say, I've been looking for you for the last two hours. You suddenly disappeared. What are you about? What foolery is this? You might just look at me...\"\nAlyosha raised his head, sat up and leaned his back against the tree. He was not crying, but there was a look of suffering and irritability in his face. He did not look at Rakitin, however, but looked away to one side of him.", "chosen": "him", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nhim\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-041-00-28a4aa74", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nI had shut the door to. Then I turned around and there he was. I used to be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much. I reckoned I was scared now, too; but in a minute I see I was mistaken—that is, after the first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort of hitched, he being so unexpected; but right away after I see I warn't scared of him worth bothring about.\nHe was most fifty, and he looked it. His hair was long and tangled and greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines. It was all black, no gray; so was his long, mixed-up whiskers. There warn't no color in his face, where his face showed; it was white; not like another man's white, but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body's flesh crawl—a tree-toad white, a fish-belly white. As for his clothes—just rags, that was all. He had one ankle resting on t'other knee; the boot on that foot was busted, and two of his toes stuck through, and he worked them now and then. His hat was laying on the floor—an old black slouch with the top caved in, like a lid.\nI stood a-looking at him; he set there a-looking at me, with his chair tilted back a little. I set the candle down. I noticed the window was up; so he had clumb in by the shed. He kept a-looking me all over. By-and-by he says:\n\"Starchy clothes—very. You think you're a good deal of a big-bug, don't you?\"\n\"Maybe I am, maybe I ain't,\" I says.\n\"Don't you give me none o' your lip,\" says he. \"You've put on considerable many frills since I been away. I'll take you down a peg before I get done with you. You're educated, too, they say—can read and write. You think you're better'n your father, now, don't you, because he can't? I'll take it out of you. Who told you you might meddle with such hifalut'n foolishness, hey?—who told you you could?\"\n\"The widow. She told me.\"\n\"The widow, hey?—and who told the widow she could put in her shovel about a thing that ain't none of her business?\"\n\"Nobody never told her.\"\n\"Well, I'll learn her how to meddle. And looky here—you drop that school, you hear? I'll learn people to bring up a boy to put on airs over his own father and let on to be better'n what he is. You lemme catch you fooling around that school again, you hear? Your mother couldn't read, and she couldn't write, nuther, before she died. None of the family couldn't before they died. I can't; and here you're a-swelling yourself up like this. I ain't the man to stand it—you hear? Say, lemme hear you read.\"\nI took up a book and begun something about General Washington and the wars. When I'd read about a half a minute, he fetched the book a whack with his hand and knocked it across the house. He says:\n\"It's so. You can do it. I had my doubts when you told me. Now looky here; you stop that putting on frills. I won't have it. I'll lay for you, my smarty; and if I catch you about that school I'll tan you good. First you know you'll get religion, too. I never see such a son.\"\nHe took up a little blue and yaller picture of some cows and a boy, and says:\n\"What's this?\"\n\"It's something they give me for learning my lessons good.\"\nHe tore it up, and says:\n\"I'll give you something better—I'll give you a cowhide.\"\nHe set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, and then he says:\n\"Ain't you a sweet-scented dandy, though? A bed; and bedclothes; and a look'n'-glass; and a piece of carpet on the floor—and your own father got to sleep with the hogs in the tanyard. I never see such a son. I bet I'll take some o' these frills out o' you before I'm done with you. Why, there ain't no end to your airs—they say you're rich. Hey?—how's that?\"\n\"They lie—that's how.\"\n\"Looky here—mind how you talk to me; I'm a-standing about all I can stand now—so don't gimme no sass. I've been in town two days, and I hain't heard nothing but about you bein' rich. I heard about it away down the river, too. That's why I come. You git me that money to-morrow—I want it.\"\n\"I hain't got no money.\"\n\"It's a lie. Judge Thatcher's got it. You git it. I want it.\"\n\"I hain't got no money, I tell you. You ask Judge Thatcher; he'll tell you the same.\"\n\"All right. I'll ask him; and I'll make him pungle, too, or I'll know the reason why. Say, how much you got in your pocket? I want it.\"\n\"I hain't got only a dollar, and I want that to—\"\n\"It don't make no difference what you want it for—you just shell it out.\"\nHe took it and bit it to see if it was good, and then he said he was going down town to get some whisky; said he hadn't had a drink all day. When he had got out on the shed he put his head in again, and cussed me for putting on frills and trying to be better than him; and when I reckoned he was gone he come back and put his head in again, and told me to mind about that school, because he was going to lay for me and lick me if I didn't drop that.\nNext day he was drunk, and he went to Judge Thatcher's and bullyragged him, and tried to make him give up the money; but he couldn't, and then he swore he'd make the law force him.\nThe judge and the widow went to law to get the court to take me away from him and let one of them be my guardian; but it was a new judge that had just come, and he didn't know the old man; so he said courts mustn't interfere and separate families if they could help it; said he'd druther not take a child away from its father. So Judge Thatcher and the widow had to quit on the business.\nThat pleased the old man till he couldn't rest. He said he'd cowhide me till I was black and blue if I didn't raise some money for him. I borrowed three dollars from Judge Thatcher, and pap took it and got drunk, and went a-blowing around and cussing and whooping and carrying on; and he kept it up all over town, with a tin pan, till most midnight; then they jailed him, and next day they had him before court, and jailed him again for a week. But he said he was satisfied; said he was boss of his son, and he'd make it warm for him.\nWhen he got out the new judge said he was a-going to make a man of him. So he took him to his own house, and dressed him up clean and nice, and had him to breakfast and dinner and supper with the family, and was just old pie to him, so to speak. And after supper he talked to him about temperance and such things till the old man cried, and said he'd been a fool, and fooled away his life; but now he was a-going to turn over a new leaf and be a man nobody wouldn't be ashamed of, and he hoped the judge would help him and not look down on him. The judge said he could hug him for them words; so he cried, and his wife she cried again; pap said he'd been a man that had always been misunderstood before, and the judge said he believed it. The old man said that what a man wanted that was down was sympathy, and the judge said it was so; so they cried again. And when it was bedtime the old man rose up and held out his hand, and says:", "chosen": "[\"Starchy\", \"Maybe\", \"Don\", \"Nobody\", \"General\", \"Washington\", \"Ain\", \"Looky\", \"Thatcher\", \"Judge\", \"All\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Starchy\", \"Maybe\", \"Don\", \"Nobody\", \"General\", \"Washington\", \"Ain\", \"Looky\", \"Thatcher\", \"Judge\", \"All\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-76-005-00-fb63333d", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nCertainly her thoughts were much occupied with Lydgate himself; he seemed to her almost perfect: if he had known his notes so that his enchantment under her music had been less like an emotional elephant's, and if he had been able to discriminate better the refinements of her taste in dress, she could hardly have mentioned a deficiency in him. How different he was from young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! Those young men had not a notion of French, and could speak on no subject with striking knowledge, except perhaps the dyeing and carrying trades, which of course they were ashamed to mention; they were Middlemarch gentry, elated with their silver-headed whips and satin stocks, but embarrassed in their manners, and timidly jocose: even Fred was above them, having at least the accent and manner of a university man. Whereas Lydgate was always listened to, bore himself with the careless politeness of conscious superiority, and seemed to have the right clothes on by a certain natural affinity, without ever having to think about them. Rosamond was proud when he entered the room, and when he approached her with a distinguishing smile, she had a delicious sense that she was the object of enviable homage. If Lydgate had been aware of all the pride he excited in that delicate bosom, he might have been just as well pleased as any other man, even the most densely ignorant of humoral pathology or fibrous tissue: he held it one of the prettiest attitudes of the feminine mind to adore a man's pre-eminence without too precise a knowledge of what it consisted in. But Rosamond was not one of those helpless girls who betray themselves unawares, and whose behavior is awkwardly driven by their impulses, instead of being steered by wary grace and propriety. Do you imagine that her rapid forecast and rumination concerning house-furniture and society were ever discernible in her conversation, even with her mamma? On the contrary, she would have expressed the prettiest surprise and disapprobation if she had heard that another young lady had been detected in that immodest prematureness—indeed, would probably have disbelieved in its possibility. For Rosamond never showed any unbecoming knowledge, and was always that combination of correct sentiments, music, dancing, drawing, elegant note-writing, private album for extracted verse, and perfect blond loveliness, which made the irresistible woman for the doomed man of that date. Think no unfair evil of her, pray: she had no wicked plots, nothing sordid or mercenary; in fact, she never thought of money except as something necessary which other people would always provide. She was not in the habit of devising falsehoods, and if her statements were no direct clew to fact, why, they were not intended in that light—they were among her elegant accomplishments, intended to please. Nature had inspired many arts in finishing Mrs. Lemon's favorite pupil, who by general consent (Fred's excepted) was a rare compound of beauty, cleverness, and amiability.\nLydgate found it more and more agreeable to be with her, and there was no constraint now, there was a delightful interchange of influence in their eyes, and what they said had that superfluity of meaning for them, which is observable with some sense of flatness by a third person; still they had no interviews or asides from which a third person need have been excluded. In fact, they flirted; and Lydgate was secure in the belief that they did nothing else. If a man could not love and be wise, surely he could flirt and be wise at the same time? Really, the men in Middlemarch, except Mr. Farebrother, were great bores, and Lydgate did not care about commercial politics or cards: what was he to do for relaxation? He was often invited to the Bulstrodes'; but the girls there were hardly out of the schoolroom; and Mrs. Bulstrode's naive way of conciliating piety and worldliness, the nothingness of this life and the desirability of cut glass, the consciousness at once of filthy rags and the best damask, was not a sufficient relief from the weight of her husband's invariable seriousness. The Vincys' house, with all its faults, was the pleasanter by contrast; besides, it nourished Rosamond—sweet to look at as a half-opened blush-rose, and adorned with accomplishments for the refined amusement of man.\nBut he made some enemies, other than medical, by his success with Miss Vincy. One evening he came into the drawing-room rather late, when several other visitors were there. The card-table had drawn off the elders, and Mr. Ned Plymdale (one of the good matches in Middlemarch, though not one of its leading minds) was in tête-à-tête with Rosamond. He had brought the last \"Keepsake,\" the gorgeous watered-silk publication which marked modern progress at that time; and he considered himself very fortunate that he could be the first to look over it with her, dwelling on the ladies and gentlemen with shiny copper-plate cheeks and copper-plate smiles, and pointing to comic verses as capital and sentimental stories as interesting. Rosamond was gracious, and Mr. Ned was satisfied that he had the very best thing in art and literature as a medium for \"paying addresses\"—the very thing to please a nice girl. He had also reasons, deep rather than ostensible, for being satisfied with his own appearance. To superficial observers his chin had too vanishing an aspect, looking as if it were being gradually reabsorbed. And it did indeed cause him some difficulty about the fit of his satin stocks, for which chins were at that time useful.\n\"I think the Honorable Mrs. S. is something like you,\" said Mr. Ned. He kept the book open at the bewitching portrait, and looked at it rather languishingly.\n\"Her back is very large; she seems to have sat for that,\" said Rosamond, not meaning any satire, but thinking how red young Plymdale's hands were, and wondering why Lydgate did not come. She went on with her tatting all the while.\n\"I did not say she was as beautiful as you are,\" said Mr. Ned, venturing to look from the portrait to its rival.\n\"I suspect you of being an adroit flatterer,\" said Rosamond, feeling sure that she should have to reject this young gentleman a second time.\nBut now Lydgate came in; the book was closed before he reached Rosamond's corner, and as he took his seat with easy confidence on the other side of her, young Plymdale's jaw fell like a barometer towards the cheerless side of change. Rosamond enjoyed not only Lydgate's presence but its effect: she liked to excite jealousy.\n\"What a late comer you are!\" she said, as they shook hands. \"Mamma had given you up a little while ago. How do you find Fred?\"\n\"As usual; going on well, but slowly. I want him to go away—to Stone Court, for example. But your mamma seems to have some objection.\"\n\"Poor fellow!\" said Rosamond, prettily. \"You will see Fred so changed,\" she added, turning to the other suitor; \"we have looked to Mr. Lydgate as our guardian angel during this illness.\"\nMr. Ned smiled nervously, while Lydgate, drawing the \"Keepsake\" towards him and opening it, gave a short scornful laugh and tossed up his chin, as if in wonderment at human folly.\n\"What are you laughing at so profanely?\" said Rosamond, with bland neutrality.\n\"I wonder which would turn out to be the silliest—the engravings or the writing here,\" said Lydgate, in his most convinced tone, while he turned over the pages quickly, seeming to see all through the book in no time, and showing his large white hands to much advantage, as Rosamond thought. \"Do look at this bridegroom coming out of church: did you ever see such a 'sugared invention'—as the Elizabethans used to say? Did any haberdasher ever look so smirking? Yet I will answer for it the story makes him one of the first gentlemen in the land.\"\n\"You are so severe, I am frightened at you,\" said Rosamond, keeping her amusement duly moderate. Poor young Plymdale had lingered with admiration over this very engraving, and his spirit was stirred.\n\"There are a great many celebrated people writing in the 'Keepsake,' at all events,\" he said, in a tone at once piqued and timid. \"This is the first time I have heard it called silly.\"", "chosen": "Certainly, How, Caius, Those, Whereas, Rosamond, If, But, Do, On, For, Think, She, Nature, Lemon's, Lydgate, In, If, Really,, Farebrother,, He, Bulstrode's, The, But, One, The, Ned, He, Rosamond, Ned, He, To, And, I, S., is, Ned., He, Her, She, I, Ned,, I, But, Rosamond, What, Mamma, How, I, But, You, Lydgate, Ned, What, I, Do, Did, Yet, Poor, There, This", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nCertainly, How, Caius, Those, Whereas, Rosamond, If, But, Do, On, For, Think, She, Nature, Lemon's, Lydgate, In, If, Really,, Farebrother,, He, Bulstrode's, The, But, One, The, Ned, He, Rosamond, Ned, He, To, And, I, S., is, Ned., He, Her, She, I, Ned,, I, But, Rosamond, What, Mamma, How, I, But, You, Lydgate, Ned, What, I, Do, Did, Yet, Poor, There, This\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-028-01-e1f8a135", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThey'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk. —SHAKESPEARE: Tempest.\nThe triumphant confidence of the Mayor founded on Mr. Featherstone's insistent demand that Fred and his mother should not leave him, was a feeble emotion compared with all that was agitating the breasts of the old man's blood-relations, who naturally manifested more their sense of the family tie and were more visibly numerous now that he had become bedridden. Naturally: for when \"poor Peter\" had occupied his arm-chair in the wainscoted parlor, no assiduous beetles for whom the cook prepares boiling water could have been less welcome on a hearth which they had reasons for preferring, than those persons whose Featherstone blood was ill-nourished, not from penuriousness on their part, but from poverty. Brother Solomon and Sister Jane were rich, and the family candor and total abstinence from false politeness with which they were always received seemed to them no argument that their brother in the solemn act of making his will would overlook the superior claims of wealth. Themselves at least he had never been unnatural enough to banish from his house, and it seemed hardly eccentric that he should have kept away Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and the rest, who had no shadow of such claims. They knew Peter's maxim, that money was a good egg, and should be laid in a warm nest.\nBut Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and all the needy exiles, held a different point of view. Probabilities are as various as the faces to be seen at will in fretwork or paper-hangings: every form is there, from Jupiter to Judy, if you only look with creative inclination. To the poorer and least favored it seemed likely that since Peter had done nothing for them in his life, he would remember them at the last. Jonah argued that men liked to make a surprise of their wills, while Martha said that nobody need be surprised if he left the best part of his money to those who least expected it. Also it was not to be thought but that an own brother \"lying there\" with dropsy in his legs must come to feel that blood was thicker than water, and if he didn't alter his will, he might have money by him. At any rate some blood-relations should be on the premises and on the watch against those who were hardly relations at all. Such things had been known as forged wills and disputed wills, which seemed to have the golden-hazy advantage of somehow enabling non-legatees to live out of them. Again, those who were no blood-relations might be caught making away with things—and poor Peter \"lying there\" helpless! Somebody should be on the watch. But in this conclusion they were at one with Solomon and Jane; also, some nephews, nieces, and cousins, arguing with still greater subtilty as to what might be done by a man able to \"will away\" his property and give himself large treats of oddity, felt in a handsome sort of way that there was a family interest to be attended to, and thought of Stone Court as a place which it would be nothing but right for them to visit. Sister Martha, otherwise Mrs. Cranch, living with some wheeziness in the Chalky Flats, could not undertake the journey; but her son, as being poor Peter's own nephew, could represent her advantageously, and watch lest his uncle Jonah should make an unfair use of the improbable things which seemed likely to happen. In fact there was a general sense running in the Featherstone blood that everybody must watch everybody else, and that it would be well for everybody else to reflect that the Almighty was watching him.\nThus Stone Court continually saw one or other blood-relation alighting or departing, and Mary Garth had the unpleasant task of carrying their messages to Mr. Featherstone, who would see none of them, and sent her down with the still more unpleasant task of telling them so. As manager of the household she felt bound to ask them in good provincial fashion to stay and eat; but she chose to consult Mrs. Vincy on the point of extra down-stairs consumption now that Mr. Featherstone was laid up.\n\"Oh, my dear, you must do things handsomely where there's last illness and a property. God knows, I don't grudge them every ham in the house—only, save the best for the funeral. Have some stuffed veal always, and a fine cheese in cut. You must expect to keep open house in these last illnesses,\" said liberal Mrs. Vincy, once more of cheerful note and bright plumage.\nBut some of the visitors alighted and did not depart after the handsome treating to veal and ham. Brother Jonah, for example (there are such unpleasant people in most families; perhaps even in the highest aristocracy there are Brobdingnag specimens, gigantically in debt and bloated at greater expense)—Brother Jonah, I say, having come down in the world, was mainly supported by a calling which he was modest enough not to boast of, though it was much better than swindling either on exchange or turf, but which did not require his presence at Brassing so long as he had a good corner to sit in and a supply of food. He chose the kitchen-corner, partly because he liked it best, and partly because he did not want to sit with Solomon, concerning whom he had a strong brotherly opinion. Seated in a famous arm-chair and in his best suit, constantly within sight of good cheer, he had a comfortable consciousness of being on the premises, mingled with fleeting suggestions of Sunday and the bar at the Green Man; and he informed Mary Garth that he should not go out of reach of his brother Peter while that poor fellow was above ground. The troublesome ones in a family are usually either the wits or the idiots. Jonah was the wit among the Featherstones, and joked with the maid-servants when they came about the hearth, but seemed to consider Miss Garth a suspicious character, and followed her with cold eyes.\nMary would have borne this one pair of eyes with comparative ease, but unfortunately there was young Cranch, who, having come all the way from the Chalky Flats to represent his mother and watch his uncle Jonah, also felt it his duty to stay and to sit chiefly in the kitchen to give his uncle company. Young Cranch was not exactly the balancing point between the wit and the idiot,—verging slightly towards the latter type, and squinting so as to leave everything in doubt about his sentiments except that they were not of a forcible character. When Mary Garth entered the kitchen and Mr. Jonah Featherstone began to follow her with his cold detective eyes, young Cranch turning his head in the same direction seemed to insist on it that she should remark how he was squinting, as if he did it with design, like the gypsies when Borrow read the New Testament to them. This was rather too much for poor Mary; sometimes it made her bilious, sometimes it upset her gravity. One day that she had an opportunity she could not resist describing the kitchen scene to Fred, who would not be hindered from immediately going to see it, affecting simply to pass through. But no sooner did he face the four eyes than he had to rush through the nearest door which happened to lead to the dairy, and there under the high roof and among the pans he gave way to laughter which made a hollow resonance perfectly audible in the kitchen. He fled by another doorway, but Mr. Jonah, who had not before seen Fred's white complexion, long legs, and pinched delicacy of face, prepared many sarcasms in which these points of appearance were wittily combined with the lowest moral attributes.\n\"Why, Tom, you don't wear such gentlemanly trousers—you haven't got half such fine long legs,\" said Jonah to his nephew, winking at the same time, to imply that there was something more in these statements than their undeniableness. Tom looked at his legs, but left it uncertain whether he preferred his moral advantages to a more vicious length of limb and reprehensible gentility of trouser.", "chosen": "48", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n48\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-033-00-bf41c06b", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"I remember, I remember, In the days of chill November, How the blackbird on the--\"\nI forget the rest. It is the beginning of the first piece of poetry I ever learned; for\n\"Hey, diddle diddle, The cat and the fiddle,\"\nI take no note of, it being of a frivolous character and lacking in the qualities of true poetry. I collected fourpence by the recital of \"I remember, I remember.\" I knew it was fourpence, because they told me that if I kept it until I got twopence more I should have sixpence, which argument, albeit undeniable, moved me not, and the money was squandered, to the best of my recollection, on the very next morning, although upon what memory is a blank.\nThat is just the way with Memory; nothing that she brings to us is complete. She is a willful child; all her toys are broken. I remember tumbling into a huge dust-hole when a very small boy, but I have not the faintest recollection of ever getting out again; and if memory were all we had to trust to, I should be compelled to believe I was there still.\nAt another time--some years later--I was assisting at an exceedingly interesting love scene; but the only thing about it I can call to mind distinctly is that at the most critical moment somebody suddenly opened the door and said, \"Emily, you're wanted,\" in a sepulchral tone that gave one the idea the police had come for her. All the tender words she said to me and all the beautiful things I said to her are utterly forgotten.\nLife altogether is but a crumbling ruin when we turn to look behind: a shattered column here, where a massive portal stood; the broken shaft of a window to mark my lady's bower; and a moldering heap of blackened stones where the glowing flames once leaped, and over all the tinted lichen and the ivy clinging green.\nFor everything looms pleasant through the softening haze of time. Even the sadness that is past seems sweet. Our boyish days look very merry to us now, all nutting, hoop, and gingerbread. The snubbings and toothaches and the Latin verbs are all forgotten--the Latin verbs especially. And we fancy we were very happy when we were hobbledehoys and loved; and we wish that we could love again. We never think of the heartaches, or the sleepless nights, or the hot dryness of our throats, when she said she could never be anything to us but a sister--as if any man wanted more sisters!\nYes, it is the brightness, not the darkness, that we see when we look back. The sunshine casts no shadows on the past. The road that we have traversed stretches very fair behind us. We see not the sharp stones. We dwell but on the roses by the wayside, and the strong briers that stung us are, to our distant eyes, but gentle tendrils waving in the wind. God be thanked that it is so--that the ever-lengthening chain of memory has only pleasant links, and that the bitterness and sorrow of to-day are smiled at on the morrow.\nIt seems as though the brightest side of everything were also its highest and best, so that as our little lives sink back behind us into the dark sea of forgetfulness, all that which is the lightest and the most gladsome is the last to sink, and stands above the waters, long in sight, when the angry thoughts and smarting pain are buried deep below the waves and trouble us no more.\nIt is this glamour of the past, I suppose, that makes old folk talk so much nonsense about the days when they were young. The world appears to have been a very superior sort of place then, and things were more like what they ought to be. Boys were boys then, and girls were very different. Also winters were something like winters, and summers not at all the wretched-things we get put off with nowadays. As for the wonderful deeds people did in those times and the extraordinary events that happened, it takes three strong men to believe half of them.\nI like to hear one of the old boys telling all about it to a party of youngsters who he knows cannot contradict him. It is odd if, after awhile, he doesn't swear that the moon shone every night when he was a boy, and that tossing mad bulls in a blanket was the favorite sport at his school.\nIt always has been and always will be the same. The old folk of our grandfathers' young days sang a song bearing exactly the same burden; and the young folk of to-day will drone out precisely similar nonsense for the aggravation of the next generation. \"Oh, give me back the good old days of fifty years ago,\" has been the cry ever since Adam's fifty-first birthday. Take up the literature of 1835, and you will find the poets and novelists asking for the same impossible gift as did the German Minnesingers long before them and the old Norse Saga writers long before that. And for the same thing sighed the early prophets and the philosophers of ancient Greece. From all accounts, the world has been getting worse and worse ever since it was created. All I can say is that it must have been a remarkably delightful place when it was first opened to the public, for it is very pleasant even now if you only keep as much as possible in the sunshine and take the rain good-temperedly.\nYet there is no gainsaying but that it must have been somewhat sweeter in that dewy morning of creation, when it was young and fresh, when the feet of the tramping millions had not trodden its grass to dust, nor the din of the myriad cities chased the silence forever away. Life must have been noble and solemn to those free-footed, loose-robed fathers of the human race, walking hand in hand with God under the great sky. They lived in sunkissed tents amid the lowing herds. They took their simple wants from the loving hand of Nature. They toiled and talked and thought; and the great earth rolled around in stillness, not yet laden with trouble and wrong.\nThose days are past now. The quiet childhood of Humanity, spent in the far-off forest glades and by the murmuring rivers, is gone forever; and human life is deepening down to manhood amid tumult, doubt, and hope. Its age of restful peace is past. It has its work to finish and must hasten on. What that work may be--what this world's share is in the great design--we know not, though our unconscious hands are helping to accomplish it. Like the tiny coral insect working deep under the dark waters, we strive and struggle each for our own little ends, nor dream of the vast fabric we are building up for God.\nLet us have done with vain regrets and longings for the days that never will be ours again. Our work lies in front, not behind us; and \"Forward!\" is our motto. Let us not sit with folded hands, gazing upon the past as if it were the building; it is but the foundation. Let us not waste heart and life thinking of what might have been and forgetting the may be that lies before us. Opportunities flit by while we sit regretting the chances we have lost, and the happiness that comes to us we heed not, because of the happiness that is gone.", "chosen": "It seems as though the brightest side of everything were also its highest and best, so that as our little lives sink back behind us into the dark sea of forgetfulness, all that which is the lightest and the most gladsome is the last to sink, and stands above the waters, long in sight, when the angry thoughts and smarting pain are buried deep below the waves and trouble us no more.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nIt seems as though the brightest side of everything were also its highest and best, so that as our little lives sink back behind us into the dark sea of forgetfulness, all that which is the lightest and the most gladsome is the last to sink, and stands above the waters, long in sight, when the angry thoughts and smarting pain are buried deep below the waves and trouble us no more.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-849-014-00-79675291", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThey say--people who ought to be ashamed of themselves do--that the consciousness of being well dressed imparts a blissfulness to the human heart that religion is powerless to bestow. I am afraid these cynical persons are sometimes correct. I know that when I was a very young man (many, many years ago, as the story-books say) and wanted cheering up, I used to go and dress myself in all my best clothes. If I had been annoyed in any manner--if my washerwoman had discharged me, for instance; or my blank-verse poem had been returned for the tenth time, with the editor's compliments \"and regrets that owing to want of space he is unable to avail himself of kind offer;\" or I had been snubbed by the woman I loved as man never loved before--by the way, it's really extraordinary what a variety of ways of loving there must be. We all do it as it was never done before. I don't know how our great-grandchildren will manage. They will have to do it on their heads by their time if they persist in not clashing with any previous method.\nWell, as I was saying, when these unpleasant sort of things happened and I felt crushed, I put on all my best clothes and went out. It brought back my vanishing self-esteem. In a glossy new hat and a pair of trousers with a fold down the front (carefully preserved by keeping them under the bed--I don't mean on the floor, you know, but between the bed and the mattress), I felt I was somebody and that there were other washerwomen: ay, and even other girls to love, and who would perhaps appreciate a clever, good-looking young fellow. I didn't care; that was my reckless way. I would make love to other maidens. I felt that in those clothes I could do it.\nThey have a wonderful deal to do with courting, clothes have. It is half the battle. At all events, the young man thinks so, and it generally takes him a couple of hours to get himself up for the occasion. His first half-hour is occupied in trying to decide whether to wear his light suit with a cane and drab billycock, or his black tails with a chimney-pot hat and his new umbrella. He is sure to be unfortunate in either decision. If he wears his light suit and takes the stick it comes on to rain, and he reaches the house in a damp and muddy condition and spends the evening trying to hide his boots. If, on the other hand, he decides in favor of the top hat and umbrella--nobody would ever dream of going out in a top hat without an umbrella; it would be like letting baby (bless it!) toddle out without its nurse. How I do hate a top hat! One lasts me a very long while, I can tell you. I only wear it when--well, never mind when I wear it. It lasts me a very long while. I've had my present one five years. It was rather old-fashioned last summer, but the shape has come round again now and I look quite stylish.\nBut to return to our young man and his courting. If he starts off with the top hat and umbrella the afternoon turns out fearfully hot, and the perspiration takes all the soap out of his mustache and converts the beautifully arranged curl over his forehead into a limp wisp resembling a lump of seaweed. The Fates are never favorable to the poor wretch. If he does by any chance reach the door in proper condition, she has gone out with her cousin and won't be back till late.\nHow a young lover made ridiculous by the gawkiness of modern costume must envy the picturesque gallants of seventy years ago! Look at them (on the Christmas cards), with their curly hair and natty hats, their well-shaped legs incased in smalls, their dainty Hessian boots, their ruffling frills, their canes and dangling seals. No wonder the little maiden in the big poke-bonnet and the light-blue sash casts down her eyes and is completely won. Men could win hearts in clothes like that. But what can you expect from baggy trousers and a monkeyjacket?\nClothes have more effect upon us than we imagine. Our deportment depends upon our dress. Make a man get into seedy, worn-out rags, and he will skulk along with his head hanging down, like a man going out to fetch his own supper beer. But deck out the same article in gorgeous raiment and fine linen, and he will strut down the main thoroughfare, swinging his cane and looking at the girls as perky as a bantam cock.\nClothes alter our very nature. A man could not help being fierce and daring with a plume in his bonnet, a dagger in his belt, and a lot of puffy white things all down his sleeves. But in an ulster he wants to get behind a lamp-post and call police.\nI am quite ready to admit that you can find sterling merit, honest worth, deep affection, and all such like virtues of the roast-beef-and-plum-pudding school as much, and perhaps more, under broadcloth and tweed as ever existed beneath silk and velvet; but the spirit of that knightly chivalry that \"rode a tilt for lady's love\" and \"fought for lady's smiles\" needs the clatter of steel and the rustle of plumes to summon it from its grave between the dusty folds of tapestry and underneath the musty leaves of moldering chronicles.\nThe world must be getting old, I think; it dresses so very soberly now. We have been through the infant period of humanity, when we used to run about with nothing on but a long, loose robe, and liked to have our feet bare. And then came the rough, barbaric age, the boyhood of our race. We didn't care what we wore then, but thought it nice to tattoo ourselves all over, and we never did our hair. And after that the world grew into a young man and became foppish. It decked itself in flowing curls and scarlet doublets, and went courting, and bragging, and bouncing--making a brave show.\nBut all those merry, foolish days of youth are gone, and we are very sober, very solemn--and very stupid, some say--now. The world is a grave, middle-aged gentleman in this nineteenth century, and would be shocked to see itself with a bit of finery on. So it dresses in black coats and trousers, and black hats, and black boots, and, dear me, it is such a very respectable gentleman--to think it could ever have gone gadding about as a troubadour or a knight-errant, dressed in all those fancy colors! Ah, well! we are more sensible in this age.\nOr at least we think ourselves so. It is a general theory nowadays that sense and dullness go together.\nGoodness is another quality that always goes with blackness. Very good people indeed, you will notice, dress altogether in black, even to gloves and neckties, and they will probably take to black shirts before long. Medium goods indulge in light trousers on week-days, and some of them even go so far as to wear fancy waistcoats. On the other hand, people who care nothing for a future state go about in light suits; and there have been known wretches so abandoned as to wear a white hat. Such people, however, are never spoken of in genteel society, and perhaps I ought not to have referred to them here.\nBy the way, talking of light suits, have you ever noticed how people stare at you the first time you go out in a new light suit They do not notice it so much afterward. The population of London have got accustomed to it by the third time you wear it. I say \"you,\" because I am not speaking from my own experience. I do not wear such things at all myself. As I said, only sinful people do so.", "chosen": "[\"and regrets that owing to want of space he is unable to avail himself of kind offer;\", \"rode a tilt for lady's love\", \"fought for lady's smiles\", \"you,\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"and regrets that owing to want of space he is unable to avail himself of kind offer;\", \"rode a tilt for lady's love\", \"fought for lady's smiles\", \"you,\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-849-013-00-1d07495f", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe silence of Swithin was to be accounted for by the circumstance that neither to the Mediterranean nor to America had he in the first place directed his steps. Feeling himself absolutely free he had, on arriving at Southampton, decided to make straight for the Cape, and hence had not gone aboard the Occidental at all. His object was to leave his heavier luggage there, examine the capabilities of the spot for his purpose, find out the necessity or otherwise of shipping over his own equatorial, and then cross to America as soon as there was a good opportunity. Here he might inquire the movements of the Transit expedition to the South Pacific, and join it at such a point as might be convenient.\nThus, though wrong in her premisses, Viviette had intuitively decided with sad precision. There was, as a matter of fact, a great possibility of her not being able to communicate with him for several months, notwithstanding that he might possibly communicate with her.\nThis excursive time was an awakening for Swithin. To altered circumstances inevitably followed altered views. That such changes should have a marked effect upon a young man who had made neither grand tour nor petty one--who had, in short, scarcely been away from home in his life--was nothing more than natural. New ideas struggled to disclose themselves and with the addition of strange twinklers to his southern horizon came an absorbed attention that way, and a corresponding forgetfulness of what lay to the north behind his back, whether human or celestial. Whoever may deplore it few will wonder that Viviette, who till then had stood high in his heaven, if she had not dominated it, sank, like the North Star, lower and lower with his retreat southward. Master of a large advance of his first year's income in circular notes, he perhaps too readily forgot that the mere act of honour, but for her self-suppression, would have rendered him penniless.\nMeanwhile, to come back and claim her at the specified time, four years thence, if she should not object to be claimed, was as much a part of his programme as were the exploits abroad and elsewhere that were to prelude it. The very thoroughness of his intention for that advanced date inclined him all the more readily to shelve the subject now. Her unhappy caution to him not to write too soon was a comfortable license in his present state of tension about sublime scientific things, which knew not woman, nor her sacrifices, nor her fears. In truth he was not only too young in years, but too literal, direct, and uncompromising in nature to understand such a woman as Lady Constantine; and she suffered for that limitation in him as it had been antecedently probable that she would do.\nHe stayed but a little time at Cape Town on this his first reconnoitring journey; and on that account wrote to no one from the place. On leaving he found there remained some weeks on his hands before he wished to cross to America; and feeling an irrepressible desire for further studies in navigation on shipboard, and under clear skies, he took the steamer for Melbourne; returning thence in due time, and pursuing his journey to America, where he landed at Boston.\nHaving at last had enough of great circles and other nautical reckonings, and taking no interest in men or cities, this indefatigable scrutineer of the universe went immediately on to Cambridge; and there, by the help of an introduction he had brought from England, he revelled for a time in the glories of the gigantic refractor (which he was permitted to use on occasion), and in the pleasures of intercourse with the scientific group around. This brought him on to the time of starting with the Transit expedition, when he and his kind became lost to the eye of civilization behind the horizon of the Pacific Ocean.\nTo speak of their doings on this pilgrimage, of ingress and egress, of tangent and parallax, of external and internal contact, would avail nothing. Is it not all written in the chronicles of the Astronomical Society? More to the point will it be to mention that Viviette's letter to Cambridge had been returned long before he reached that place, while her missive to Marseilles was, of course, misdirected altogether. On arriving in America, uncertain of an address in that country at which he would stay long, Swithin wrote his first letter to his grandmother; and in this he ordered that all communications should be sent to await him at Cape Town, as the only safe spot for finding him, sooner or later. The equatorial he also directed to be forwarded to the same place. At this time, too, he ventured to break Viviette's commands, and address a letter to her, not knowing of the strange results that had followed his absence from home.\nIt was February. The Transit was over, the scientific company had broken up, and Swithin had steamed towards the Cape to take up his permanent abode there, with a view to his great task of surveying, charting and theorizing on those exceptional features in the southern skies which had been but partially treated by the younger Herschel. Having entered Table Bay and landed on the quay, he called at once at the post-office.\nTwo letters were handed him, and he found from the date that they had been waiting there for some time. One of these epistles, which had a weather-worn look as regarded the ink, and was in old-fashioned penmanship, he knew to be from his grandmother. He opened it before he had as much as glanced at the superscription of the second.\nBesides immaterial portions, it contained the following:--\n'J reckon you know by now of our main news this fall, but lest you should not have heard of it J send the exact thing snipped out of the newspaper. Nobody expected her to do it quite so soon; but it is said hereabout that my lord bishop and my lady had been drawing nigh to an understanding before the glum tidings of Sir Blount's taking of his own life reached her; and the account of this wicked deed was so sore afflicting to her mind, and made her poor heart so timid and low, that in charity to my lady her few friends agreed on urging her to let the bishop go on paying his court as before, notwithstanding she had not been a widow-woman near so long as was thought. This, as it turned out, she was willing to do; and when my lord asked her she told him she would marry him at once or never. That's as J was told, and J had it from those that know.'\nThe cutting from the newspaper was an ordinary announcement of marriage between the Bishop of Melchester and Lady Constantine.\nSwithin was so astounded at the intelligence of what for the nonce seemed Viviette's wanton fickleness that he quite omitted to look at the second letter; and remembered nothing about it till an hour afterwards, when sitting in his own room at the hotel.\nIt was in her handwriting, but so altered that its superscription had not arrested his eye. It had no beginning, or date; but its contents soon acquainted him with her motive for the precipitate act. The few concluding sentences are all that it will be necessary to quote here:--", "chosen": "here", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nhere\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-3146-039-00-df67d01f", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nLydgate sat paralyzed by opposing impulses: since no reasoning he could apply to Rosamond seemed likely to conquer her assent, he wanted to smash and grind some object on which he could at least produce an impression, or else to tell her brutally that he was master, and she must obey. But he not only dreaded the effect of such extremities on their mutual life—he had a growing dread of Rosamond's quiet elusive obstinacy, which would not allow any assertion of power to be final; and again, she had touched him in a spot of keenest feeling by implying that she had been deluded with a false vision of happiness in marrying him. As to saying that he was master, it was not the fact. The very resolution to which he had wrought himself by dint of logic and honorable pride was beginning to relax under her torpedo contact. He swallowed half his cup of coffee, and then rose to go.\n\"I may at least request that you will not go to Trumbull at present—until it has been seen that there are no other means,\" said Rosamond. Although she was not subject to much fear, she felt it safer not to betray that she had written to Sir Godwin. \"Promise me that you will not go to him for a few weeks, or without telling me.\"\nLydgate gave a short laugh. \"I think it is I who should exact a promise that you will do nothing without telling me,\" he said, turning his eyes sharply upon her, and then moving to the door.\n\"You remember that we are going to dine at papa's,\" said Rosamond, wishing that he should turn and make a more thorough concession to her. But he only said \"Oh yes,\" impatiently, and went away. She held it to be very odious in him that he did not think the painful propositions he had had to make to her were enough, without showing so unpleasant a temper. And when she put the moderate request that he would defer going to Trumbull again, it was cruel in him not to assure her of what he meant to do. She was convinced of her having acted in every way for the best; and each grating or angry speech of Lydgate's served only as an addition to the register of offences in her mind. Poor Rosamond for months had begun to associate her husband with feelings of disappointment, and the terribly inflexible relation of marriage had lost its charm of encouraging delightful dreams. It had freed her from the disagreeables of her father's house, but it had not given her everything that she had wished and hoped. The Lydgate with whom she had been in love had been a group of airy conditions for her, most of which had disappeared, while their place had been taken by every-day details which must be lived through slowly from hour to hour, not floated through with a rapid selection of favorable aspects. The habits of Lydgate's profession, his home preoccupation with scientific subjects, which seemed to her almost like a morbid vampire's taste, his peculiar views of things which had never entered into the dialogue of courtship—all these continually alienating influences, even without the fact of his having placed himself at a disadvantage in the town, and without that first shock of revelation about Dover's debt, would have made his presence dull to her. There was another presence which ever since the early days of her marriage, until four months ago, had been an agreeable excitement, but that was gone: Rosamond would not confess to herself how much the consequent blank had to do with her utter ennui; and it seemed to her (perhaps she was right) that an invitation to Quallingham, and an opening for Lydgate to settle elsewhere than in Middlemarch—in London, or somewhere likely to be free from unpleasantness—would satisfy her quite well, and make her indifferent to the absence of Will Ladislaw, towards whom she felt some resentment for his exaltation of Mrs. Casaubon.\nThat was the state of things with Lydgate and Rosamond on the New Year's Day when they dined at her father's, she looking mildly neutral towards him in remembrance of his ill-tempered behavior at breakfast, and he carrying a much deeper effect from the inward conflict in which that morning scene was only one of many epochs. His flushed effort while talking to Mr. Farebrother—his effort after the cynical pretence that all ways of getting money are essentially the same, and that chance has an empire which reduces choice to a fool's illusion—was but the symptom of a wavering resolve, a benumbed response to the old stimuli of enthusiasm.\nWhat was he to do? He saw even more keenly than Rosamond did the dreariness of taking her into the small house in Bride Street, where she would have scanty furniture around her and discontent within: a life of privation and life with Rosamond were two images which had become more and more irreconcilable ever since the threat of privation had disclosed itself. But even if his resolves had forced the two images into combination, the useful preliminaries to that hard change were not visibly within reach. And though he had not given the promise which his wife had asked for, he did not go again to Trumbull. He even began to think of taking a rapid journey to the North and seeing Sir Godwin. He had once believed that nothing would urge him into making an application for money to his uncle, but he had not then known the full pressure of alternatives yet more disagreeable. He could not depend on the effect of a letter; it was only in an interview, however disagreeable this might be to himself, that he could give a thorough explanation and could test the effectiveness of kinship. No sooner had Lydgate begun to represent this step to himself as the easiest than there was a reaction of anger that he—he who had long ago determined to live aloof from such abject calculations, such self-interested anxiety about the inclinations and the pockets of men with whom he had been proud to have no aims in common—should have fallen not simply to their level, but to the level of soliciting them.", "chosen": "[\"Rosamond\", \"Trumbull\", \"Godwin\", \"Promise\", \"Lydgate\", \"Dover\", \"Quallingham\", \"Middlemarch\", \"London\", \"Will\", \"Ladislaw\", \"New\", \"Year\", \"Day\", \"Bride\", \"Street\", \"North\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Rosamond\", \"Trumbull\", \"Godwin\", \"Promise\", \"Lydgate\", \"Dover\", \"Quallingham\", \"Middlemarch\", \"London\", \"Will\", \"Ladislaw\", \"New\", \"Year\", \"Day\", \"Bride\", \"Street\", \"North\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-145-064-04-f51f1e4a", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"I went down about the church; years ago now.\"\n\"When you were with Hewby, of course, of course. Well, I can't understand it.\" His tones rose. \"I don't know what to say, your hoodwinking me like this for so long!\"\n\"I don't see that I have hoodwinked you at all.\"\n\"Yes, yes, but\"——\nKnight arose from his seat, and began pacing up and down the room. His face was markedly pale, and his voice perturbed, as he said—\n\"You did not act as I should have acted towards you under those circumstances. I feel it deeply; and I tell you plainly, I shall never forget it!\"\n\"What?\"\n\"Your behaviour at that meeting in the family vault, when I told you we were going to be married. Deception, dishonesty, everywhere; all the world's of a piece!\"\nStephen did not much like this misconstruction of his motives, even though it was but the hasty conclusion of a friend disturbed by emotion.\n\"I could do no otherwise than I did, with due regard to her,\" he said stiffly.\n\"Indeed!\" said Knight, in the bitterest tone of reproach. \"Nor could you with due regard to her have married her, I suppose! I have hoped—longed—that HE, who turns out to be YOU, would ultimately have done that.\"\n\"I am much obliged to you for that hope. But you talk very mysteriously. I think I had about the best reason anybody could have had for not doing that.\"\n\"Oh, what reason was it?\"\n\"That I could not.\"\n\"You ought to have made an opportunity; you ought to do so now, in bare justice to her, Stephen!\" cried Knight, carried beyond himself. \"That you know very well, and it hurts and wounds me more than you dream to find you never have tried to make any reparation to a woman of that kind—so trusting, so apt to be run away with by her feelings—poor little fool, so much the worse for her!\"\n\"Why, you talk like a madman! You took her away from me, did you not?\"\n\"Picking up what another throws down can scarcely be called 'taking away.' However, we shall not agree too well upon that subject, so we had better part.\"\n\"But I am quite certain you misapprehend something most grievously,\" said Stephen, shaken to the bottom of his heart. \"What have I done; tell me? I have lost Elfride, but is that such a sin?\"\n\"Was it her doing, or yours?\"\n\"Was what?\"\n\"That you parted.\"\n\"I will tell you honestly. It was hers entirely, entirely.\"\n\"What was her reason?\"\n\"I can hardly say. But I'll tell the story without reserve.\"\nStephen until to-day had unhesitatingly held that she grew tired of him and turned to Knight; but he did not like to advance the statement now, or even to think the thought. To fancy otherwise accorded better with the hope to which Knight's estrangement had given birth: that love for his friend was not the direct cause, but a result of her suspension of love for himself.\n\"Such a matter must not be allowed to breed discord between us,\" Knight returned, relapsing into a manner which concealed all his true feeling, as if confidence now was intolerable. \"I do see that your reticence towards me in the vault may have been dictated by prudential considerations.\" He concluded artificially, \"It was a strange thing altogether; but not of much importance, I suppose, at this distance of time; and it does not concern me now, though I don't mind hearing your story.\"\nThese words from Knight, uttered with such an air of renunciation and apparent indifference, prompted Smith to speak on—perhaps with a little complacency—of his old secret engagement to Elfride. He told the details of its origin, and the peremptory words and actions of her father to extinguish their love.\nKnight persevered in the tone and manner of a disinterested outsider. It had become more than ever imperative to screen his emotions from Stephen's eye; the young man would otherwise be less frank, and their meeting would be again embittered. What was the use of untoward candour?\nStephen had now arrived at the point in his ingenuous narrative where he left the vicarage because of her father's manner. Knight's interest increased. Their love seemed so innocent and childlike thus far.\n\"It is a nice point in casuistry,\" he observed, \"to decide whether you were culpable or not in not telling Swancourt that your friends were parishioners of his. It was only human nature to hold your tongue under the circumstances. Well, what was the result of your dismissal by him?\"\n\"That we agreed to be secretly faithful. And to insure this we thought we would marry.\"\nKnight's suspense and agitation rose higher when Stephen entered upon this phase of the subject.\n\"Do you mind telling on?\" he said, steadying his manner of speech.\n\"Oh, not at all.\"\nThen Stephen gave in full the particulars of the meeting with Elfride at the railway station; the necessity they were under of going to London, unless the ceremony were to be postponed. The long journey of the afternoon and evening; her timidity and revulsion of feeling; its culmination on reaching London; the crossing over to the down-platform and their immediate departure again, solely in obedience to her wish; the journey all night; their anxious watching for the dawn; their arrival at St. Launce's at last—were detailed. And he told how a village woman named Jethway was the only person who recognized them, either going or coming; and how dreadfully this terrified Elfride. He told how he waited in the fields whilst this then reproachful sweetheart went for her pony, and how the last kiss he ever gave her was given a mile out of the town, on the way to Endelstow.\nThese things Stephen related with a will. He believed that in doing so he established word by word the reasonableness of his claim to Elfride.\n\"Curse her! curse that woman!—that miserable letter that parted us! O God!\"\nKnight began pacing the room again, and uttered this at further end.\n\"What did you say?\" said Stephen, turning round.\n\"Say? Did I say anything? Oh, I was merely thinking about your story, and the oddness of my having a fancy for the same woman afterwards. And that now I—I have forgotten her almost; and neither of us care about her, except just as a friend, you know, eh?\"\nKnight still continued at the further end of the room, somewhat in shadow.\n\"Exactly,\" said Stephen, inwardly exultant, for he was really deceived by Knight's off-hand manner.\nYet he was deceived less by the completeness of Knight's disguise than by the persuasive power which lay in the fact that Knight had never before deceived him in anything. So this supposition that his companion had ceased to love Elfride was an enormous lightening of the weight which had turned the scale against him.\n\"Admitting that Elfride COULD love another man after you,\" said the elder, under the same varnish of careless criticism, \"she was none the worse for that experience.\"\n\"The worse? Of course she was none the worse.\"\n\"Did you ever think it a wild and thoughtless thing for her to do?\"\n\"Indeed, I never did,\" said Stephen. \"I persuaded her. She saw no harm in it until she decided to return, nor did I; nor was there, except to the extent of indiscretion.\"\n\"Directly she thought it was wrong she would go no further?\"\n\"That was it. I had just begun to think it wrong too.\"\n\"Such a childish escapade might have been misrepresented by any evil-disposed person, might it not?\"\n\"It might; but I never heard that it was. Nobody who really knew all the circumstances would have done otherwise than smile. If all the world had known it, Elfride would still have remained the only one who thought her action a sin. Poor child, she always persisted in thinking so, and was frightened more than enough.\"\n\"Stephen, do you love her now?\"\n\"Well, I like her; I always shall, you know,\" he said evasively, and with all the strategy love suggested. \"But I have not seen her for so long that I can hardly be expected to love her. Do you love her still?\"", "chosen": "I, Well,, I, His, I, Deception,, I, Indeed!\", Nor, I, But, I, That, You, What, I, It, But, To, Such, I, He, Knight, It, What, Stephen, Knight's, Their, It, It, Well,, And, Do, Oh,, The, Launce's, And, He, These, He, Curse, curse, O, What, Say?, Did, Oh,, And, Exactly,\", Yet, So, Admitting, Of, I, She, I, Nobody, If, Poor, But, Do", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nI, Well,, I, His, I, Deception,, I, Indeed!\", Nor, I, But, I, That, You, What, I, It, But, To, Such, I, He, Knight, It, What, Stephen, Knight's, Their, It, It, Well,, And, Do, Oh,, The, Launce's, And, He, These, He, Curse, curse, O, What, Say?, Did, Oh,, And, Exactly,\", Yet, So, Admitting, Of, I, She, I, Nobody, If, Poor, But, Do\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-037-01-42644762", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThis was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer; and, therefore, abruptly changing the conversation, talked on indifferent matters till they reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room, as soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption of all that she had heard. It was not to be supposed that any other people could be meant than those with whom she was connected. There could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the measures taken to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, she had never doubted; but she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him, he was the cause--his pride and caprice were the cause--of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.\n\"There were some very strong objections against the lady,\" were Colonel Fitzwilliam's words; and these strong objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in business in London.\n\"To Jane herself,\" she exclaimed, \"there could be no possibility of objection,--all loveliness and goodness as she is! Her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably never reach.\" When she thought of her mother, indeed, her confidence gave way a little; but she would not allow that any objections there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend's connections than from their want of sense; and she was quite decided, at last, that he had been partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.\nThe agitation and tears which the subject occasioned brought on a headache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was really unwell, did not press her to go, and as much as possible prevented her husband from pressing her; but Mr. Collins could not conceal his apprehension of Lady Catherine's being rather displeased by her staying at home.", "chosen": "22", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n22\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-1342-033-01-0da24f4d", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nMrs. Dashwood's visit to Lady Middleton took place the next day, and two of her daughters went with her; but Marianne excused herself from being of the party, under some trifling pretext of employment; and her mother, who concluded that a promise had been made by Willoughby the night before of calling on her while they were absent, was perfectly satisfied with her remaining at home.\nOn their return from the park they found Willoughby's curricle and servant in waiting at the cottage, and Mrs. Dashwood was convinced that her conjecture had been just. So far it was all as she had foreseen; but on entering the house she beheld what no foresight had taught her to expect. They were no sooner in the passage than Marianne came hastily out of the parlour apparently in violent affliction, with her handkerchief at her eyes; and without noticing them ran up stairs. Surprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into the room she had just quitted, where they found only Willoughby, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with his back towards them. He turned round on their coming in, and his countenance showed that he strongly partook of the emotion which overpowered Marianne.\n\"Is anything the matter with her?\" cried Mrs. Dashwood as she entered:--\"is she ill?\"\n\"I hope not,\" he replied, trying to look cheerful; and with a forced smile presently added, \"It is I who may rather expect to be ill--for I am now suffering under a very heavy disappointment!\"\n\"Disappointment?\"\n\"Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you. Mrs. Smith has this morning exercised the privilege of riches upon a poor dependent cousin, by sending me on business to London. I have just received my dispatches, and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of exhilaration I am now come to take my farewell of you.\"\n\"To London!--and are you going this morning?\"\n\"Almost this moment.\"\n\"This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith must be obliged, and her business will not detain you from us long I hope.\"\nHe coloured as he replied, \"You are very kind, but I have no idea of returning into Devonshire immediately. My visits to Mrs. Smith are never repeated within the twelvemonth.\"\n\"And is Mrs. Smith your only friend? Is Allenham the only house in the neighbourhood to which you will be welcome? For shame, Willoughby, can you wait for an invitation here?\"\nHis colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the ground he only replied, \"You are too good.\"\nMrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise. Elinor felt equal amazement. For a few moments every one was silent. Mrs. Dashwood first spoke.\n\"I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton cottage you will always be welcome; for I will not press you to return here immediately, because you only can judge how far that might be pleasing to Mrs. Smith; and on this head I shall be no more disposed to question your judgment than to doubt your inclination.\"\n\"My engagements at present,\" replied Willoughby, confusedly, \"are of such a nature--that--I dare not flatter myself--\"\nHe stopped. Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to speak, and another pause succeeded. This was broken by Willoughby, who said with a faint smile, \"It is folly to linger in this manner. I will not torment myself any longer by remaining among friends whose society it is impossible for me now to enjoy.\"\nHe then hastily took leave of them all and left the room. They saw him step into his carriage, and in a minute it was out of sight.\nMrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly quitted the parlour to give way in solitude to the concern and alarm which this sudden departure occasioned.\nElinor's uneasiness was at least equal to her mother's. She thought of what had just passed with anxiety and distrust. Willoughby's behaviour in taking leave of them, his embarrassment, and affectation of cheerfulness, and, above all, his unwillingness to accept her mother's invitation--a backwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike himself--greatly disturbed her. One moment she feared that no serious design had ever been formed on his side; and the next that some unfortunate quarrel had taken place between him and her sister. The distress in which Marianne had quitted the room was such as a serious quarrel could most reasonably account for, though when she considered what Marianne's love for him was, a quarrel seemed almost impossible.\nBut whatever might be the particulars of their separation, her sister's affliction was indubitable; and she thought with the tenderest compassion of that violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability not merely giving way to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a duty.\nIn about half an hour her mother returned, and though her eyes were red, her countenance was not uncheerful.\n\"Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor,\" said she, as she sat down to work, \"and with how heavy a heart does he travel?\"\n\"It is all very strange. So suddenly to be gone! It seems but the work of a moment. And last night he was with us so happy, so cheerful, so affectionate? And now, after only ten minutes notice,--gone too without intending to return! Something more than what he owned to us must have happened. He did not speak, he did not behave like himself. You must have seen the difference as well as I. What can it be? Can they have quarrelled? Why else should he have shown such unwillingness to accept your invitation here?\"\n\"It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see that. He had not the power of accepting it. I have thought it all over I assure you, and I can perfectly account for every thing that at first seemed strange to me as well as to you.\"\n\"Can you, indeed!\"\n\"Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way; but you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can--it will not satisfy you, I know; but you shall not talk me out of my trust in it. I am persuaded that Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne, disapproves of it, (perhaps because she has other views for him,) and on that account is eager to get him away; and that the business which she sends him off to transact is invented as an excuse to dismiss him. This is what I believe to have happened. He is, moreover, aware that she does disapprove the connection, he dares not therefore at present confess to her his engagement with Marianne, and he feels himself obliged, from his dependent situation, to give into her schemes, and absent himself from Devonshire for a while. You will tell me, I know, that this may or may not have happened; but I will listen to no cavil, unless you can point out any other method of understanding the affair as satisfactory at this. And now, Elinor, what have you to say?\"\n\"Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer.\"\n\"Then you would have told me, that it might or might not have happened. Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather take evil upon credit than good. You had rather look out for misery for Marianne, and guilt for poor Willoughby, than an apology for the latter. You are resolved to think him blamable, because he took leave of us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shown. And is no allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits depressed by recent disappointment? Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely because they are not certainties? Is nothing due to the man whom we have all such reason to love, and no reason in the world to think ill of?--to the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though unavoidably secret for a while? And, after all, what is it you suspect him of?\"", "chosen": "Dashwood's visit to Lady Middleton took place the next day, and two of her daughters went with her; but Marianne excused herself from being of the party, under some trifling pretext of employment; and her mother, who concluded that a promise had been made by Willoughby the night before of calling on her while they were absent, was perfectly satisfied with her remaining at home.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nDashwood's visit to Lady Middleton took place the next day, and two of her daughters went with her; but Marianne excused herself from being of the party, under some trifling pretext of employment; and her mother, who concluded that a promise had been made by Willoughby the night before of calling on her while they were absent, was perfectly satisfied with her remaining at home.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21839-015-00-55274c83", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe blood rushed to his head. He positively stammered; but he was beyond thinking of style, and he seized his hat.\n\"What is it he cannot?\" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, \"that he absolutely cannot and certainly cannot? Your reverence, am I to come in or not? Will you receive me as your guest?\"\n\"You are welcome with all my heart,\" answered the Superior. \"Gentlemen!\" he added, \"I venture to beg you most earnestly to lay aside your dissensions, and to be united in love and family harmony—with prayer to the Lord at our humble table.\"\n\"No, no, it is impossible!\" cried Miüsov, beside himself.\n\"Well, if it is impossible for Pyotr Alexandrovitch, it is impossible for me, and I won't stop. That is why I came. I will keep with Pyotr Alexandrovitch everywhere now. If you will go away, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, I will go away too, if you remain, I will remain. You stung him by what you said about family harmony, Father Superior, he does not admit he is my relation. That's right, isn't it, von Sohn? Here's von Sohn. How are you, von Sohn?\"\n\"Do you mean me?\" muttered Maximov, puzzled.\n\"Of course I mean you,\" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch. \"Who else? The Father Superior could not be von Sohn.\"\n\"But I am not von Sohn either. I am Maximov.\"\n\"No, you are von Sohn. Your reverence, do you know who von Sohn was? It was a famous murder case. He was killed in a house of harlotry—I believe that is what such places are called among you—he was killed and robbed, and in spite of his venerable age, he was nailed up in a box and sent from Petersburg to Moscow in the luggage van, and while they were nailing him up, the harlots sang songs and played the harp, that is to say, the piano. So this is that very von Sohn. He has risen from the dead, hasn't he, von Sohn?\"\n\"What is happening? What's this?\" voices were heard in the group of monks.\n\"Let us go,\" cried Miüsov, addressing Kalganov.\n\"No, excuse me,\" Fyodor Pavlovitch broke in shrilly, taking another step into the room. \"Allow me to finish. There in the cell you blamed me for behaving disrespectfully just because I spoke of eating gudgeon, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. Miüsov, my relation, prefers to have plus de noblesse que de sincérité in his words, but I prefer in mine plus de sincérité que de noblesse, and—damn the noblesse! That's right, isn't it, von Sohn? Allow me, Father Superior, though I am a buffoon and play the buffoon, yet I am the soul of honor, and I want to speak my mind. Yes, I am the soul of honor, while in Pyotr Alexandrovitch there is wounded vanity and nothing else. I came here perhaps to have a look and speak my mind. My son, Alexey, is here, being saved. I am his father; I care for his welfare, and it is my duty to care. While I've been playing the fool, I have been listening and having a look on the sly; and now I want to give you the last act of the performance. You know how things are with us? As a thing falls, so it lies. As a thing once has fallen, so it must lie for ever. Not a bit of it! I want to get up again. Holy Father, I am indignant with you. Confession is a great sacrament, before which I am ready to bow down reverently; but there in the cell, they all kneel down and confess aloud. Can it be right to confess aloud? It was ordained by the holy Fathers to confess in secret: then only your confession will be a mystery, and so it was of old. But how can I explain to him before every one that I did this and that ... well, you understand what—sometimes it would not be proper to talk about it—so it is really a scandal! No, Fathers, one might be carried along with you to the Flagellants, I dare say ... at the first opportunity I shall write to the Synod, and I shall take my son, Alexey, home.\"\nWe must note here that Fyodor Pavlovitch knew where to look for the weak spot. There had been at one time malicious rumors which had even reached the Archbishop (not only regarding our monastery, but in others where the institution of elders existed) that too much respect was paid to the elders, even to the detriment of the authority of the Superior, that the elders abused the sacrament of confession and so on and so on—absurd charges which had died away of themselves everywhere. But the spirit of folly, which had caught up Fyodor Pavlovitch, and was bearing him on the current of his own nerves into lower and lower depths of ignominy, prompted him with this old slander. Fyodor Pavlovitch did not understand a word of it, and he could not even put it sensibly, for on this occasion no one had been kneeling and confessing aloud in the elder's cell, so that he could not have seen anything of the kind. He was only speaking from confused memory of old slanders. But as soon as he had uttered his foolish tirade, he felt he had been talking absurd nonsense, and at once longed to prove to his audience, and above all to himself, that he had not been talking nonsense. And, though he knew perfectly well that with each word he would be adding more and more absurdity, he could not restrain himself, and plunged forward blindly.\n\"How disgraceful!\" cried Pyotr Alexandrovitch.\n\"Pardon me!\" said the Father Superior. \"It was said of old, 'Many have begun to speak against me and have uttered evil sayings about me. And hearing it I have said to myself: it is the correction of the Lord and He has sent it to heal my vain soul.' And so we humbly thank you, honored guest!\" and he made Fyodor Pavlovitch a low bow.\n\"Tut—tut—tut—sanctimoniousness and stock phrases! Old phrases and old gestures. The old lies and formal prostrations. We know all about them. A kiss on the lips and a dagger in the heart, as in Schiller's Robbers. I don't like falsehood, Fathers, I want the truth. But the truth is not to be found in eating gudgeon and that I proclaim aloud! Father monks, why do you fast? Why do you expect reward in heaven for that? Why, for reward like that I will come and fast too! No, saintly monk, you try being virtuous in the world, do good to society, without shutting yourself up in a monastery at other people's expense, and without expecting a reward up aloft for it—you'll find that a bit harder. I can talk sense, too, Father Superior. What have they got here?\" He went up to the table. \"Old port wine, mead brewed by the Eliseyev Brothers. Fie, fie, fathers! That is something beyond gudgeon. Look at the bottles the fathers have brought out, he he he! And who has provided it all? The Russian peasant, the laborer, brings here the farthing earned by his horny hand, wringing it from his family and the tax-gatherer! You bleed the people, you know, holy fathers.\"\n\"This is too disgraceful!\" said Father Iosif.\nFather Païssy kept obstinately silent. Miüsov rushed from the room, and Kalganov after him.\n\"Well, Father, I will follow Pyotr Alexandrovitch! I am not coming to see you again. You may beg me on your knees, I shan't come. I sent you a thousand roubles, so you have begun to keep your eye on me. He he he! No, I'll say no more. I am taking my revenge for my youth, for all the humiliation I endured.\" He thumped the table with his fist in a paroxysm of simulated feeling. \"This monastery has played a great part in my life! It has cost me many bitter tears. You used to set my wife, the crazy one, against me. You cursed me with bell and book, you spread stories about me all over the place. Enough, fathers! This is the age of Liberalism, the age of steamers and railways. Neither a thousand, nor a hundred roubles, no, nor a hundred farthings will you get out of me!\"", "chosen": "me", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nme\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-013-01-6977f4bd", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe Pequod, of Nantucket, Meets the Samuel Enderby, of London.\n\"Ship, ahoy! Hast seen the White Whale?\"\nSo cried Ahab, once more hailing a ship showing English colours, bearing down under the stern. Trumpet to mouth, the old man was standing in his hoisted quarter-boat, his ivory leg plainly revealed to the stranger captain, who was carelessly reclining in his own boat's bow. He was a darkly-tanned, burly, good-natured, fine-looking man, of sixty or thereabouts, dressed in a spacious roundabout, that hung round him in festoons of blue pilot-cloth; and one empty arm of this jacket streamed behind him like the broidered arm of a hussar's surcoat.\n\"Hast seen the White Whale?\"\n\"See you this?\" and withdrawing it from the folds that had hidden it, he held up a white arm of sperm whale bone, terminating in a wooden head like a mallet.\n\"Man my boat!\" cried Ahab, impetuously, and tossing about the oars near him—\"Stand by to lower!\"\nIn less than a minute, without quitting his little craft, he and his crew were dropped to the water, and were soon alongside of the stranger. But here a curious difficulty presented itself. In the excitement of the moment, Ahab had forgotten that since the loss of his leg he had never once stepped on board of any vessel at sea but his own, and then it was always by an ingenious and very handy mechanical contrivance peculiar to the Pequod, and a thing not to be rigged and shipped in any other vessel at a moment's warning. Now, it is no very easy matter for anybody—except those who are almost hourly used to it, like whalemen—to clamber up a ship's side from a boat on the open sea; for the great swells now lift the boat high up towards the bulwarks, and then instantaneously drop it half way down to the kelson. So, deprived of one leg, and the strange ship of course being altogether unsupplied with the kindly invention, Ahab now found himself abjectly reduced to a clumsy landsman again; hopelessly eyeing the uncertain changeful height he could hardly hope to attain.\nIt has before been hinted, perhaps, that every little untoward circumstance that befell him, and which indirectly sprang from his luckless mishap, almost invariably irritated or exasperated Ahab. And in the present instance, all this was heightened by the sight of the two officers of the strange ship, leaning over the side, by the perpendicular ladder of nailed cleets there, and swinging towards him a pair of tastefully-ornamented man-ropes; for at first they did not seem to bethink them that a one-legged man must be too much of a cripple to use their sea bannisters. But this awkwardness only lasted a minute, because the strange captain, observing at a glance how affairs stood, cried out, \"I see, I see!—avast heaving there! Jump, boys, and swing over the cutting-tackle.\"\nAs good luck would have it, they had had a whale alongside a day or two previous, and the great tackles were still aloft, and the massive curved blubber-hook, now clean and dry, was still attached to the end. This was quickly lowered to Ahab, who at once comprehending it all, slid his solitary thigh into the curve of the hook (it was like sitting in the fluke of an anchor, or the crotch of an apple tree), and then giving the word, held himself fast, and at the same time also helped to hoist his own weight, by pulling hand-over-hand upon one of the running parts of the tackle. Soon he was carefully swung inside the high bulwarks, and gently landed upon the capstan head. With his ivory arm frankly thrust forth in welcome, the other captain advanced, and Ahab, putting out his ivory leg, and crossing the ivory arm (like two sword-fish blades) cried out in his walrus way, \"Aye, aye, hearty! let us shake bones together!—an arm and a leg!—an arm that never can shrink, d'ye see; and a leg that never can run. Where did'st thou see the White Whale?—how long ago?\"\n\"The White Whale,\" said the Englishman, pointing his ivory arm towards the East, and taking a rueful sight along it, as if it had been a telescope; \"there I saw him, on the Line, last season.\"\n\"And he took that arm off, did he?\" asked Ahab, now sliding down from the capstan, and resting on the Englishman's shoulder, as he did so.\n\"Aye, he was the cause of it, at least; and that leg, too?\"\n\"Spin me the yarn,\" said Ahab; \"how was it?\"\n\"It was the first time in my life that I ever cruised on the Line,\" began the Englishman. \"I was ignorant of the White Whale at that time. Well, one day we lowered for a pod of four or five whales, and my boat fastened to one of them; a regular circus horse he was, too, that went milling and milling round so, that my boat's crew could only trim dish, by sitting all their sterns on the outer gunwale. Presently up breaches from the bottom of the sea a bouncing great whale, with a milky-white head and hump, all crows' feet and wrinkles.\"\n\"It was he, it was he!\" cried Ahab, suddenly letting out his suspended breath.\n\"And harpoons sticking in near his starboard fin.\"\n\"Aye, aye—they were mine—my irons,\" cried Ahab, exultingly—\"but on!\"\n\"Give me a chance, then,\" said the Englishman, good-humoredly. \"Well, this old great-grandfather, with the white head and hump, runs all afoam into the pod, and goes to snapping furiously at my fast-line!\n\"Aye, I see!—wanted to part it; free the fast-fish—an old trick—I know him.\"\n\"How it was exactly,\" continued the one-armed commander, \"I do not know; but in biting the line, it got foul of his teeth, caught there somehow; but we didn't know it then; so that when we afterwards pulled on the line, bounce we came plump on to his hump! instead of the other whale's; that went off to windward, all fluking. Seeing how matters stood, and what a noble great whale it was—the noblest and biggest I ever saw, sir, in my life—I resolved to capture him, spite of the boiling rage he seemed to be in. And thinking the hap-hazard line would get loose, or the tooth it was tangled to might draw (for I have a devil of a boat's crew for a pull on a whale-line); seeing all this, I say, I jumped into my first mate's boat—Mr. Mounttop's here (by the way, Captain—Mounttop; Mounttop—the captain);—as I was saying, I jumped into Mounttop's boat, which, d'ye see, was gunwale and gunwale with mine, then; and snatching the first harpoon, let this old great-grandfather have it. But, Lord, look you, sir—hearts and souls alive, man—the next instant, in a jiff, I was blind as a bat—both eyes out—all befogged and bedeadened with black foam—the whale's tail looming straight up out of it, perpendicular in the air, like a marble steeple. No use sterning all, then; but as I was groping at midday, with a blinding sun, all crown-jewels; as I was groping, I say, after the second iron, to toss it overboard—down comes the tail like a Lima tower, cutting my boat in two, leaving each half in splinters; and, flukes first, the white hump backed through the wreck, as though it was all chips. We all struck out. To escape his terrible flailings, I seized hold of my harpoon-pole sticking in him, and for a moment clung to that like a sucking fish. But a combing sea dashed me off, and at the same instant, the fish, taking one good dart forwards, went down like a flash; and the barb of that cursed second iron towing along near me caught me here\" (clapping his hand just below his shoulder); \"yes, caught me just here, I say, and bore me down to Hell's flames, I was thinking; when, when, all of a sudden, thank the good God, the barb ript its way along the flesh—clear along the whole length of my arm—came out nigh my wrist, and up I floated;—and that gentleman there will tell you the rest (by the way, captain—Dr. Bunger, ship's surgeon: Bunger, my lad,—the captain). Now, Bunger boy, spin your part of the yarn.\"", "chosen": "[\"Pequod\", \"Nantucket\", \"Meets\", \"Samuel\", \"Enderby\", \"London\", \"Ship\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Ahab\", \"English\", \"Hast\", \"See\", \"Man\", \"Stand\", \"Aye\", \"Englishman\", \"East\", \"Line\", \"Spin\", \"Give\", \"Mounttop\", \"Lima\", \"Hell\", \"God\", \"Bunger\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Pequod\", \"Nantucket\", \"Meets\", \"Samuel\", \"Enderby\", \"London\", \"Ship\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Ahab\", \"English\", \"Hast\", \"See\", \"Man\", \"Stand\", \"Aye\", \"Englishman\", \"East\", \"Line\", \"Spin\", \"Give\", \"Mounttop\", \"Lima\", \"Hell\", \"God\", \"Bunger\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-087-00-591038b0", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nFor some reason or other, the house was crowded that night, and the fat Jew manager who met them at the door was beaming from ear to ear with an oily tremulous smile. He escorted them to their box with a sort of pompous humility, waving his fat jewelled hands and talking at the top of his voice. Dorian Gray loathed him more than ever. He felt as if he had come to look for Miranda and had been met by Caliban. Lord Henry, upon the other hand, rather liked him. At least he declared he did, and insisted on shaking him by the hand and assuring him that he was proud to meet a man who had discovered a real genius and gone bankrupt over a poet. Hallward amused himself with watching the faces in the pit. The heat was terribly oppressive, and the huge sunlight flamed like a monstrous dahlia with petals of yellow fire. The youths in the gallery had taken off their coats and waistcoats and hung them over the side. They talked to each other across the theatre and shared their oranges with the tawdry girls who sat beside them. Some women were laughing in the pit. Their voices were horribly shrill and discordant. The sound of the popping of corks came from the bar.\n\"What a place to find one's divinity in!\" said Lord Henry.\n\"Yes!\" answered Dorian Gray. \"It was here I found her, and she is divine beyond all living things. When she acts, you will forget everything. These common rough people, with their coarse faces and brutal gestures, become quite different when she is on the stage. They sit silently and watch her. They weep and laugh as she wills them to do. She makes them as responsive as a violin. She spiritualizes them, and one feels that they are of the same flesh and blood as one's self.\"\n\"The same flesh and blood as one's self! Oh, I hope not!\" exclaimed Lord Henry, who was scanning the occupants of the gallery through his opera-glass.\n\"Don't pay any attention to him, Dorian,\" said the painter. \"I understand what you mean, and I believe in this girl. Any one you love must be marvellous, and any girl who has the effect you describe must be fine and noble. To spiritualize one's age—that is something worth doing. If this girl can give a soul to those who have lived without one, if she can create the sense of beauty in people whose lives have been sordid and ugly, if she can strip them of their selfishness and lend them tears for sorrows that are not their own, she is worthy of all your adoration, worthy of the adoration of the world. This marriage is quite right. I did not think so at first, but I admit it now. The gods made Sibyl Vane for you. Without her you would have been incomplete.\"\n\"Thanks, Basil,\" answered Dorian Gray, pressing his hand. \"I knew that you would understand me. Harry is so cynical, he terrifies me. But here is the orchestra. It is quite dreadful, but it only lasts for about five minutes. Then the curtain rises, and you will see the girl to whom I am going to give all my life, to whom I have given everything that is good in me.\"\nA quarter of an hour afterwards, amidst an extraordinary turmoil of applause, Sibyl Vane stepped on to the stage. Yes, she was certainly lovely to look at—one of the loveliest creatures, Lord Henry thought, that he had ever seen. There was something of the fawn in her shy grace and startled eyes. A faint blush, like the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, came to her cheeks as she glanced at the crowded enthusiastic house. She stepped back a few paces and her lips seemed to tremble. Basil Hallward leaped to his feet and began to applaud. Motionless, and as one in a dream, sat Dorian Gray, gazing at her. Lord Henry peered through his glasses, murmuring, \"Charming! charming!\"\nThe scene was the hall of Capulet's house, and Romeo in his pilgrim's dress had entered with Mercutio and his other friends. The band, such as it was, struck up a few bars of music, and the dance began. Through the crowd of ungainly, shabbily dressed actors, Sibyl Vane moved like a creature from a finer world. Her body swayed, while she danced, as a plant sways in the water. The curves of her throat were the curves of a white lily. Her hands seemed to be made of cool ivory.\nYet she was curiously listless. She showed no sign of joy when her eyes rested on Romeo. The few words she had to speak—\nGood pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss—\nwith the brief dialogue that follows, were spoken in a thoroughly artificial manner. The voice was exquisite, but from the point of view of tone it was absolutely false. It was wrong in colour. It took away all the life from the verse. It made the passion unreal.\nDorian Gray grew pale as he watched her. He was puzzled and anxious. Neither of his friends dared to say anything to him. She seemed to them to be absolutely incompetent. They were horribly disappointed.\nYet they felt that the true test of any Juliet is the balcony scene of the second act. They waited for that. If she failed there, there was nothing in her.\nShe looked charming as she came out in the moonlight. That could not be denied. But the staginess of her acting was unbearable, and grew worse as she went on. Her gestures became absurdly artificial. She overemphasized everything that she had to say. The beautiful passage—\nThou knowest the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night—\nwas declaimed with the painful precision of a schoolgirl who has been taught to recite by some second-rate professor of elocution. When she leaned over the balcony and came to those wonderful lines—\nAlthough I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say, \"It lightens.\" Sweet, good-night! This bud of love by summer's ripening breath May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet—\nshe spoke the words as though they conveyed no meaning to her. It was not nervousness. Indeed, so far from being nervous, she was absolutely self-contained. It was simply bad art. She was a complete failure.\nEven the common uneducated audience of the pit and gallery lost their interest in the play. They got restless, and began to talk loudly and to whistle. The Jew manager, who was standing at the back of the dress-circle, stamped and swore with rage. The only person unmoved was the girl herself.\nWhen the second act was over, there came a storm of hisses, and Lord Henry got up from his chair and put on his coat. \"She is quite beautiful, Dorian,\" he said, \"but she can't act. Let us go.\"\n\"I am going to see the play through,\" answered the lad, in a hard bitter voice. \"I am awfully sorry that I have made you waste an evening, Harry. I apologize to you both.\"\n\"My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was ill,\" interrupted Hallward. \"We will come some other night.\"\n\"I wish she were ill,\" he rejoined. \"But she seems to me to be simply callous and cold. She has entirely altered. Last night she was a great artist. This evening she is merely a commonplace mediocre actress.\"\n\"Don't talk like that about any one you love, Dorian. Love is a more wonderful thing than art.\"", "chosen": "For, He, Dorian, He, Lord, At, Hallward, The, The, They, Some, Their, The, What, Yes!\", It, When, These, They, They, She, She, Oh,, Don't, I, Any, To, If, This, I, The, Without, I, Harry, But, It, Then, Yes,, There, A, She, Basil, Motionless,, Lord, charming!\", The, Through, Her, The, Her, Yet, She, The, The, It, It, It, Dorian, He, Neither, She, They, Yet, They, If, She, That, But, Her, She, The, When, This, It, Indeed,, It, She, Even, They, The, The, When, She, Let, I, I, We, But, She, Last, This, Love", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nFor, He, Dorian, He, Lord, At, Hallward, The, The, They, Some, Their, The, What, Yes!\", It, When, These, They, They, She, She, Oh,, Don't, I, Any, To, If, This, I, The, Without, I, Harry, But, It, Then, Yes,, There, A, She, Basil, Motionless,, Lord, charming!\", The, Through, Her, The, Her, Yet, She, The, The, It, It, It, Dorian, He, Neither, She, They, Yet, They, If, She, That, But, Her, She, The, When, This, It, Indeed,, It, She, Even, They, The, The, When, She, Let, I, I, We, But, She, Last, This, Love\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-174-007-00-1d6e88a5", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nIt so happened that Edward Springrove was expected to arrive from London either on that evening or the next, and at the sound of voices his father came to the door fully expecting to see him. A picture of disappointment seldom witnessed in a man's face was visible in old Mr. Springrove's, when he saw that the comer was a stranger.\nMrs. Manston asked for a room, and one that had been prepared for Edward was immediately named as being ready for her, another being adaptable for Edward, should he come in.\nWithout taking any refreshment, or entering any room downstairs, or even lifting her veil, she walked straight along the passage and up to her apartment, the chambermaid preceding her.\n'If Mr. Manston comes to-night,' she said, sitting on the bed as she had come in, and addressing the woman, 'tell him I cannot see him.'\n'Yes, ma'am.'\nThe woman left the room, and Mrs. Manston locked the door. Before the servant had gone down more than two or three stairs, Mrs. Manston unfastened the door again, and held it ajar.\n'Bring me some brandy,' she said.\nThe chambermaid went down to the bar and brought up the spirit in a tumbler. When she came into the room, Mrs. Manston had not removed a single article of apparel, and was walking up and down, as if still quite undecided upon the course it was best to adopt.\nOutside the door, when it was closed upon her, the maid paused to listen for an instant. She heard Mrs. Manston talking to herself.\n'This is welcome home!' she said.\n2. FROM TEN TO HALF-PAST ELEVEN P.M.\nA strange concurrence of phenomena now confronts us.\nDuring the autumn in which the past scenes were enacted, Mr. Springrove had ploughed, harrowed, and cleaned a narrow and shaded piece of ground, lying at the back of his house, which for many years had been looked upon as irreclaimable waste.\nThe couch-grass extracted from the soil had been left to wither in the sun; afterwards it was raked together, lighted in the customary way, and now lay smouldering in a large heap in the middle of the plot.\nIt had been kindled three days previous to Mrs. Manston's arrival, and one or two villagers, of a more cautious and less sanguine temperament than Springrove, had suggested that the fire was almost too near the back of the house for its continuance to be unattended with risk; for though no danger could be apprehended whilst the air remained moderately still, a brisk breeze blowing towards the house might possibly carry a spark across.\n'Ay, that's true enough,' said Springrove. 'I must look round before going to bed and see that everything's safe; but to tell the truth I am anxious to get the rubbish burnt up before the rain comes to wash it into ground again. As to carrying the couch into the back field to burn, and bringing it back again, why, 'tis more than the ashes would be worth.'\n'Well, that's very true,' said the neighbours, and passed on.\nTwo or three times during the first evening after the heap was lit, he went to the back door to take a survey. Before bolting and barring up for the night, he made a final and more careful examination. The slowly-smoking pile showed not the slightest signs of activity. Springrove's perfectly sound conclusion was, that as long as the heap was not stirred, and the wind continued in the quarter it blew from then, the couch would not flame, and that there could be no shadow of danger to anything, even a combustible substance, though it were no more than a yard off.\nThe next morning the burning couch was discovered in precisely the same state as when he had gone to bed the preceding night. The heap smoked in the same manner the whole of that day: at bed-time the farmer looked towards it, but less carefully than on the first night.\nThe morning and the whole of the third day still saw the heap in its old smouldering condition; indeed, the smoke was less, and there seemed a probability that it might have to be re-kindled on the morrow.\nAfter admitting Mrs. Manston to his house in the evening, and hearing her retire, Mr. Springrove returned to the front door to listen for a sound of his son, and inquired concerning him of the railway-porter, who sat for a while in the kitchen. The porter had not noticed young Mr. Springrove get out of the train, at which intelligence the old man concluded that he would probably not see his son till the next day, as Edward had hitherto made a point of coming by the train which had brought Mrs. Manston.\nHalf-an-hour later the porter left the inn, Springrove at the same time going to the door to listen again an instant, then he walked round and in at the back of the house.\nThe farmer glanced at the heap casually and indifferently in passing; two nights of safety seemed to ensure the third; and he was about to bolt and bar as usual, when the idea struck him that there was just a possibility of his son's return by the latest train, unlikely as it was that he would be so delayed. The old man thereupon left the door unfastened, looked to his usual matters indoors, and went to bed, it being then half-past ten o'clock.\nFarmers and horticulturists well know that it is in the nature of a heap of couch-grass, when kindled in calm weather, to smoulder for many days, and even weeks, until the whole mass is reduced to a powdery charcoal ash, displaying the while scarcely a sign of combustion beyond the volcano-like smoke from its summit; but the continuance of this quiet process is throughout its length at the mercy of one particular whim of Nature: that is, a sudden breeze, by which the heap is liable to be fanned into a flame so brisk as to consume the whole in an hour or two.\nHad the farmer narrowly watched the pile when he went to close the door, he would have seen, besides the familiar twine of smoke from its summit, a quivering of the air around the mass, showing that a considerable heat had arisen inside.\nAs the railway-porter turned the corner of the row of houses adjoining the Three Tranters, a brisk new wind greeted his face, and spread past him into the village. He walked along the high-road till he came to a gate, about three hundred yards from the inn. Over the gate could be discerned the situation of the building he had just quitted. He carelessly turned his head in passing, and saw behind him a clear red glow indicating the position of the couch-heap: a glow without a flame, increasing and diminishing in brightness as the breeze quickened or fell, like the coal of a newly lighted cigar. If those cottages had been his, he thought, he should not care to have a fire so near them as that--and the wind rising. But the cottages not being his, he went on his way to the station, where he was about to resume duty for the night. The road was now quite deserted: till four o'clock the next morning, when the carters would go by to the stables there was little probability of any human being passing the Three Tranters Inn.\nBy eleven, everybody in the house was asleep. It truly seemed as if the treacherous element knew there had arisen a grand opportunity for devastation.\nAt a quarter past eleven a slight stealthy crackle made itself heard amid the increasing moans of the night wind; the heap glowed brighter still, and burst into a flame; the flame sank, another breeze entered it, sustained it, and it grew to be first continuous and weak, then continuous and strong.\nAt twenty minutes past eleven a blast of wind carried an airy bit of ignited fern several yards forward, in a direction parallel to the houses and inn, and there deposited it on the ground.\nFive minutes later another puff of wind carried a similar piece to a distance of five-and-twenty yards, where it also was dropped softly on the ground.", "chosen": "60", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n60\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-3044-008-01-1d94612e", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nThe allusion to the waif and waif-poles in the last chapter but one, necessitates some account of the laws and regulations of the whale fishery, of which the waif may be deemed the grand symbol and badge.\nIt frequently happens that when several ships are cruising in company, a whale may be struck by one vessel, then escape, and be finally killed and captured by another vessel; and herein are indirectly comprised many minor contingencies, all partaking of this one grand feature. For example,—after a weary and perilous chase and capture of a whale, the body may get loose from the ship by reason of a violent storm; and drifting far away to leeward, be retaken by a second whaler, who, in a calm, snugly tows it alongside, without risk of life or line. Thus the most vexatious and violent disputes would often arise between the fishermen, were there not some written or unwritten, universal, undisputed law applicable to all cases.\nPerhaps the only formal whaling code authorized by legislative enactment, was that of Holland. It was decreed by the States-General in A.D. 1695. But though no other nation has ever had any written whaling law, yet the American fishermen have been their own legislators and lawyers in this matter. They have provided a system which for terse comprehensiveness surpasses Justinian's Pandects and the By-laws of the Chinese Society for the Suppression of Meddling with other People's Business. Yes; these laws might be engraven on a Queen Anne's farthing, or the barb of a harpoon, and worn round the neck, so small are they.\nI. A Fast-Fish belongs to the party fast to it.\nII. A Loose-Fish is fair game for anybody who can soonest catch it.\nBut what plays the mischief with this masterly code is the admirable brevity of it, which necessitates a vast volume of commentaries to expound it.\nFirst: What is a Fast-Fish? Alive or dead a fish is technically fast, when it is connected with an occupied ship or boat, by any medium at all controllable by the occupant or occupants,—a mast, an oar, a nine-inch cable, a telegraph wire, or a strand of cobweb, it is all the same. Likewise a fish is technically fast when it bears a waif, or any other recognised symbol of possession; so long as the party waifing it plainly evince their ability at any time to take it alongside, as well as their intention so to do.\nThese are scientific commentaries; but the commentaries of the whalemen themselves sometimes consist in hard words and harder knocks—the Coke-upon-Littleton of the fist. True, among the more upright and honorable whalemen allowances are always made for peculiar cases, where it would be an outrageous moral injustice for one party to claim possession of a whale previously chased or killed by another party. But others are by no means so scrupulous.\nSome fifty years ago there was a curious case of whale-trover litigated in England, wherein the plaintiffs set forth that after a hard chase of a whale in the Northern seas; and when indeed they (the plaintiffs) had succeeded in harpooning the fish; they were at last, through peril of their lives, obliged to forsake not only their lines, but their boat itself. Ultimately the defendants (the crew of another ship) came up with the whale, struck, killed, seized, and finally appropriated it before the very eyes of the plaintiffs. And when those defendants were remonstrated with, their captain snapped his fingers in the plaintiffs' teeth, and assured them that by way of doxology to the deed he had done, he would now retain their line, harpoons, and boat, which had remained attached to the whale at the time of the seizure. Wherefore the plaintiffs now sued for the recovery of the value of their whale, line, harpoons, and boat.\nMr. Erskine was counsel for the defendants; Lord Ellenborough was the judge. In the course of the defence, the witty Erskine went on to illustrate his position, by alluding to a recent crim. con. case, wherein a gentleman, after in vain trying to bridle his wife's viciousness, had at last abandoned her upon the seas of life; but in the course of years, repenting of that step, he instituted an action to recover possession of her. Erskine was on the other side; and he then supported it by saying, that though the gentleman had originally harpooned the lady, and had once had her fast, and only by reason of the great stress of her plunging viciousness, had at last abandoned her; yet abandon her he did, so that she became a loose-fish; and therefore when a subsequent gentleman re-harpooned her, the lady then became that subsequent gentleman's property, along with whatever harpoon might have been found sticking in her.\nNow in the present case Erskine contended that the examples of the whale and the lady were reciprocally illustrative of each other.\nThese pleadings, and the counter pleadings, being duly heard, the very learned judge in set terms decided, to wit,—That as for the boat, he awarded it to the plaintiffs, because they had merely abandoned it to save their lives; but that with regard to the controverted whale, harpoons, and line, they belonged to the defendants; the whale, because it was a Loose-Fish at the time of the final capture; and the harpoons and line because when the fish made off with them, it (the fish) acquired a property in those articles; and hence anybody who afterwards took the fish had a right to them. Now the defendants afterwards took the fish; ergo, the aforesaid articles were theirs.\nA common man looking at this decision of the very learned Judge, might possibly object to it. But ploughed up to the primary rock of the matter, the two great principles laid down in the twin whaling laws previously quoted, and applied and elucidated by Lord Ellenborough in the above cited case; these two laws touching Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish, I say, will, on reflection, be found the fundamentals of all human jurisprudence; for notwithstanding its complicated tracery of sculpture, the Temple of the Law, like the Temple of the Philistines, has but two props to stand on.\nIs it not a saying in every one's mouth, Possession is half of the law: that is, regardless of how the thing came into possession? But often possession is the whole of the law. What are the sinews and souls of Russian serfs and Republican slaves but Fast-Fish, whereof possession is the whole of the law? What to the rapacious landlord is the widow's last mite but a Fast-Fish? What is yonder undetected villain's marble mansion with a door-plate for a waif; what is that but a Fast-Fish? What is the ruinous discount which Mordecai, the broker, gets from poor Woebegone, the bankrupt, on a loan to keep Woebegone's family from starvation; what is that ruinous discount but a Fast-Fish? What is the Archbishop of Savesoul's income of £100,000 seized from the scant bread and cheese of hundreds of thousands of broken-backed laborers (all sure of heaven without any of Savesoul's help) what is that globular £100,000 but a Fast-Fish? What are the Duke of Dunder's hereditary towns and hamlets but Fast-Fish? What to that redoubted harpooneer, John Bull, is poor Ireland, but a Fast-Fish? What to that apostolic lancer, Brother Jonathan, is Texas but a Fast-Fish? And concerning all these, is not Possession the whole of the law?\nBut if the doctrine of Fast-Fish be pretty generally applicable, the kindred doctrine of Loose-Fish is still more widely so. That is internationally and universally applicable.\nWhat was America in 1492 but a Loose-Fish, in which Columbus struck the Spanish standard by way of waifing it for his royal master and mistress? What was Poland to the Czar? What Greece to the Turk? What India to England? What at last will Mexico be to the United States? All Loose-Fish.\nWhat are the Rights of Man and the Liberties of the World but Loose-Fish? What all men's minds and opinions but Loose-Fish? What is the principle of religious belief in them but a Loose-Fish? What to the ostentatious smuggling verbalists are the thoughts of thinkers but Loose-Fish? What is the great globe itself but a Loose-Fish? And what are you, reader, but a Loose-Fish and a Fast-Fish, too?", "chosen": "These pleadings, and the counter pleadings, being duly heard, the very learned judge in set terms decided, to wit,—That as for the boat, he awarded it to the plaintiffs, because they had merely abandoned it to save their lives; but that with regard to the controverted whale, harpoons, and line, they belonged to the defendants; the whale, because it was a Loose-Fish at the time of the final capture; and the harpoons and line because when the fish made off with them, it (the fish) acquired a property in those articles; and hence anybody who afterwards took the fish had a right to them.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nThese pleadings, and the counter pleadings, being duly heard, the very learned judge in set terms decided, to wit,—That as for the boat, he awarded it to the plaintiffs, because they had merely abandoned it to save their lives; but that with regard to the controverted whale, harpoons, and line, they belonged to the defendants; the whale, because it was a Loose-Fish at the time of the final capture; and the harpoons and line because when the fish made off with them, it (the fish) acquired a property in those articles; and hence anybody who afterwards took the fish had a right to them.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2701-078-00-1f8b09b1", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"If this open weather holds much longer,\" said Mrs. Jennings, when they met at breakfast the following morning, \"Sir John will not like leaving Barton next week; 'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day's pleasure. Poor souls! I always pity them when they do; they seem to take it so much to heart.\"\n\"That is true,\" cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice, and walking to the window as she spoke, to examine the day. \"I had not thought of that. This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country.\"\nIt was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were restored by it. \"It is charming weather for them indeed,\" she continued, as she sat down to the breakfast table with a happy countenance. \"How much they must enjoy it! But\" (with a little return of anxiety) \"it cannot be expected to last long. At this time of the year, and after such a series of rain, we shall certainly have very little more of it. Frosts will soon set in, and in all probability with severity. In another day or two perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last longer--nay, perhaps it may freeze tonight!\"\n\"At any rate,\" said Elinor, wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from seeing her sister's thoughts as clearly as she did, \"I dare say we shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next week.\"\n\"Ay, my dear, I'll warrant you we do. Mary always has her own way.\"\n\"And now,\" silently conjectured Elinor, \"she will write to Combe by this day's post.\"\nBut if she did, the letter was written and sent away with a privacy which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact. Whatever the truth of it might be, and far as Elinor was from feeling thorough contentment about it, yet while she saw Marianne in spirits, she could not be very uncomfortable herself. And Marianne was in spirits; happy in the mildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of a frost.\nThe morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs. Jennings's acquaintance to inform them of her being in town; and Marianne was all the time busy in observing the direction of the wind, watching the variations of the sky and imagining an alteration in the air.\n\"Don't you find it colder than it was in the morning, Elinor? There seems to me a very decided difference. I can hardly keep my hands warm even in my muff. It was not so yesterday, I think. The clouds seem parting too, the sun will be out in a moment, and we shall have a clear afternoon.\"\nElinor was alternately diverted and pained; but Marianne persevered, and saw every night in the brightness of the fire, and every morning in the appearance of the atmosphere, the certain symptoms of approaching frost.\nThe Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be dissatisfied with Mrs. Jennings's style of living, and set of acquaintance, than with her behaviour to themselves, which was invariably kind. Every thing in her household arrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan, and excepting a few old city friends, whom, to Lady Middleton's regret, she had never dropped, she visited no one to whom an introduction could at all discompose the feelings of her young companions. Pleased to find herself more comfortably situated in that particular than she had expected, Elinor was very willing to compound for the want of much real enjoyment from any of their evening parties, which, whether at home or abroad, formed only for cards, could have little to amuse her.\nColonel Brandon, who had a general invitation to the house, was with them almost every day; he came to look at Marianne and talk to Elinor, who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from any other daily occurrence, but who saw at the same time with much concern his continued regard for her sister. She feared it was a strengthening regard. It grieved her to see the earnestness with which he often watched Marianne, and his spirits were certainly worse than when at Barton.\nAbout a week after their arrival, it became certain that Willoughby was also arrived. His card was on the table when they came in from the morning's drive.\n\"Good God!\" cried Marianne, \"he has been here while we were out.\" Elinor, rejoiced to be assured of his being in London, now ventured to say, \"Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow.\" But Marianne seemed hardly to hear her, and on Mrs. Jennings's entrance, escaped with the precious card.\nThis event, while it raised the spirits of Elinor, restored to those of her sister all, and more than all, their former agitation. From this moment her mind was never quiet; the expectation of seeing him every hour of the day, made her unfit for any thing. She insisted on being left behind, the next morning, when the others went out.\nElinor's thoughts were full of what might be passing in Berkeley Street during their absence; but a moment's glance at her sister when they returned was enough to inform her, that Willoughby had paid no second visit there. A note was just then brought in, and laid on the table.\n\"For me!\" cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward.\n\"No, ma'am, for my mistress.\"\nBut Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up.\n\"It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!\"\n\"You are expecting a letter, then?\" said Elinor, unable to be longer silent.\n\"Yes, a little--not much.\"\nAfter a short pause. \"You have no confidence in me, Marianne.\"\n\"Nay, Elinor, this reproach from you--you who have confidence in no one!\"\n\"Me!\" returned Elinor in some confusion; \"indeed, Marianne, I have nothing to tell.\"\n\"Nor I,\" answered Marianne with energy, \"our situations then are alike. We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you do not communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing.\"\nElinor, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, which she was not at liberty to do away, knew not how, under such circumstances, to press for greater openness in Marianne.\nMrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being given her, she read it aloud. It was from Lady Middleton, announcing their arrival in Conduit Street the night before, and requesting the company of her mother and cousins the following evening. Business on Sir John's part, and a violent cold on her own, prevented their calling in Berkeley Street. The invitation was accepted; but when the hour of appointment drew near, necessary as it was in common civility to Mrs. Jennings, that they should both attend her on such a visit, Elinor had some difficulty in persuading her sister to go, for still she had seen nothing of Willoughby; and therefore was not more indisposed for amusement abroad, than unwilling to run the risk of his calling again in her absence.\nElinor found, when the evening was over, that disposition is not materially altered by a change of abode, for although scarcely settled in town, Sir John had contrived to collect around him, nearly twenty young people, and to amuse them with a ball. This was an affair, however, of which Lady Middleton did not approve. In the country, an unpremeditated dance was very allowable; but in London, where the reputation of elegance was more important and less easily attained, it was risking too much for the gratification of a few girls, to have it known that Lady Middleton had given a small dance of eight or nine couple, with two violins, and a mere side-board collation.", "chosen": "[\"If this open weather holds much longer,\", \"Sir John will not like leaving Barton next week; 'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day's pleasure. Poor souls! I always pity them when they do; they seem to take it so much to heart.\", \"That is true,\", \"I had not thought of that. This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country.\", \"It is charming weather for them indeed,\", \"How much they must enjoy it! But\", \"At any rate,\", \"I dare say we shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next week.\", \"Ay, my dear, I'll warrant you we do. Mary always has her own way.\", \"And now,\", \"she will write to Combe by this day's post.\", \"Good God!\", \"he has been here while we were out.\", \"Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow.\", \"For me!\", \"No, ma'am, for my mistress.\", \"It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!\", \"You are expecting a letter, then?\", \"Yes, a little--not much.\", \"You have no confidence in me, Marianne.\", \"Nay, Elinor, this reproach from you--you who have confidence in no one!\", \" returned Elinor in some confusion; \", \"Nor I,\", \"our situations then are alike. We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you do not communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing.\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"If this open weather holds much longer,\", \"Sir John will not like leaving Barton next week; 'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day's pleasure. Poor souls! I always pity them when they do; they seem to take it so much to heart.\", \"That is true,\", \"I had not thought of that. This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country.\", \"It is charming weather for them indeed,\", \"How much they must enjoy it! But\", \"At any rate,\", \"I dare say we shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next week.\", \"Ay, my dear, I'll warrant you we do. Mary always has her own way.\", \"And now,\", \"she will write to Combe by this day's post.\", \"Good God!\", \"he has been here while we were out.\", \"Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow.\", \"For me!\", \"No, ma'am, for my mistress.\", \"It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!\", \"You are expecting a letter, then?\", \"Yes, a little--not much.\", \"You have no confidence in me, Marianne.\", \"Nay, Elinor, this reproach from you--you who have confidence in no one!\", \" returned Elinor in some confusion; \", \"Nor I,\", \"our situations then are alike. We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you do not communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing.\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-21839-027-00-5b0a7a66", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe height of the spire was about one hundred and twenty feet, and the five men engaged thereon seemed entirely removed from the sphere and experiences of ordinary human beings. They appeared little larger than pigeons, and made their tiny movements with a soft, spirit-like silentness. One idea above all others was conveyed to the mind of a person on the ground by their aspect, namely, concentration of purpose: that they were indifferent to--even unconscious of--the distracted world beneath them, and all that moved upon it. They never looked off the scaffolding.\nThen one of them turned; it was Mr. Graye. Again he stood motionless, with attention to the operations of the others. He appeared to be lost in reflection, and had directed his face towards a new stone they were lifting.\n'Why does he stand like that?' the young lady thought at length--up to that moment as listless and careless as one of the ancient Tarentines, who, on such an afternoon as this, watched from the Theatre the entry into their Harbour of a power that overturned the State.\nShe moved herself uneasily. 'I wish he would come down,' she whispered, still gazing at the skybacked picture. 'It is so dangerous to be absent-minded up there.'\nWhen she had done murmuring the words her father indecisively laid hold of one of the scaffold-poles, as if to test its strength, then let it go and stepped back. In stepping, his foot slipped. An instant of doubling forward and sideways, and he reeled off into the air, immediately disappearing downwards.\nHis agonized daughter rose to her feet by a convulsive movement. Her lips parted, and she gasped for breath. She could utter no sound. One by one the people about her, unconscious of what had happened, turned their heads, and inquiry and alarm became visible upon their faces at the sight of the poor child. A moment longer, and she fell to the floor.\nThe next impression of which Cytherea had any consciousness was of being carried from a strange vehicle across the pavement to the steps of her own house by her brother and an older man. Recollection of what had passed evolved itself an instant later, and just as they entered the door--through which another and sadder burden had been carried but a few instants before--her eyes caught sight of the south-western sky, and, without heeding, saw white sunlight shining in shaft-like lines from a rift in a slaty cloud. Emotions will attach themselves to scenes that are simultaneous--however foreign in essence these scenes may be--as chemical waters will crystallize on twigs and wires. Even after that time any mental agony brought less vividly to Cytherea's mind the scene from the Town Hall windows than sunlight streaming in shaft-like lines.\n4. OCTOBER THE NINETEENTH\nWhen death enters a house, an element of sadness and an element of horror accompany it. Sadness, from the death itself: horror, from the clouds of blackness we designedly labour to introduce.\nThe funeral had taken place. Depressed, yet resolved in his demeanour, Owen Graye sat before his father's private escritoire, engaged in turning out and unfolding a heterogeneous collection of papers--forbidding and inharmonious to the eye at all times--most of all to one under the influence of a great grief. Laminae of white paper tied with twine were indiscriminately intermixed with other white papers bounded by black edges--these with blue foolscap wrapped round with crude red tape.\nThe bulk of these letters, bills, and other documents were submitted to a careful examination, by which the appended particulars were ascertained:--\nFirst, that their father's income from professional sources had been very small, amounting to not more than half their expenditure; and that his own and his wife's property, upon which he had relied for the balance, had been sunk and lost in unwise loans to unscrupulous men, who had traded upon their father's too open-hearted trustfulness.\nSecond, that finding his mistake, he had endeavoured to regain his standing by the illusory path of speculation. The most notable instance of this was the following. He had been induced, when at Plymouth in the autumn of the previous year, to venture all his spare capital on the bottomry security of an Italian brig which had put into the harbour in distress. The profit was to be considerable, so was the risk. There turned out to be no security whatever. The circumstances of the case tendered it the most unfortunate speculation that a man like himself--ignorant of all such matters--could possibly engage in. The vessel went down, and all Mr. Graye's money with it.\nThird, that these failures had left him burdened with debts he knew not how to meet; so that at the time of his death even the few pounds lying to his account at the bank were his only in name.\nFourth, that the loss of his wife two years earlier had awakened him to a keen sense of his blindness, and of his duty by his children. He had then resolved to reinstate by unflagging zeal in the pursuit of his profession, and by no speculation, at least a portion of the little fortune he had let go.\nCytherea was frequently at her brother's elbow during these examinations. She often remarked sadly--\n'Poor papa failed to fulfil his good intention for want of time, didn't he, Owen? And there was an excuse for his past, though he never would claim it. I never forget that original disheartening blow, and how that from it sprang all the ills of his life--everything connected with his gloom, and the lassitude in business we used so often to see about him.'\n'I remember what he said once,' returned the brother, 'when I sat up late with him. He said, \"Owen, don't love too blindly: blindly you will love if you love at all, but a little care is still possible to a well-disciplined heart. May that heart be yours as it was not mine,\" father said. \"Cultivate the art of renunciation.\" And I am going to, Cytherea.'\n'And once mamma said that an excellent woman was papa's ruin, because he did not know the way to give her up when he had lost her. I wonder where she is now, Owen? We were told not to try to find out anything about her. Papa never told us her name, did he?'\n'That was by her own request, I believe. But never mind her; she was not our mother.'\nThe love affair which had been Ambrose Graye's disheartening blow was precisely of that nature which lads take little account of, but girls ponder in their hearts.\n5. FROM OCTOBER THE NINETEENTH TO JULY THE NINTH\nThus Ambrose Graye's good intentions with regard to the reintegration of his property had scarcely taken tangible form when his sudden death put them for ever out of his power.\nHeavy bills, showing the extent of his obligations, tumbled in immediately upon the heels of the funeral from quarters previously unheard and unthought of. Thus pressed, a bill was filed in Chancery to have the assets, such as they were, administered by the Court.\n'What will become of us now?' thought Owen continually.\nThere is in us an unquenchable expectation, which at the gloomiest time persists in inferring that because we are ourselves, there must be a special future in store for us, though our nature and antecedents to the remotest particular have been common to thousands. Thus to Cytherea and Owen Graye the question how their lives would end seemed the deepest of possible enigmas. To others who knew their position equally well with themselves the question was the easiest that could be asked--'Like those of other people similarly circumstanced.'", "chosen": "circumstanced'", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\ncircumstanced'\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-3044-001-02-c2ba961b", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nBy and by attention ceased from him, and the accustomed school murmur rose upon the dull air once more. Presently the boy began to steal furtive glances at the girl. She observed it, \"made a mouth\" at him and gave him the back of her head for the space of a minute. When she cautiously faced around again, a peach lay before her. She thrust it away. Tom gently put it back. She thrust it away again, but with less animosity. Tom patiently returned it to its place. Then she let it remain. Tom scrawled on his slate, \"Please take it—I got more.\" The girl glanced at the words, but made no sign. Now the boy began to draw something on the slate, hiding his work with his left hand. For a time the girl refused to notice; but her human curiosity presently began to manifest itself by hardly perceptible signs. The boy worked on, apparently unconscious. The girl made a sort of non-committal attempt to see, but the boy did not betray that he was aware of it. At last she gave in and hesitatingly whispered:\n\"Let me see it.\"\nTom partly uncovered a dismal caricature of a house with two gable ends to it and a corkscrew of smoke issuing from the chimney. Then the girl's interest began to fasten itself upon the work and she forgot everything else. When it was finished, she gazed a moment, then whispered:\n\"It's nice—make a man.\"\nThe artist erected a man in the front yard, that resembled a derrick. He could have stepped over the house; but the girl was not hypercritical; she was satisfied with the monster, and whispered:\n\"It's a beautiful man—now make me coming along.\"\nTom drew an hour-glass with a full moon and straw limbs to it and armed the spreading fingers with a portentous fan. The girl said:\n\"It's ever so nice—I wish I could draw.\"\n\"It's easy,\" whispered Tom, \"I'll learn you.\"\n\"Oh, will you? When?\"\n\"At noon. Do you go home to dinner?\"\n\"I'll stay if you will.\"\n\"Good—that's a whack. What's your name?\"\n\"Becky Thatcher. What's yours? Oh, I know. It's Thomas Sawyer.\"\n\"That's the name they lick me by. I'm Tom when I'm good. You call me Tom, will you?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nNow Tom began to scrawl something on the slate, hiding the words from the girl. But she was not backward this time. She begged to see. Tom said:\n\"Oh, it ain't anything.\"\n\"Yes it is.\"\n\"No it ain't. You don't want to see.\"\n\"Yes I do, indeed I do. Please let me.\"\n\"You'll tell.\"\n\"No I won't—deed and deed and double deed won't.\"\n\"You won't tell anybody at all? Ever, as long as you live?\"\n\"No, I won't ever tell anybody. Now let me.\"\n\"Oh, you don't want to see!\"\n\"Now that you treat me so, I will see.\" And she put her small hand upon his and a little scuffle ensued, Tom pretending to resist in earnest but letting his hand slip by degrees till these words were revealed: \"I love you.\"\n\"Oh, you bad thing!\" And she hit his hand a smart rap, but reddened and looked pleased, nevertheless.\nJust at this juncture the boy felt a slow, fateful grip closing on his ear, and a steady lifting impulse. In that wise he was borne across the house and deposited in his own seat, under a peppering fire of giggles from the whole school. Then the master stood over him during a few awful moments, and finally moved away to his throne without saying a word. But although Tom's ear tingled, his heart was jubilant.\nAs the school quieted down Tom made an honest effort to study, but the turmoil within him was too great. In turn he took his place in the reading class and made a botch of it; then in the geography class and turned lakes into mountains, mountains into rivers, and rivers into continents, till chaos was come again; then in the spelling class, and got \"turned down,\" by a succession of mere baby words, till he brought up at the foot and yielded up the pewter medal which he had worn with ostentation for months.", "chosen": "[\"Please\", \"Let\", \"Tom\", \"Good\", \"Becky\", \"Thatcher\", \"Thomas\", \"Sawyer\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Please\", \"Let\", \"Tom\", \"Good\", \"Becky\", \"Thatcher\", \"Thomas\", \"Sawyer\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-74-006-02-4a7415ae", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Non, je ne comprends pas de plus charmant plaisir Que de voir d'héritiers une troupe affligée Le maintien interdit, et la mine allongée, Lire un long testament où pales, étonnés On leur laisse un bonsoir avec un pied de nez. Pour voir au naturel leur tristesse profonde Je reviendrais, je crois, exprès de l'autre monde.\" —REGNARD: Le Légataire Universel.\nWhen the animals entered the Ark in pairs, one may imagine that allied species made much private remark on each other, and were tempted to think that so many forms feeding on the same store of fodder were eminently superfluous, as tending to diminish the rations. (I fear the part played by the vultures on that occasion would be too painful for art to represent, those birds being disadvantageously naked about the gullet, and apparently without rites and ceremonies.)\nThe same sort of temptation befell the Christian Carnivora who formed Peter Featherstone's funeral procession; most of them having their minds bent on a limited store which each would have liked to get the most of. The long-recognized blood-relations and connections by marriage made already a goodly number, which, multiplied by possibilities, presented a fine range for jealous conjecture and pathetic hopefulness. Jealousy of the Vincys had created a fellowship in hostility among all persons of the Featherstone blood, so that in the absence of any decided indication that one of themselves was to have more than the rest, the dread lest that long-legged Fred Vincy should have the land was necessarily dominant, though it left abundant feeling and leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as were entertained towards Mary Garth. Solomon found time to reflect that Jonah was undeserving, and Jonah to abuse Solomon as greedy; Jane, the elder sister, held that Martha's children ought not to expect so much as the young Waules; and Martha, more lax on the subject of primogeniture, was sorry to think that Jane was so \"having.\" These nearest of kin were naturally impressed with the unreasonableness of expectations in cousins and second cousins, and used their arithmetic in reckoning the large sums that small legacies might mount to, if there were too many of them. Two cousins were present to hear the will, and a second cousin besides Mr. Trumbull. This second cousin was a Middlemarch mercer of polite manners and superfluous aspirates. The two cousins were elderly men from Brassing, one of them conscious of claims on the score of inconvenient expense sustained by him in presents of oysters and other eatables to his rich cousin Peter; the other entirely saturnine, leaning his hands and chin on a stick, and conscious of claims based on no narrow performance but on merit generally: both blameless citizens of Brassing, who wished that Jonah Featherstone did not live there. The wit of a family is usually best received among strangers.\n\"Why, Trumbull himself is pretty sure of five hundred—that you may depend,—I shouldn't wonder if my brother promised him,\" said Solomon, musing aloud with his sisters, the evening before the funeral.\n\"Dear, dear!\" said poor sister Martha, whose imagination of hundreds had been habitually narrowed to the amount of her unpaid rent.\nBut in the morning all the ordinary currents of conjecture were disturbed by the presence of a strange mourner who had plashed among them as if from the moon. This was the stranger described by Mrs. Cadwallader as frog-faced: a man perhaps about two or three and thirty, whose prominent eyes, thin-lipped, downward-curved mouth, and hair sleekly brushed away from a forehead that sank suddenly above the ridge of the eyebrows, certainly gave his face a batrachian unchangeableness of expression. Here, clearly, was a new legatee; else why was he bidden as a mourner? Here were new possibilities, raising a new uncertainty, which almost checked remark in the mourning-coaches. We are all humiliated by the sudden discovery of a fact which has existed very comfortably and perhaps been staring at us in private while we have been making up our world entirely without it. No one had seen this questionable stranger before except Mary Garth, and she knew nothing more of him than that he had twice been to Stone Court when Mr. Featherstone was down-stairs, and had sat alone with him for several hours. She had found an opportunity of mentioning this to her father, and perhaps Caleb's were the only eyes, except the lawyer's, which examined the stranger with more of inquiry than of disgust or suspicion. Caleb Garth, having little expectation and less cupidity, was interested in the verification of his own guesses, and the calmness with which he half smilingly rubbed his chin and shot intelligent glances much as if he were valuing a tree, made a fine contrast with the alarm or scorn visible in other faces when the unknown mourner, whose name was understood to be Rigg, entered the wainscoted parlor and took his seat near the door to make part of the audience when the will should be read. Just then Mr. Solomon and Mr. Jonah were gone up-stairs with the lawyer to search for the will; and Mrs. Waule, seeing two vacant seats between herself and Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, had the spirit to move next to that great authority, who was handling his watch-seals and trimming his outlines with a determination not to show anything so compromising to a man of ability as wonder or surprise.\n\"I suppose you know everything about what my poor brother's done, Mr. Trumbull,\" said Mrs. Waule, in the lowest of her woolly tones, while she turned her crape-shadowed bonnet towards Mr. Trumbull's ear.\n\"My good lady, whatever was told me was told in confidence,\" said the auctioneer, putting his hand up to screen that secret.\n\"Them who've made sure of their good-luck may be disappointed yet,\" Mrs. Waule continued, finding some relief in this communication.\n\"Hopes are often delusive,\" said Mr. Trumbull, still in confidence.\n\"Ah!\" said Mrs. Waule, looking across at the Vincys, and then moving back to the side of her sister Martha.\n\"It's wonderful how close poor Peter was,\" she said, in the same undertones. \"We none of us know what he might have had on his mind. I only hope and trust he wasn't a worse liver than we think of, Martha.\"\nPoor Mrs. Cranch was bulky, and, breathing asthmatically, had the additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ.\n\"I never was covetous, Jane,\" she replied; \"but I have six children and have buried three, and I didn't marry into money. The eldest, that sits there, is but nineteen—so I leave you to guess. And stock always short, and land most awkward. But if ever I've begged and prayed; it's been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the other childless after twice marrying—anybody might think!\"\nMeanwhile, Mr. Vincy had glanced at the passive face of Mr. Rigg, and had taken out his snuff-box and tapped it, but had put it again unopened as an indulgence which, however clarifying to the judgment, was unsuited to the occasion. \"I shouldn't wonder if Featherstone had better feelings than any of us gave him credit for,\" he observed, in the ear of his wife. \"This funeral shows a thought about everybody: it looks well when a man wants to be followed by his friends, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed of them. I should be all the better pleased if he'd left lots of small legacies. They may be uncommonly useful to fellows in a small way.\"\n\"Everything is as handsome as could be, crape and silk and everything,\" said Mrs. Vincy, contentedly.", "chosen": "Non,, Pour, When, I, The, Jealousy, Solomon, Two, Trumbull., This, The, The, Why,, Dear,, But, This, Cadwallader, Here,, Here, We, No, Featherstone, She, Caleb, Just, Solomon, Jonah, Waule,, Borthrop, I, Trumbull,\", Waule,, Trumbull's, My, Them, Waule, Hopes, Trumbull,, Ah!\", Waule,, It's, We, I, Cranch, I, The, And, But, Vincy, Rigg,, I, This, I, They, Vincy,", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nNon,, Pour, When, I, The, Jealousy, Solomon, Two, Trumbull., This, The, The, Why,, Dear,, But, This, Cadwallader, Here,, Here, We, No, Featherstone, She, Caleb, Just, Solomon, Jonah, Waule,, Borthrop, I, Trumbull,\", Waule,, Trumbull's, My, Them, Waule, Hopes, Trumbull,, Ah!\", Waule,, It's, We, I, Cranch, I, The, And, But, Vincy, Rigg,, I, This, I, They, Vincy,\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-036-00-33afac94", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nSaturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.\nTom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from the town pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at the pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour—and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:\n\"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some.\"\nJim shook his head and said:\n\"Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis water an' not stop foolin' roun' wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars Tom gwine to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long an' 'tend to my own business—she 'lowed she'd 'tend to de whitewashin'.\"\n\"Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's the way she always talks. Gimme the bucket—I won't be gone only a a minute. She won't ever know.\"\n\"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n me. 'Deed she would.\"\n\"She! She never licks anybody—whacks 'em over the head with her thimble—and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but talk don't hurt—anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give you a marvel. I'll give you a white alley!\"\nJim began to waver.\n\"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw.\"\n\"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful 'fraid ole missis—\"\n\"And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe.\"\nJim was only human—this attraction was too much for him. He put down his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he was flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with a slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye.\nBut Tom's energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for having to work—the very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and examined it—bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange of work, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great, magnificent inspiration.\nHe took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in sight presently—the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump—proof enough that his heart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and circumstance—for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them:\n\"Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!\" The headway ran almost out, and he drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.\n\"Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!\" His arms straightened and stiffened down his sides.\n\"Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow! Chow!\" His right hand, mean-time, describing stately circles—for it was representing a forty-foot wheel.\n\"Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!\" The left hand began to describe circles.\n\"Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! lively now! Come—out with your spring-line—what're you about there! Take a turn round that stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now—let her go! Done with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T! SH'T!\" (trying the gauge-cocks).\nTom went on whitewashing—paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared a moment and then said: \"Hi-Yi! You're up a stump, ain't you!\"\nNo answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:\n\"Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?\"\nTom wheeled suddenly and said:\n\"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing.\"\n\"Say—I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of course you'd druther work—wouldn't you? Course you would!\"\nTom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:\n\"What do you call work?\"\n\"Why, ain't that work?\"\nTom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:\n\"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer.\"\n\"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?\"\nThe brush continued to move.\n\"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?\"\nThat put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth—stepped back to note the effect—added a touch here and there—criticised the effect again—Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed. Presently he said:\n\"Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little.\"\nTom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:\n\"No—no—I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about this fence—right here on the street, you know—but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and she wouldn't. Yes, she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done.\"\n\"No—is that so? Oh come, now—lemme just try. Only just a little—I'd let you, if you was me, Tom.\"\n\"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly—well, Jim wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen to it—\"\n\"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say—I'll give you the core of my apple.\"\n\"Well, here—No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard—\"\n\"I'll give you all of it!\"", "chosen": "102", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n102\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-74-002-00-1b02bea5", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nAunt Sally she was one of the mixed-upest-looking persons I ever see—except one, and that was Uncle Silas, when he come in and they told it all to him. It kind of made him drunk, as you may say, and he didn't know nothing at all the rest of the day, and preached a prayer-meeting sermon that night that gave him a rattling ruputation, because the oldest man in the world couldn't a understood it. So Tom's Aunt Polly, she told all about who I was, and what; and I had to up and tell how I was in such a tight place that when Mrs. Phelps took me for Tom Sawyer—she chipped in and says, \"Oh, go on and call me Aunt Sally, I'm used to it now, and 'tain't no need to change\"—that when Aunt Sally took me for Tom Sawyer I had to stand it—there warn't no other way, and I knowed he wouldn't mind, because it would be nuts for him, being a mystery, and he'd make an adventure out of it, and be perfectly satisfied. And so it turned out, and he let on to be Sid, and made things as soft as he could for me.\nAnd his Aunt Polly she said Tom was right about old Miss Watson setting Jim free in her will; and so, sure enough, Tom Sawyer had gone and took all that trouble and bother to set a free nigger free! and I couldn't ever understand before, until that minute and that talk, how he could help a body set a nigger free with his bringing-up.\nWell, Aunt Polly she said that when Aunt Sally wrote to her that Tom and Sid had come all right and safe, she says to herself:\n\"Look at that, now! I might have expected it, letting him go off that way without anybody to watch him. So now I got to go and trapse all the way down the river, eleven hundred mile, and find out what that creetur's up to this time; as long as I couldn't seem to get any answer out of you about it.\"\n\"Why, I never heard nothing from you,\" says Aunt Sally.\n\"Well, I wonder! Why, I wrote you twice to ask you what you could mean by Sid being here.\"\n\"Well, I never got 'em, Sis.\"\nAunt Polly she turns around slow and severe, and says:\n\"You, Tom!\"\n\"Well—what?\" he says, kind of pettish.\n\"Don't you what me, you impudent thing—hand out them letters.\"\n\"What letters?\"\n\"Them letters. I be bound, if I have to take aholt of you I'll—\"\n\"They're in the trunk. There, now. And they're just the same as they was when I got them out of the office. I hain't looked into them, I hain't touched them. But I knowed they'd make trouble, and I thought if you warn't in no hurry, I'd—\"\n\"Well, you do need skinning, there ain't no mistake about it. And I wrote another one to tell you I was coming; and I s'pose he—\"\n\"No, it come yesterday; I hain't read it yet, but it's all right, I've got that one.\"\nI wanted to offer to bet two dollars she hadn't, but I reckoned maybe it was just as safe to not to. So I never said nothing.", "chosen": "Phelps took me for Tom Sawyer—she chipped in and says, \"Oh, go on and call me Aunt Sally, I'm used to it now, and 'tain't no need to change\"—that when Aunt Sally took me for Tom Sawyer I had to stand it—there warn't no other way, and I knowed he wouldn't mind, because it would be nuts for him, being a mystery, and he'd make an adventure out of it, and be perfectly satisfied.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nPhelps took me for Tom Sawyer—she chipped in and says, \"Oh, go on and call me Aunt Sally, I'm used to it now, and 'tain't no need to change\"—that when Aunt Sally took me for Tom Sawyer I had to stand it—there warn't no other way, and I knowed he wouldn't mind, because it would be nuts for him, being a mystery, and he'd make an adventure out of it, and be perfectly satisfied.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-76-042-02-2f33d633", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Say, goddess, what ensued, when Raphael, The affable archangel . . . Eve The story heard attentive, and was filled With admiration, and deep muse, to hear Of things so high and strange.\" —Paradise Lost, B. vii.\nIf it had really occurred to Mr. Casaubon to think of Miss Brooke as a suitable wife for him, the reasons that might induce her to accept him were already planted in her mind, and by the evening of the next day the reasons had budded and bloomed. For they had had a long conversation in the morning, while Celia, who did not like the company of Mr. Casaubon's moles and sallowness, had escaped to the vicarage to play with the curate's ill-shod but merry children.\nDorothea by this time had looked deep into the ungauged reservoir of Mr. Casaubon's mind, seeing reflected there in vague labyrinthine extension every quality she herself brought; had opened much of her own experience to him, and had understood from him the scope of his great work, also of attractively labyrinthine extent. For he had been as instructive as Milton's \"affable archangel;\" and with something of the archangelic manner he told her how he had undertaken to show (what indeed had been attempted before, but not with that thoroughness, justice of comparison, and effectiveness of arrangement at which Mr. Casaubon aimed) that all the mythical systems or erratic mythical fragments in the world were corruptions of a tradition originally revealed. Having once mastered the true position and taken a firm footing there, the vast field of mythical constructions became intelligible, nay, luminous with the reflected light of correspondences. But to gather in this great harvest of truth was no light or speedy work. His notes already made a formidable range of volumes, but the crowning task would be to condense these voluminous still-accumulating results and bring them, like the earlier vintage of Hippocratic books, to fit a little shelf. In explaining this to Dorothea, Mr. Casaubon expressed himself nearly as he would have done to a fellow-student, for he had not two styles of talking at command: it is true that when he used a Greek or Latin phrase he always gave the English with scrupulous care, but he would probably have done this in any case. A learned provincial clergyman is accustomed to think of his acquaintances as of \"lords, knyghtes, and other noble and worthi men, that conne Latyn but lytille.\"\nDorothea was altogether captivated by the wide embrace of this conception. Here was something beyond the shallows of ladies' school literature: here was a living Bossuet, whose work would reconcile complete knowledge with devoted piety; here was a modern Augustine who united the glories of doctor and saint.\nThe sanctity seemed no less clearly marked than the learning, for when Dorothea was impelled to open her mind on certain themes which she could speak of to no one whom she had before seen at Tipton, especially on the secondary importance of ecclesiastical forms and articles of belief compared with that spiritual religion, that submergence of self in communion with Divine perfection which seemed to her to be expressed in the best Christian books of widely distant ages, she found in Mr. Casaubon a listener who understood her at once, who could assure her of his own agreement with that view when duly tempered with wise conformity, and could mention historical examples before unknown to her.\n\"He thinks with me,\" said Dorothea to herself, \"or rather, he thinks a whole world of which my thought is but a poor twopenny mirror. And his feelings too, his whole experience—what a lake compared with my little pool!\"\nMiss Brooke argued from words and dispositions not less unhesitatingly than other young ladies of her age. Signs are small measurable things, but interpretations are illimitable, and in girls of sweet, ardent nature, every sign is apt to conjure up wonder, hope, belief, vast as a sky, and colored by a diffused thimbleful of matter in the shape of knowledge. They are not always too grossly deceived; for Sinbad himself may have fallen by good-luck on a true description, and wrong reasoning sometimes lands poor mortals in right conclusions: starting a long way off the true point, and proceeding by loops and zigzags, we now and then arrive just where we ought to be. Because Miss Brooke was hasty in her trust, it is not therefore clear that Mr. Casaubon was unworthy of it.\nHe stayed a little longer than he had intended, on a slight pressure of invitation from Mr. Brooke, who offered no bait except his own documents on machine-breaking and rick-burning. Mr. Casaubon was called into the library to look at these in a heap, while his host picked up first one and then the other to read aloud from in a skipping and uncertain way, passing from one unfinished passage to another with a \"Yes, now, but here!\" and finally pushing them all aside to open the journal of his youthful Continental travels.\n\"Look here—here is all about Greece. Rhamnus, the ruins of Rhamnus—you are a great Grecian, now. I don't know whether you have given much study to the topography. I spent no end of time in making out these things—Helicon, now. Here, now!—'We started the next morning for Parnassus, the double-peaked Parnassus.' All this volume is about Greece, you know,\" Mr. Brooke wound up, rubbing his thumb transversely along the edges of the leaves as he held the book forward.\nMr. Casaubon made a dignified though somewhat sad audience; bowed in the right place, and avoided looking at anything documentary as far as possible, without showing disregard or impatience; mindful that this desultoriness was associated with the institutions of the country, and that the man who took him on this severe mental scamper was not only an amiable host, but a landholder and custos rotulorum. Was his endurance aided also by the reflection that Mr. Brooke was the uncle of Dorothea?\nCertainly he seemed more and more bent on making her talk to him, on drawing her out, as Celia remarked to herself; and in looking at her his face was often lit up by a smile like pale wintry sunshine. Before he left the next morning, while taking a pleasant walk with Miss Brooke along the gravelled terrace, he had mentioned to her that he felt the disadvantage of loneliness, the need of that cheerful companionship with which the presence of youth can lighten or vary the serious toils of maturity. And he delivered this statement with as much careful precision as if he had been a diplomatic envoy whose words would be attended with results. Indeed, Mr. Casaubon was not used to expect that he should have to repeat or revise his communications of a practical or personal kind. The inclinations which he had deliberately stated on the 2d of October he would think it enough to refer to by the mention of that date; judging by the standard of his own memory, which was a volume where a vide supra could serve instead of repetitions, and not the ordinary long-used blotting-book which only tells of forgotten writing. But in this case Mr. Casaubon's confidence was not likely to be falsified, for Dorothea heard and retained what he said with the eager interest of a fresh young nature to which every variety in experience is an epoch.", "chosen": "[\"Say, goddess, what ensued, when Raphael, The affable archangel . . . Eve The story heard attentive, and was filled With admiration, and deep muse, to hear Of things so high and strange.\", \"affable archangel;\", \"lords, knyghtes, and other noble and worthi men, that conne Latyn but lytille.\", \"He thinks with me,\", \"or rather, he thinks a whole world of which my thought is but a poor twopenny mirror. And his feelings too, his whole experience\\u2014what a lake compared with my little pool!\", \"Yes, now, but here!\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Say, goddess, what ensued, when Raphael, The affable archangel . . . Eve The story heard attentive, and was filled With admiration, and deep muse, to hear Of things so high and strange.\", \"affable archangel;\", \"lords, knyghtes, and other noble and worthi men, that conne Latyn but lytille.\", \"He thinks with me,\", \"or rather, he thinks a whole world of which my thought is but a poor twopenny mirror. And his feelings too, his whole experience\\u2014what a lake compared with my little pool!\", \"Yes, now, but here!\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-004-00-da9964b5", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThis creature's career could produce but one result, and it speedily followed. Boy after boy managed to get on the river. The minister's son became an engineer. The doctor's and the post-master's sons became 'mud clerks;' the wholesale liquor dealer's son became a barkeeper on a boat; four sons of the chief merchant, and two sons of the county judge, became pilots. Pilot was the grandest position of all. The pilot, even in those days of trivial wages, had a princely salary--from a hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty dollars a month, and no board to pay. Two months of his wages would pay a preacher's salary for a year. Now some of us were left disconsolate. We could not get on the river--at least our parents would not let us.\nSo by and by I ran away. I said I never would come home again till I was a pilot and could come in glory. But somehow I could not manage it. I went meekly aboard a few of the boats that lay packed together like sardines at the long St. Louis wharf, and very humbly inquired for the pilots, but got only a cold shoulder and short words from mates and clerks. I had to make the best of this sort of treatment for the time being, but I had comforting daydreams of a future when I should be a great and honored pilot, with plenty of money, and could kill some of these mates and clerks and pay for them.", "chosen": "them", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nthem\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-245-005-01-61e1b7ca", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHe opened the barn-door and craned his head into the obscurity, half-fearing to discover Denis Eady's roan colt in the stall beside the sorrel. But the old horse was there alone, mumbling his crib with toothless jaws, and Ethan whistled cheerfully while he bedded down the grays and shook an extra measure of oats into their mangers. His was not a tuneful throat—but harsh melodies burst from it as he locked the barn and sprang up the hill to the house. He reached the kitchen-porch and turned the door-handle; but the door did not yield to his touch.\nStartled at finding it locked he rattled the handle violently; then he reflected that Mattie was alone and that it was natural she should barricade herself at nightfall. He stood in the darkness expecting to hear her step. It did not come, and after vainly straining his ears he called out in a voice that shook with joy: \"Hello, Matt!\"\nSilence answered; but in a minute or two he caught a sound on the stairs and saw a line of light about the door-frame, as he had seen it the night before. So strange was the precision with which the incidents of the previous evening were repeating themselves that he half expected, when he heard the key turn, to see his wife before him on the threshold; but the door opened, and Mattie faced him.\nShe stood just as Zeena had stood, a lifted lamp in her hand, against the black background of the kitchen. She held the light at the same level, and it drew out with the same distinctness her slim young throat and the brown wrist no bigger than a child's. Then, striking upward, it threw a lustrous fleck on her lips, edged her eyes with velvet shade, and laid a milky whiteness above the black curve of her brows.\nShe wore her usual dress of darkish stuff, and there was no bow at her neck; but through her hair she had run a streak of crimson ribbon. This tribute to the unusual transformed and glorified her. She seemed to Ethan taller, fuller, more womanly in shape and motion. She stood aside, smiling silently, while he entered, and then moved away from him with something soft and flowing in her gait. She set the lamp on the table, and he saw that it was carefully laid for supper, with fresh dough-nuts, stewed blueberries and his favourite pickles in a dish of gay red glass. A bright fire glowed in the stove and the cat lay stretched before it, watching the table with a drowsy eye.\nEthan was suffocated with the sense of well-being. He went out into the passage to hang up his coat and pull off his wet boots. When he came back Mattie had set the teapot on the table and the cat was rubbing itself persuasively against her ankles.\n\"Why, Puss! I nearly tripped over you,\" she cried, the laughter sparkling through her lashes.\nAgain Ethan felt a sudden twinge of jealousy. Could it be his coming that gave her such a kindled face?\n\"Well, Matt, any visitors?\" he threw off, stooping down carelessly to examine the fastening of the stove.\nShe nodded and laughed \"Yes, one,\" and he felt a blackness settling on his brows.\n\"Who was that?\" he questioned, raising himself up to slant a glance at her beneath his scowl.\nHer eyes danced with malice. \"Why, Jotham Powell. He came in after he got back, and asked for a drop of coffee before he went down home.\"\nThe blackness lifted and light flooded Ethan's brain. \"That all? Well, I hope you made out to let him have it.\" And after a pause he felt it right to add: \"I suppose he got Zeena over to the Flats all right?\"\n\"Oh, yes; in plenty of time.\"\nThe name threw a chill between them, and they stood a moment looking sideways at each other before Mattie said with a shy laugh. \"I guess it's about time for supper.\"\nThey drew their seats up to the table, and the cat, unbidden, jumped between them into Zeena's empty chair. \"Oh, Puss!\" said Mattie, and they laughed again.\nEthan, a moment earlier, had felt himself on the brink of eloquence; but the mention of Zeena had paralysed him. Mattie seemed to feel the contagion of his embarrassment, and sat with downcast lids, sipping her tea, while he feigned an insatiable appetite for dough-nuts and sweet pickles. At last, after casting about for an effective opening, he took a long gulp of tea, cleared his throat, and said: \"Looks as if there'd be more snow.\"\nShe feigned great interest. \"Is that so? Do you suppose it'll interfere with Zeena's getting back?\" She flushed red as the question escaped her, and hastily set down the cup she was lifting.\nEthan reached over for another helping of pickles. \"You never can tell, this time of year, it drifts so bad on the Flats.\" The name had benumbed him again, and once more he felt as if Zeena were in the room between them.\n\"Oh, Puss, you're too greedy!\" Mattie cried.\nThe cat, unnoticed, had crept up on muffled paws from Zeena's seat to the table, and was stealthily elongating its body in the direction of the milk-jug, which stood between Ethan and Mattie. The two leaned forward at the same moment and their hands met on the handle of the jug. Mattie's hand was underneath, and Ethan kept his clasped on it a moment longer than was necessary. The cat, profiting by this unusual demonstration, tried to effect an unnoticed retreat, and in doing so backed into the pickle-dish, which fell to the floor with a crash.\nMattie, in an instant, had sprung from her chair and was down on her knees by the fragments.\n\"Oh, Ethan, Ethan—it's all to pieces! What will Zeena say?\"\nBut this time his courage was up. \"Well, she'll have to say it to the cat, any way!\" he rejoined with a laugh, kneeling down at Mattie's side to scrape up the swimming pickles.\nShe lifted stricken eyes to him. \"Yes, but, you see, she never meant it should be used, not even when there was company; and I had to get up on the step-ladder to reach it down from the top shelf of the china-closet, where she keeps it with all her best things, and of course she'll want to know why I did it—\"\nThe case was so serious that it called forth all of Ethan's latent resolution.\n\"She needn't know anything about it if you keep quiet. I'll get another just like it to-morrow. Where did it come from? I'll go to Shadd's Falls for it if I have to!\"\n\"Oh, you'll never get another even there! It was a wedding present—don't you remember? It came all the way from Philadelphia, from Zeena's aunt that married the minister. That's why she wouldn't ever use it. Oh, Ethan, Ethan, what in the world shall I do?\"\nShe began to cry, and he felt as if every one of her tears were pouring over him like burning lead. \"Don't, Matt, don't—oh, don't!\" he implored her.\nShe struggled to her feet, and he rose and followed her helplessly while she spread out the pieces of glass on the kitchen dresser. It seemed to him as if the shattered fragments of their evening lay there.\n\"Here, give them to me,\" he said in a voice of sudden authority.\nShe drew aside, instinctively obeying his tone. \"Oh, Ethan, what are you going to do?\"", "chosen": "[\"Denis\", \"Eady\", \"Ethan\", \"Mattie\", \"Hello\", \"Matt\", \"Zeena\", \"Puss\", \"Jotham\", \"Powell\", \"Flats\", \"Looks\", \"Shadd\", \"Falls\", \"Philadelphia\", \"Don\", \"Here\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Denis\", \"Eady\", \"Ethan\", \"Mattie\", \"Hello\", \"Matt\", \"Zeena\", \"Puss\", \"Jotham\", \"Powell\", \"Flats\", \"Looks\", \"Shadd\", \"Falls\", \"Philadelphia\", \"Don\", \"Here\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-4517-005-02-b7de5c56", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nTHE night was bitter cold. The snow lay upon the ground frozen into a hard thick crust, so that only the heaps that had drifted into byways and corners were affected by the sharp wind that howled abroad, which, as if expending increased fury on such prey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, and, whirling it into a thousand misty eddies, scattered it in air. Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire and thank God they were at home, and for the homeless starving wretch to lay him down and die. Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our bare streets at such times, who, let their crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them in a more bitter world.\nSuch was the aspect of out-of-doors affairs when Mrs. Corney, the matron of the workhouse, to which our readers have been already introduced as the birthplace of Oliver Twist, sat herself down before a cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced with no small degree of complacency at a small round table, on which stood a tray of corresponding size, furnished with all necessary materials for the most grateful meal that matrons enjoy. In fact, Mrs. Corney was about to solace herself with a cup of tea: and as she glanced from the table to the fireplace, where the smallest of all possible kettles was singing a small song in a small voice, her inward satisfaction evidently increased,—so much so, indeed, that Mrs. Corney smiled.\n\"Well,\" said the matron, leaning her elbow on the table, and looking reflectively at the fire, \"I'm sure we have all on us a great deal to be grateful for—a great deal, if we did but know it. Ah!\"\nMrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, as if deploring the mental blindness of those paupers who did not know it, and thrusting a silver spoon (private property) into the inmost recesses of a two-ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to make the tea.\nHow slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of our frail minds! The black teapot, being very small and easily filled, ran over while Mrs. Corney was moralizing, and the water slightly scalded Mrs. Corney's hand.\n\"Drat the pot!\" said the worthy matron, setting it down very hastily on the hob; \"a little stupid thing, that only holds a couple of cups! What use is it of to any body?—except,\" said Mrs. Corney, pausing,—\"except to a poor desolate creature like me. Oh dear!\"\nWith these words the matron dropped into her chair, and, once more resting her elbow on the table, thought of her solitary fate. The small teapot and the single cup had awakened in her mind sad recollections of Mr. Corney (who had not been dead more than five-and-twenty years), and she was overpowered.\n\"I shall never get another!\" said Mrs. Corney, pettishly; \"I shall never get another—like him.\"\nWhether this remark bore reference to the husband or the teapot is uncertain. It might have been the latter; for Mrs. Corney looked at it as she spoke, and took it up afterwards. She had just tasted her first cup, when she was disturbed by a soft tap at the room-door.\n\"Oh, come in with you!\" said Mrs. Corney, sharply. \"Some of the old women dying, I suppose;—they always die when I'm at meals. Don't stand there, letting the cold air in, don't. What's amiss now, eh?\"\n\"Nothing, ma'am, nothing,\" replied a man's voice.\n\"Dear me!\" exclaimed the matron, in a much sweeter tone, \"is that Mr. Bumble?\"\n\"At your service, ma'am,\" said Mr. Bumble, who had been stopping outside to rub his shoes clean, and shake the snow off his coat, and who now made his appearance, bearing the cocked-hat in one hand and a bundle in the other. \"Shall I shut the door, ma'am?\"\nThe lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be any impropriety in holding an interview with Mr. Bumble with closed doors. Mr. Bumble, taking advantage of the hesitation, and being very cold himself, shut it without farther permission.\n\"Hard weather, Mr. Bumble,\" said the matron.\n\"Hard, indeed, ma'am,\" replied the beadle. \"Anti-porochial weather this, ma'am. We have given away, Mrs. Corney,—we have given away a matter of twenty quartern loaves and a cheese and a half this very blessed afternoon; and yet them paupers are not contented.\"\n\"Of course not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble?\" said the matron, sipping her tea.\n\"When, indeed, ma'am!\" rejoined Mr. Bumble. \"Why, here's one man that, in consideration of his wife and large family, has a quartern loaf and a good pound of cheese, full weight. Is he grateful, ma'am,—is he grateful? Not a copper farthing's worth of it! What does he do, ma'am, but ask for a few coals, if it's only a pocket-handkerchief full, he says! Coals!—what would he do with coals?—Toast his cheese with 'em, and then come back for more. That's the way with these people, ma'am;—give 'em a apron full of coals to-day, and they'll came back for another the day after to-morrow, as brazen as alabaster.\"\nThe matron expressed her entire concurrence in this intelligible simile, and the beadle went on.\n\"I never,\" said Mr. Bumble, \"see anything like the pitch it's got to. The day afore yesterday, a man—you have been a married woman, ma'am, and I may mention it to you—a man, with hardly a rag upon his back (here Mrs. Corney looked at the floor), goes to our overseer's door when he has got company coming to dinner, and says, he must be relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn't go away, and shocked the company very much, our overseer sent him out a pound of potatoes and half a pint of oatmeal. 'My God!' says the ungrateful villain, 'what's the use of this to me? You might as well give me a pair of iron spectacles 'Very good,' says our overseer, taking 'em away again, 'you wont get anything else here.'—'Then I'll die in the streets!' says the vagrant.—'Oh no, you wont,' says our overseer.\"\n\"Ha! ha!—that was very good!—so like Mr. Grannet, wasn't it?\" interposed the matron. \"Well, Mr. Bumble?\"\n\"Well, ma'am,\" rejoined the beadle, \"he went away and did die in the streets. There's a obstinate pauper for you!\"\n\"It beats anything I could have believed,\" observed the matron, emphatically. \"But don't you think out-of-door relief a very bad thing any way, Mr. Bumble? You're a gentleman of experience, and ought to know. Come.\"\n\"Mrs. Corney,\" said the beadle, smiling as men smile who are conscious of superior information, \"out-of-door relief, properly managed,—properly managed, ma'am,—is the porochial safeguard. The great principle of out-of-door relief is to give the paupers exactly what they don't want, and then they get tired of coming.\"\n\"Dear me!\" exclaimed Mrs. Corney. \"Well, that is a good one, too!\"\n\"Yes. Betwixt you and me, ma'am,\" returned Mr. Bumble, \"that's the great principle; and that's the reason why, if you look at any cases that get into them owdacious newspapers, you'll always observe that sick families have been relieved with slices of cheese. That's the rule now, Mrs. Corney, all over the country.—But, however,\" said the beadle, stooping to unpack his bundle, \"these are official secrets, ma'am; not to be spoken of except, as I may say, among the porochial officers, such as ourselves. This is the port wine, ma'am, that the board ordered for the infirmary,—real, fresh, genuine port wine, only out of the cask this afternoon,—clear as a bell, and no sediment.\"\nHaving held the first bottle up to the light, and shaken it well to test its excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on the top of a chest of drawers, folded the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped, put it carefully in his pocket, and took up his hat as if to go.\n\"You'll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble,\" said the matron.\n\"It blows, ma'am,\" replied Mr. Bumble, turning up his coat-collar, \"enough to cut one's ears off.\"\nThe matron looked from the little kettle to the beadle who was moving towards the door, and as the beadle coughed, preparatory to bidding her good night, bashfully inquired whether—whether he wouldn't take a cup of tea?", "chosen": "THE, The, Bleak,, Many, Such, Corney,, In, Corney, Corney, Well,\", Ah!\", Corney, How, The, Corney, Corney's, Drat, What, Corney,, Oh, The, Corney, I, Corney,, It, Corney, She, Oh,, Corney,, Some, Don't, What's, Dear, Bumble?\", Bumble,, Shall, Bumble, Mr., Bumble,, Hard, Bumble,\", Hard,, Anti-porochial, We, Corney,—we, When, Bumble?\", When,, Bumble., Why,, Is, Not, What, Coals!—what, That's, I, Bumble,, The, Corney, Corney., As, My, You, ha!—that, Grannet,, Well,, Bumble?\", There's, But, Bumble?, You're, Come.\", Corney,\", The, Corney., Well,, Betwixt, Bumble,, That's, Corney,, This, Bumble, You'll, Bumble,\", It, Bumble,", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nTHE, The, Bleak,, Many, Such, Corney,, In, Corney, Corney, Well,\", Ah!\", Corney, How, The, Corney, Corney's, Drat, What, Corney,, Oh, The, Corney, I, Corney,, It, Corney, She, Oh,, Corney,, Some, Don't, What's, Dear, Bumble?\", Bumble,, Shall, Bumble, Mr., Bumble,, Hard, Bumble,\", Hard,, Anti-porochial, We, Corney,—we, When, Bumble?\", When,, Bumble., Why,, Is, Not, What, Coals!—what, That's, I, Bumble,, The, Corney, Corney., As, My, You, ha!—that, Grannet,, Well,, Bumble?\", There's, But, Bumble?, You're, Come.\", Corney,\", The, Corney., Well,, Betwixt, Bumble,, That's, Corney,, This, Bumble, You'll, Bumble,\", It, Bumble,\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-47530-004-00-cf9b2e03", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nNor, credulous as such minds must have been, was this conceit altogether without some faint show of superstitious probability. For as the secrets of the currents in the seas have never yet been divulged, even to the most erudite research; so the hidden ways of the Sperm Whale when beneath the surface remain, in great part, unaccountable to his pursuers; and from time to time have originated the most curious and contradictory speculations regarding them, especially concerning the mystic modes whereby, after sounding to a great depth, he transports himself with such vast swiftness to the most widely distant points.\nIt is a thing well known to both American and English whale-ships, and as well a thing placed upon authoritative record years ago by Scoresby, that some whales have been captured far north in the Pacific, in whose bodies have been found the barbs of harpoons darted in the Greenland seas. Nor is it to be gainsaid, that in some of these instances it has been declared that the interval of time between the two assaults could not have exceeded very many days. Hence, by inference, it has been believed by some whalemen, that the Nor' West Passage, so long a problem to man, was never a problem to the whale. So that here, in the real living experience of living men, the prodigies related in old times of the inland Strello mountain in Portugal (near whose top there was said to be a lake in which the wrecks of ships floated up to the surface); and that still more wonderful story of the Arethusa fountain near Syracuse (whose waters were believed to have come from the Holy Land by an underground passage); these fabulous narrations are almost fully equalled by the realities of the whalemen.\nForced into familiarity, then, with such prodigies as these; and knowing that after repeated, intrepid assaults, the White Whale had escaped alive; it cannot be much matter of surprise that some whalemen should go still further in their superstitions; declaring Moby Dick not only ubiquitous, but immortal (for immortality is but ubiquity in time); that though groves of spears should be planted in his flanks, he would still swim away unharmed; or if indeed he should ever be made to spout thick blood, such a sight would be but a ghastly deception; for again in unensanguined billows hundreds of leagues away, his unsullied jet would once more be seen.\nBut even stripped of these supernatural surmisings, there was enough in the earthly make and incontestable character of the monster to strike the imagination with unwonted power. For, it was not so much his uncommon bulk that so much distinguished him from other sperm whales, but, as was elsewhere thrown out—a peculiar snow-white wrinkled forehead, and a high, pyramidical white hump. These were his prominent features; the tokens whereby, even in the limitless, uncharted seas, he revealed his identity, at a long distance, to those who knew him.\nThe rest of his body was so streaked, and spotted, and marbled with the same shrouded hue, that, in the end, he had gained his distinctive appellation of the White Whale; a name, indeed, literally justified by his vivid aspect, when seen gliding at high noon through a dark blue sea, leaving a milky-way wake of creamy foam, all spangled with golden gleamings.\nNor was it his unwonted magnitude, nor his remarkable hue, nor yet his deformed lower jaw, that so much invested the whale with natural terror, as that unexampled, intelligent malignity which, according to specific accounts, he had over and over again evinced in his assaults. More than all, his treacherous retreats struck more of dismay than perhaps aught else. For, when swimming before his exulting pursuers, with every apparent symptom of alarm, he had several times been known to turn round suddenly, and, bearing down upon them, either stave their boats to splinters, or drive them back in consternation to their ship.\nAlready several fatalities had attended his chase. But though similar disasters, however little bruited ashore, were by no means unusual in the fishery; yet, in most instances, such seemed the White Whale's infernal aforethought of ferocity, that every dismembering or death that he caused, was not wholly regarded as having been inflicted by an unintelligent agent.\nJudge, then, to what pitches of inflamed, distracted fury the minds of his more desperate hunters were impelled, when amid the chips of chewed boats, and the sinking limbs of torn comrades, they swam out of the white curds of the whale's direful wrath into the serene, exasperating sunlight, that smiled on, as if at a birth or a bridal.\nHis three boats stove around him, and oars and men both whirling in the eddies; one captain, seizing the line-knife from his broken prow, had dashed at the whale, as an Arkansas duellist at his foe, blindly seeking with a six inch blade to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale. That captain was Ahab. And then it was, that suddenly sweeping his sickle-shaped lower jaw beneath him, Moby Dick had reaped away Ahab's leg, as a mower a blade of grass in the field. No turbaned Turk, no hired Venetian or Malay, could have smote him with more seeming malice. Small reason was there to doubt, then, that ever since that almost fatal encounter, Ahab had cherished a wild vindictiveness against the whale, all the more fell for that in his frantic morbidness he at last came to identify with him, not only all his bodily woes, but all his intellectual and spiritual exasperations. The White Whale swam before him as the monomaniac incarnation of all those malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in them, till they are left living on with half a heart and half a lung. That intangible malignity which has been from the beginning; to whose dominion even the modern Christians ascribe one-half of the worlds; which the ancient Ophites of the east reverenced in their statue devil;—Ahab did not fall down and worship it like them; but deliriously transferring its idea to the abhorred white whale, he pitted himself, all mutilated, against it. All that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to crazy Ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically assailable in Moby Dick. He piled upon the whale's white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart's shell upon it.", "chosen": "26", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n26\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-035-01-fc624663", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.\"\n\"What think you of books?\" said he, smiling.\n\"Books--oh no!--I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.\"\n\"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions.\"\n\"No--I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.\"\n\"The present always occupies you in such scenes--does it?\" said he, with a look of doubt.\n\"Yes, always,\" she replied, without knowing what she said; for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, \"I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave;--that your resentment, once created, was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created?\"\n\"I am,\" said he, with a firm voice.\n\"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?\"\n\"I hope not.\"\n\"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.\"\n\"May I ask to what these questions tend?\"\n\"Merely to the illustration of your character,\" said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. \"I am trying to make it out.\"\n\"And what is your success?\"\nShe shook her head. \"I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.\"\n\"I can readily believe,\" answered he, gravely, \"that reports may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.\"\n\"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.\"\n\"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,\" he coldly replied. She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence; on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree; for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerably powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against another.\nThey had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her, and, with an expression of civil disdain, thus accosted her,--\n\"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham? Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions; and I find that the young man forgot to tell you, among his other communications, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for, as to Mr. Darcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false: for, on the contrary, he has been always remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame; that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned; and that though my brother thought he could not well avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all is a most insolent thing, indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite's guilt; but really, considering his descent, one could not expect much better.\"\n\"His guilt and his descent appear, by your account, to be the same,\" said Elizabeth, angrily; \"for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward, and of that, I can assure you, he informed me himself.\"\n\"I beg your pardon,\" replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. \"Excuse my interference; it was kindly meant.\"\n\"Insolent girl!\" said Elizabeth to herself. \"You are much mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy.\" She then sought her eldest sister, who had undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evening. Elizabeth instantly read her feelings; and, at that moment, solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything else, gave way before the hope of Jane's being in the fairest way for happiness.\n\"I want to know,\" said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her sister's, \"what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person, in which case you may be sure of my pardon.\"\n\"No,\" replied Jane, \"I have not forgotten him; but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy; but he will vouch for the good conduct, the probity and honour, of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has received; and I am sorry to say that by his account, as well as his sister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy's regard.\"\n\"Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself.\"\n\"No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.\"\n\"This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am perfectly satisfied. But what does he say of the living?\"\n\"He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that it was left to him conditionally only.\"\n\"I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley's sincerity,\" said Elizabeth warmly, \"but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only. Mr. Bingley's defence of his friend was a very able one, I dare say; but since he is unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from that friend himself, I shall venture still to think of both gentlemen as I did before.\"\nShe then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and on which there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy though modest hopes which Jane entertained of Bingley's regard, and said all in her power to heighten her confidence in it. On their being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew to Miss Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last partner she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up to them, and told her with great exultation, that he had just been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery.\n\"I have found out,\" said he, \"by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation to my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of this house the names of his cousin Miss De Bourgh, and of her mother, Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with--perhaps--a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly! I am most thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology.\"\n\"You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?\"", "chosen": "I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.\"\n\"I can readily believe,\" answered he, gravely, \"that reports may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.\"\n\"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.\"\n\"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,\" he coldly replied.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nI hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.\"\n\"I can readily believe,\" answered he, gravely, \"that reports may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.\"\n\"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.\"\n\"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,\" he coldly replied.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-1342-018-01-23a2d42b", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nVery early, at nine o'clock in the morning, five days after the trial, Alyosha went to Katerina Ivanovna's to talk over a matter of great importance to both of them, and to give her a message. She sat and talked to him in the very room in which she had once received Grushenka. In the next room Ivan Fyodorovitch lay unconscious in a high fever. Katerina Ivanovna had immediately after the scene at the trial ordered the sick and unconscious man to be carried to her house, disregarding the inevitable gossip and general disapproval of the public. One of the two relations who lived with her had departed to Moscow immediately after the scene in court, the other remained. But if both had gone away, Katerina Ivanovna would have adhered to her resolution, and would have gone on nursing the sick man and sitting by him day and night. Varvinsky and Herzenstube were attending him. The famous doctor had gone back to Moscow, refusing to give an opinion as to the probable end of the illness. Though the doctors encouraged Katerina Ivanovna and Alyosha, it was evident that they could not yet give them positive hopes of recovery.\nAlyosha came to see his sick brother twice a day. But this time he had specially urgent business, and he foresaw how difficult it would be to approach the subject, yet he was in great haste. He had another engagement that could not be put off for that same morning, and there was need of haste.\nThey had been talking for a quarter of an hour. Katerina Ivanovna was pale and terribly fatigued, yet at the same time in a state of hysterical excitement. She had a presentiment of the reason why Alyosha had come to her.\n\"Don't worry about his decision,\" she said, with confident emphasis to Alyosha. \"One way or another he is bound to come to it. He must escape. That unhappy man, that hero of honor and principle—not he, not Dmitri Fyodorovitch, but the man lying the other side of that door, who has sacrificed himself for his brother,\" Katya added, with flashing eyes—\"told me the whole plan of escape long ago. You know he has already entered into negotiations.... I've told you something already.... You see, it will probably come off at the third étape from here, when the party of prisoners is being taken to Siberia. Oh, it's a long way off yet. Ivan Fyodorovitch has already visited the superintendent of the third étape. But we don't know yet who will be in charge of the party, and it's impossible to find that out so long beforehand. To-morrow perhaps I will show you in detail the whole plan which Ivan Fyodorovitch left me on the eve of the trial in case of need.... That was when—do you remember?—you found us quarreling. He had just gone down-stairs, but seeing you I made him come back; do you remember? Do you know what we were quarreling about then?\"\n\"No, I don't,\" said Alyosha.\n\"Of course he did not tell you. It was about that plan of escape. He had told me the main idea three days before, and we began quarreling about it at once and quarreled for three days. We quarreled because, when he told me that if Dmitri Fyodorovitch were convicted he would escape abroad with that creature, I felt furious at once—I can't tell you why, I don't know myself why.... Oh, of course, I was furious then about that creature, and that she, too, should go abroad with Dmitri!\" Katerina Ivanovna exclaimed suddenly, her lips quivering with anger. \"As soon as Ivan Fyodorovitch saw that I was furious about that woman, he instantly imagined I was jealous of Dmitri and that I still loved Dmitri. That is how our first quarrel began. I would not give an explanation, I could not ask forgiveness. I could not bear to think that such a man could suspect me of still loving that ... and when I myself had told him long before that I did not love Dmitri, that I loved no one but him! It was only resentment against that creature that made me angry with him. Three days later, on the evening you came, he brought me a sealed envelope, which I was to open at once, if anything happened to him. Oh, he foresaw his illness! He told me that the envelope contained the details of the escape, and that if he died or was taken dangerously ill, I was to save Mitya alone. Then he left me money, nearly ten thousand—those notes to which the prosecutor referred in his speech, having learnt from some one that he had sent them to be changed. I was tremendously impressed to find that Ivan Fyodorovitch had not given up his idea of saving his brother, and was confiding this plan of escape to me, though he was still jealous of me and still convinced that I loved Mitya. Oh, that was a sacrifice! No, you cannot understand the greatness of such self-sacrifice, Alexey Fyodorovitch. I wanted to fall at his feet in reverence, but I thought at once that he would take it only for my joy at the thought of Mitya's being saved (and he certainly would have imagined that!), and I was so exasperated at the mere possibility of such an unjust thought on his part that I lost my temper again, and instead of kissing his feet, flew into a fury again! Oh, I am unhappy! It's my character, my awful, unhappy character! Oh, you will see, I shall end by driving him, too, to abandon me for another with whom he can get on better, like Dmitri. But ... no, I could not bear it, I should kill myself. And when you came in then, and when I called to you and told him to come back, I was so enraged by the look of contempt and hatred he turned on me that—do you remember?—I cried out to you that it was he, he alone who had persuaded me that his brother Dmitri was a murderer! I said that malicious thing on purpose to wound him again. He had never, never persuaded me that his brother was a murderer. On the contrary, it was I who persuaded him! Oh, my vile temper was the cause of everything! I paved the way to that hideous scene at the trial. He wanted to show me that he was an honorable man, and that, even if I loved his brother, he would not ruin him for revenge or jealousy. So he came to the court ... I am the cause of it all, I alone am to blame!\"\nKatya never had made such confessions to Alyosha before, and he felt that she was now at that stage of unbearable suffering when even the proudest heart painfully crushes its pride and falls vanquished by grief. Oh, Alyosha knew another terrible reason of her present misery, though she had carefully concealed it from him during those days since the trial; but it would have been for some reason too painful to him if she had been brought so low as to speak to him now about that. She was suffering for her \"treachery\" at the trial, and Alyosha felt that her conscience was impelling her to confess it to him, to him, Alyosha, with tears and cries and hysterical writhings on the floor. But he dreaded that moment and longed to spare her. It made the commission on which he had come even more difficult. He spoke of Mitya again.", "chosen": "[\"Don't worry about his decision,\", \" Katya added, with flashing eyes\\u2014\", \"No, I don't,\", \" Katerina Ivanovna exclaimed suddenly, her lips quivering with anger. \", \"treachery\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Don't worry about his decision,\", \" Katya added, with flashing eyes\\u2014\", \"No, I don't,\", \" Katerina Ivanovna exclaimed suddenly, her lips quivering with anger. \", \"treachery\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-092-00-0d1dd111", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIt was on the tip of his tongue to reply: \"Don't be seen driving about the streets with Beaufort--\" but he was being too deeply drawn into the atmosphere of the room, which was her atmosphere, and to give advice of that sort would have been like telling some one who was bargaining for attar-of-roses in Samarkand that one should always be provided with arctics for a New York winter. New York seemed much farther off than Samarkand, and if they were indeed to help each other she was rendering what might prove the first of their mutual services by making him look at his native city objectively. Viewed thus, as through the wrong end of a telescope, it looked disconcertingly small and distant; but then from Samarkand it would.\nA flame darted from the logs and she bent over the fire, stretching her thin hands so close to it that a faint halo shone about the oval nails. The light touched to russet the rings of dark hair escaping from her braids, and made her pale face paler.\n\"There are plenty of people to tell you what to do,\" Archer rejoined, obscurely envious of them.\n\"Oh--all my aunts? And my dear old Granny?\" She considered the idea impartially. \"They're all a little vexed with me for setting up for myself--poor Granny especially. She wanted to keep me with her; but I had to be free--\" He was impressed by this light way of speaking of the formidable Catherine, and moved by the thought of what must have given Madame Olenska this thirst for even the loneliest kind of freedom. But the idea of Beaufort gnawed him.\n\"I think I understand how you feel,\" he said. \"Still, your family can advise you; explain differences; show you the way.\"\nShe lifted her thin black eyebrows. \"Is New York such a labyrinth? I thought it so straight up and down--like Fifth Avenue. And with all the cross streets numbered!\" She seemed to guess his faint disapproval of this, and added, with the rare smile that enchanted her whole face: \"If you knew how I like it for just that--the straight-up-and-downness, and the big honest labels on everything!\"\nHe saw his chance. \"Everything may be labelled--but everybody is not.\"\n\"Perhaps. I may simplify too much--but you'll warn me if I do.\" She turned from the fire to look at him. \"There are only two people here who make me feel as if they understood what I mean and could explain things to me: you and Mr. Beaufort.\"\nArcher winced at the joining of the names, and then, with a quick readjustment, understood, sympathised and pitied. So close to the powers of evil she must have lived that she still breathed more freely in their air. But since she felt that he understood her also, his business would be to make her see Beaufort as he really was, with all he represented--and abhor it.\nHe answered gently: \"I understand. But just at first don't let go of your old friends' hands: I mean the older women, your Granny Mingott, Mrs. Welland, Mrs. van der Luyden. They like and admire you--they want to help you.\"\nShe shook her head and sighed. \"Oh, I know--I know! But on condition that they don't hear anything unpleasant. Aunt Welland put it in those very words when I tried.... Does no one want to know the truth here, Mr. Archer? The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!\" She lifted her hands to her face, and he saw her thin shoulders shaken by a sob.\n\"Madame Olenska!--Oh, don't, Ellen,\" he cried, starting up and bending over her. He drew down one of her hands, clasping and chafing it like a child's while he murmured reassuring words; but in a moment she freed herself, and looked up at him with wet lashes.\n\"Does no one cry here, either? I suppose there's no need to, in heaven,\" she said, straightening her loosened braids with a laugh, and bending over the tea-kettle. It was burnt into his consciousness that he had called her \"Ellen\"--called her so twice; and that she had not noticed it. Far down the inverted telescope he saw the faint white figure of May Welland--in New York.\nSuddenly Nastasia put her head in to say something in her rich Italian.\nMadame Olenska, again with a hand at her hair, uttered an exclamation of assent--a flashing \"Gia--gia\"--and the Duke of St. Austrey entered, piloting a tremendous black-wigged and red-plumed lady in overflowing furs.\n\"My dear Countess, I've brought an old friend of mine to see you--Mrs. Struthers. She wasn't asked to the party last night, and she wants to know you.\"\nThe Duke beamed on the group, and Madame Olenska advanced with a murmur of welcome toward the queer couple. She seemed to have no idea how oddly matched they were, nor what a liberty the Duke had taken in bringing his companion--and to do him justice, as Archer perceived, the Duke seemed as unaware of it himself.\n\"Of course I want to know you, my dear,\" cried Mrs. Struthers in a round rolling voice that matched her bold feathers and her brazen wig. \"I want to know everybody who's young and interesting and charming. And the Duke tells me you like music--didn't you, Duke? You're a pianist yourself, I believe? Well, do you want to hear Sarasate play tomorrow evening at my house? You know I've something going on every Sunday evening--it's the day when New York doesn't know what to do with itself, and so I say to it: 'Come and be amused.' And the Duke thought you'd be tempted by Sarasate. You'll find a number of your friends.\"\nMadame Olenska's face grew brilliant with pleasure. \"How kind! How good of the Duke to think of me!\" She pushed a chair up to the tea-table and Mrs. Struthers sank into it delectably. \"Of course I shall be too happy to come.\"\n\"That's all right, my dear. And bring your young gentleman with you.\" Mrs. Struthers extended a hail-fellow hand to Archer. \"I can't put a name to you--but I'm sure I've met you--I've met everybody, here, or in Paris or London. Aren't you in diplomacy? All the diplomatists come to me. You like music too? Duke, you must be sure to bring him.\"\nThe Duke said \"Rather\" from the depths of his beard, and Archer withdrew with a stiffly circular bow that made him feel as full of spine as a self-conscious school-boy among careless and unnoticing elders.\nHe was not sorry for the denouement of his visit: he only wished it had come sooner, and spared him a certain waste of emotion. As he went out into the wintry night, New York again became vast and imminent, and May Welland the loveliest woman in it. He turned into his florist's to send her the daily box of lilies-of-the-valley which, to his confusion, he found he had forgotten that morning.\nAs he wrote a word on his card and waited for an envelope he glanced about the embowered shop, and his eye lit on a cluster of yellow roses. He had never seen any as sun-golden before, and his first impulse was to send them to May instead of the lilies. But they did not look like her--there was something too rich, too strong, in their fiery beauty. In a sudden revulsion of mood, and almost without knowing what he did, he signed to the florist to lay the roses in another long box, and slipped his card into a second envelope, on which he wrote the name of the Countess Olenska; then, just as he was turning away, he drew the card out again, and left the empty envelope on the box.\n\"They'll go at once?\" he enquired, pointing to the roses.\nThe florist assured him that they would.\nX.\nThe next day he persuaded May to escape for a walk in the Park after luncheon. As was the custom in old-fashioned Episcopalian New York, she usually accompanied her parents to church on Sunday afternoons; but Mrs. Welland condoned her truancy, having that very morning won her over to the necessity of a long engagement, with time to prepare a hand-embroidered trousseau containing the proper number of dozens.", "chosen": "dozens", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\ndozens\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-541-004-02-d0af7ded", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Consider yourself, Grigory Vassilyevitch,\" Smerdyakov went on, staid and unruffled, conscious of his triumph, but, as it were, generous to the vanquished foe. \"Consider yourself, Grigory Vassilyevitch; it is said in the Scripture that if you have faith, even as a mustard seed, and bid a mountain move into the sea, it will move without the least delay at your bidding. Well, Grigory Vassilyevitch, if I'm without faith and you have so great a faith that you are continually swearing at me, you try yourself telling this mountain, not to move into the sea for that's a long way off, but even to our stinking little river which runs at the bottom of the garden. You'll see for yourself that it won't budge, but will remain just where it is however much you shout at it, and that shows, Grigory Vassilyevitch, that you haven't faith in the proper manner, and only abuse others about it. Again, taking into consideration that no one in our day, not only you, but actually no one, from the highest person to the lowest peasant, can shove mountains into the sea—except perhaps some one man in the world, or, at most, two, and they most likely are saving their souls in secret somewhere in the Egyptian desert, so you wouldn't find them—if so it be, if all the rest have no faith, will God curse all the rest? that is, the population of the whole earth, except about two hermits in the desert, and in His well-known mercy will He not forgive one of them? And so I'm persuaded that though I may once have doubted I shall be forgiven if I shed tears of repentance.\"\n\"Stay!\" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, in a transport of delight. \"So you do suppose there are two who can move mountains? Ivan, make a note of it, write it down. There you have the Russian all over!\"\n\"You're quite right in saying it's characteristic of the people's faith,\" Ivan assented, with an approving smile.\n\"You agree. Then it must be so, if you agree. It's true, isn't it, Alyosha? That's the Russian faith all over, isn't it?\"\n\"No, Smerdyakov has not the Russian faith at all,\" said Alyosha firmly and gravely.\n\"I'm not talking about his faith. I mean those two in the desert, only that idea. Surely that's Russian, isn't it?\"\n\"Yes, that's purely Russian,\" said Alyosha smiling.\n\"Your words are worth a gold piece, O ass, and I'll give it to you to-day. But as to the rest you talk nonsense, nonsense, nonsense. Let me tell you, stupid, that we here are all of little faith, only from carelessness, because we haven't time; things are too much for us, and, in the second place, the Lord God has given us so little time, only twenty-four hours in the day, so that one hasn't even time to get sleep enough, much less to repent of one's sins. While you have denied your faith to your enemies when you'd nothing else to think about but to show your faith! So I consider, brother, that it constitutes a sin.\"\n\"Constitute a sin it may, but consider yourself, Grigory Vassilyevitch, that it only extenuates it, if it does constitute. If I had believed then in very truth, as I ought to have believed, then it really would have been sinful if I had not faced tortures for my faith, and had gone over to the pagan Mohammedan faith. But, of course, it wouldn't have come to torture then, because I should only have had to say at that instant to the mountain, 'Move and crush the tormentor,' and it would have moved and at the very instant have crushed him like a black-beetle, and I should have walked away as though nothing had happened, praising and glorifying God. But, suppose at that very moment I had tried all that, and cried to that mountain, 'Crush these tormentors,' and it hadn't crushed them, how could I have helped doubting, pray, at such a time, and at such a dread hour of mortal terror? And apart from that, I should know already that I could not attain to the fullness of the Kingdom of Heaven (for since the mountain had not moved at my word, they could not think very much of my faith up aloft, and there could be no very great reward awaiting me in the world to come). So why should I let them flay the skin off me as well, and to no good purpose? For, even though they had flayed my skin half off my back, even then the mountain would not have moved at my word or at my cry. And at such a moment not only doubt might come over one but one might lose one's reason from fear, so that one would not be able to think at all. And, therefore, how should I be particularly to blame if not seeing my advantage or reward there or here, I should, at least, save my skin. And so trusting fully in the grace of the Lord I should cherish the hope that I might be altogether forgiven.\"", "chosen": "[\"Consider\", \"Grigory\", \"Vassilyevitch\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Scripture\", \"Egyptian\", \"God\", \"His\", \"Stay\", \"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Russian\", \"Ivan\", \"Alyosha\", \"Your\", \"Constitute\", \"Mohammedan\", \"Kingdom\", \"Heaven\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Consider\", \"Grigory\", \"Vassilyevitch\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Scripture\", \"Egyptian\", \"God\", \"His\", \"Stay\", \"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Russian\", \"Ivan\", \"Alyosha\", \"Your\", \"Constitute\", \"Mohammedan\", \"Kingdom\", \"Heaven\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-020-01-5926a61f", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIt came quite as a surprise even to Alyosha himself. He was not required to take the oath, and I remember that both sides addressed him very gently and sympathetically. It was evident that his reputation for goodness had preceded him. Alyosha gave his evidence modestly and with restraint, but his warm sympathy for his unhappy brother was unmistakable. In answer to one question, he sketched his brother's character as that of a man, violent-tempered perhaps and carried away by his passions, but at the same time honorable, proud and generous, capable of self-sacrifice, if necessary. He admitted, however, that, through his passion for Grushenka and his rivalry with his father, his brother had been of late in an intolerable position. But he repelled with indignation the suggestion that his brother might have committed a murder for the sake of gain, though he recognized that the three thousand roubles had become almost an obsession with Mitya; that he looked upon them as part of the inheritance he had been cheated of by his father, and that, indifferent as he was to money as a rule, he could not even speak of that three thousand without fury. As for the rivalry of the two \"ladies,\" as the prosecutor expressed it—that is, of Grushenka and Katya—he answered evasively and was even unwilling to answer one or two questions altogether.\n\"Did your brother tell you, anyway, that he intended to kill your father?\" asked the prosecutor. \"You can refuse to answer if you think necessary,\" he added.\n\"He did not tell me so directly,\" answered Alyosha.\n\"How so? Did he indirectly?\"\n\"He spoke to me once of his hatred for our father and his fear that at an extreme moment ... at a moment of fury, he might perhaps murder him.\"\n\"And you believed him?\"\n\"I am afraid to say that I did. But I never doubted that some higher feeling would always save him at the fatal moment, as it has indeed saved him, for it was not he killed my father,\" Alyosha said firmly, in a loud voice that was heard throughout the court.\nThe prosecutor started like a war-horse at the sound of a trumpet.\n\"Let me assure you that I fully believe in the complete sincerity of your conviction and do not explain it by or identify it with your affection for your unhappy brother. Your peculiar view of the whole tragic episode is known to us already from the preliminary investigation. I won't attempt to conceal from you that it is highly individual and contradicts all the other evidence collected by the prosecution. And so I think it essential to press you to tell me what facts have led you to this conviction of your brother's innocence and of the guilt of another person against whom you gave evidence at the preliminary inquiry?\"\n\"I only answered the questions asked me at the preliminary inquiry,\" replied Alyosha, slowly and calmly. \"I made no accusation against Smerdyakov of myself.\"\n\"Yet you gave evidence against him?\"\n\"I was led to do so by my brother Dmitri's words. I was told what took place at his arrest and how he had pointed to Smerdyakov before I was examined. I believe absolutely that my brother is innocent, and if he didn't commit the murder, then—\"\n\"Then Smerdyakov? Why Smerdyakov? And why are you so completely persuaded of your brother's innocence?\"\n\"I cannot help believing my brother. I know he wouldn't lie to me. I saw from his face he wasn't lying.\"\n\"Only from his face? Is that all the proof you have?\"\n\"I have no other proof.\"\n\"And of Smerdyakov's guilt you have no proof whatever but your brother's word and the expression of his face?\"\n\"No, I have no other proof.\"\nThe prosecutor dropped the examination at this point. The impression left by Alyosha's evidence on the public was most disappointing. There had been talk about Smerdyakov before the trial; some one had heard something, some one had pointed out something else, it was said that Alyosha had gathered together some extraordinary proofs of his brother's innocence and Smerdyakov's guilt, and after all there was nothing, no evidence except certain moral convictions so natural in a brother.\nBut Fetyukovitch began his cross-examination. On his asking Alyosha when it was that the prisoner had told him of his hatred for his father and that he might kill him, and whether he had heard it, for instance, at their last meeting before the catastrophe, Alyosha started as he answered, as though only just recollecting and understanding something.\n\"I remember one circumstance now which I'd quite forgotten myself. It wasn't clear to me at the time, but now—\"\nAnd, obviously only now for the first time struck by an idea, he recounted eagerly how, at his last interview with Mitya that evening under the tree, on the road to the monastery, Mitya had struck himself on the breast, \"the upper part of the breast,\" and had repeated several times that he had a means of regaining his honor, that that means was here, here on his breast. \"I thought, when he struck himself on the breast, he meant that it was in his heart,\" Alyosha continued, \"that he might find in his heart strength to save himself from some awful disgrace which was awaiting him and which he did not dare confess even to me. I must confess I did think at the time that he was speaking of our father, and that the disgrace he was shuddering at was the thought of going to our father and doing some violence to him. Yet it was just then that he pointed to something on his breast, so that I remember the idea struck me at the time that the heart is not on that part of the breast, but below, and that he struck himself much too high, just below the neck, and kept pointing to that place. My idea seemed silly to me at the time, but he was perhaps pointing then to that little bag in which he had fifteen hundred roubles!\"\n\"Just so,\" Mitya cried from his place. \"That's right, Alyosha, it was the little bag I struck with my fist.\"\nFetyukovitch flew to him in hot haste entreating him to keep quiet, and at the same instant pounced on Alyosha. Alyosha, carried away himself by his recollection, warmly expressed his theory that this disgrace was probably just that fifteen hundred roubles on him, which he might have returned to Katerina Ivanovna as half of what he owed her, but which he had yet determined not to repay her and to use for another purpose—namely, to enable him to elope with Grushenka, if she consented.\n\"It is so, it must be so,\" exclaimed Alyosha, in sudden excitement. \"My brother cried several times that half of the disgrace, half of it (he said half several times) he could free himself from at once, but that he was so unhappy in his weakness of will that he wouldn't do it ... that he knew beforehand he was incapable of doing it!\"\n\"And you clearly, confidently remember that he struck himself just on this part of the breast?\" Fetyukovitch asked eagerly.\n\"Clearly and confidently, for I thought at the time, 'Why does he strike himself up there when the heart is lower down?' and the thought seemed stupid to me at the time ... I remember its seeming stupid ... it flashed through my mind. That's what brought it back to me just now. How could I have forgotten it till now? It was that little bag he meant when he said he had the means but wouldn't give back that fifteen hundred. And when he was arrested at Mokroe he cried out—I know, I was told it—that he considered it the most disgraceful act of his life that when he had the means of repaying Katerina Ivanovna half (half, note!) what he owed her, he yet could not bring himself to repay the money and preferred to remain a thief in her eyes rather than part with it. And what torture, what torture that debt has been to him!\" Alyosha exclaimed in conclusion.", "chosen": "It, He, It, Alyosha, In, He, But, As, Did, You, He, How, Did, at, But, The, Let, Your, I, And, I, I, I, Why, And, I, I, Is, The, There, But, On, I, It, I, I, Yet, My, That's, Alyosha,, It, My, that, Clearly, I, it, That's, How, It, And, And", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nIt, He, It, Alyosha, In, He, But, As, Did, You, He, How, Did, at, But, The, Let, Your, I, And, I, I, I, Why, And, I, I, Is, The, There, But, On, I, It, I, I, Yet, My, That's, Alyosha,, It, My, that, Clearly, I, it, That's, How, It, And, And\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-081-00-6355e10b", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe Pilots' Monopoly\nONE day, on board the 'Aleck Scott,' my chief, Mr. Bixby, was crawling carefully through a close place at Cat Island, both leads going, and everybody holding his breath. The captain, a nervous, apprehensive man, kept still as long as he could, but finally broke down and shouted from the hurricane deck--\n'For gracious' sake, give her steam, Mr. Bixby! give her steam! She'll never raise the reef on this headway!'\nFor all the effect that was produced upon Mr. Bixby, one would have supposed that no remark had been made. But five minutes later, when the danger was past and the leads laid in, he burst instantly into a consuming fury, and gave the captain the most admirable cursing I ever listened to. No bloodshed ensued; but that was because the captain's cause was weak; for ordinarily he was not a man to take correction quietly.\nHaving now set forth in detail the nature of the science of piloting, and likewise described the rank which the pilot held among the fraternity of steamboatmen, this seems a fitting place to say a few words about an organization which the pilots once formed for the protection of their guild. It was curious and noteworthy in this, that it was perhaps the compactest, the completest, and the strongest commercial organization ever formed among men.\nFor a long time wages had been two hundred and fifty dollars a month; but curiously enough, as steamboats multiplied and business increased, the wages began to fall little by little. It was easy to discover the reason of this. Too many pilots were being 'made.' It was nice to have a 'cub,' a steersman, to do all the hard work for a couple of years, gratis, while his master sat on a high bench and smoked; all pilots and captains had sons or nephews who wanted to be pilots. By and by it came to pass that nearly every pilot on the river had a steersman. When a steersman had made an amount of progress that was satisfactory to any two pilots in the trade, they could get a pilot's license for him by signing an application directed to the United States Inspector. Nothing further was needed; usually no questions were asked, no proofs of capacity required.\nVery well, this growing swarm of new pilots presently began to undermine the wages, in order to get berths. Too late--apparently--the knights of the tiller perceived their mistake. Plainly, something had to be done, and quickly; but what was to be the needful thing. A close organization. Nothing else would answer. To compass this seemed an impossibility; so it was talked, and talked, and then dropped. It was too likely to ruin whoever ventured to move in the matter. But at last about a dozen of the boldest--and some of them the best--pilots on the river launched themselves into the enterprise and took all the chances. They got a special charter from the legislature, with large powers, under the name of the Pilots' Benevolent Association; elected their officers, completed their organization, contributed capital, put 'association' wages up to two hundred and fifty dollars at once--and then retired to their homes, for they were promptly discharged from employment. But there were two or three unnoticed trifles in their by-laws which had the seeds of propagation in them. For instance, all idle members of the association, in good standing, were entitled to a pension of twenty-five dollars per month. This began to bring in one straggler after another from the ranks of the new-fledged pilots, in the dull (summer) season. Better have twenty-five dollars than starve; the initiation fee was only twelve dollars, and no dues required from the unemployed.\nAlso, the widows of deceased members in good standing could draw twenty-five dollars per month, and a certain sum for each of their children. Also, the said deceased would be buried at the association's expense. These things resurrected all the superannuated and forgotten pilots in the Mississippi Valley. They came from farms, they came from interior villages, they came from everywhere. They came on crutches, on drays, in ambulances,--any way, so they got there. They paid in their twelve dollars, and straightway began to draw out twenty-five dollars a month, and calculate their burial bills.\nBy and by, all the useless, helpless pilots, and a dozen first-class ones, were in the association, and nine-tenths of the best pilots out of it and laughing at it. It was the laughing-stock of the whole river. Everybody joked about the by-law requiring members to pay ten per cent. of their wages, every month, into the treasury for the support of the association, whereas all the members were outcast and tabooed, and no one would employ them. Everybody was derisively grateful to the association for taking all the worthless pilots out of the way and leaving the whole field to the excellent and the deserving; and everybody was not only jocularly grateful for that, but for a result which naturally followed, namely, the gradual advance of wages as the busy season approached. Wages had gone up from the low figure of one hundred dollars a month to one hundred and twenty-five, and in some cases to one hundred and fifty; and it was great fun to enlarge upon the fact that this charming thing had been accomplished by a body of men not one of whom received a particle of benefit from it. Some of the jokers used to call at the association rooms and have a good time chaffing the members and offering them the charity of taking them as steersmen for a trip, so that they could see what the forgotten river looked like. However, the association was content; or at least it gave no sign to the contrary. Now and then it captured a pilot who was 'out of luck,' and added him to its list; and these later additions were very valuable, for they were good pilots; the incompetent ones had all been absorbed before. As business freshened, wages climbed gradually up to two hundred and fifty dollars--the association figure--and became firmly fixed there; and still without benefiting a member of that body, for no member was hired. The hilarity at the association's expense burst all bounds, now. There was no end to the fun which that poor martyr had to put up with.\nHowever, it is a long lane that has no turning. Winter approached, business doubled and trebled, and an avalanche of Missouri, Illinois and Upper Mississippi River boats came pouring down to take a chance in the New Orleans trade. All of a sudden pilots were in great demand, and were correspondingly scarce. The time for revenge was come. It was a bitter pill to have to accept association pilots at last, yet captains and owners agreed that there was no other way. But none of these outcasts offered! So there was a still bitterer pill to be swallowed: they must be sought out and asked for their services. Captain ---- was the first man who found it necessary to take the dose, and he had been the loudest derider of the organization. He hunted up one of the best of the association pilots and said--\n'Well, you boys have rather got the best of us for a little while, so I'll give in with as good a grace as I can. I've come to hire you; get your trunk aboard right away. I want to leave at twelve o'clock.'\n'I don't know about that. Who is your other pilot?'\n'I've got I. S----. Why?'\n'I can't go with him. He don't belong to the association.'\n'What!'\n'It's so.'\n'Do you mean to tell me that you won't turn a wheel with one of the very best and oldest pilots on the river because he don't belong to your association?'\n'Yes, I do.'\n'Well, if this isn't putting on airs! I supposed I was doing you a benevolence; but I begin to think that I am the party that wants a favor done. Are you acting under a law of the concern?'\n'Yes.'\n'Show it to me.'\nSo they stepped into the association rooms, and the secretary soon satisfied the captain, who said--\n'Well, what am I to do? I have hired Mr. S---- for the entire season.'", "chosen": "67", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n67\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-245-016-00-9a4fc6f5", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nThe chief mate of the Pequod was Starbuck, a native of Nantucket, and a Quaker by descent. He was a long, earnest man, and though born on an icy coast, seemed well adapted to endure hot latitudes, his flesh being hard as twice-baked biscuit. Transported to the Indies, his live blood would not spoil like bottled ale. He must have been born in some time of general drought and famine, or upon one of those fast days for which his state is famous. Only some thirty arid summers had he seen; those summers had dried up all his physical superfluousness. But this, his thinness, so to speak, seemed no more the token of wasting anxieties and cares, than it seemed the indication of any bodily blight. It was merely the condensation of the man. He was by no means ill-looking; quite the contrary. His pure tight skin was an excellent fit; and closely wrapped up in it, and embalmed with inner health and strength, like a revivified Egyptian, this Starbuck seemed prepared to endure for long ages to come, and to endure always, as now; for be it Polar snow or torrid sun, like a patent chronometer, his interior vitality was warranted to do well in all climates. Looking into his eyes, you seemed to see there the yet lingering images of those thousand-fold perils he had calmly confronted through life. A staid, steadfast man, whose life for the most part was a telling pantomime of action, and not a tame chapter of sounds. Yet, for all his hardy sobriety and fortitude, there were certain qualities in him which at times affected, and in some cases seemed well nigh to overbalance all the rest. Uncommonly conscientious for a seaman, and endued with a deep natural reverence, the wild watery loneliness of his life did therefore strongly incline him to superstition; but to that sort of superstition, which in some organizations seems rather to spring, somehow, from intelligence than from ignorance. Outward portents and inward presentiments were his. And if at times these things bent the welded iron of his soul, much more did his far-away domestic memories of his young Cape wife and child, tend to bend him still more from the original ruggedness of his nature, and open him still further to those latent influences which, in some honest-hearted men, restrain the gush of dare-devil daring, so often evinced by others in the more perilous vicissitudes of the fishery. \"I will have no man in my boat,\" said Starbuck, \"who is not afraid of a whale.\" By this, he seemed to mean, not only that the most reliable and useful courage was that which arises from the fair estimation of the encountered peril, but that an utterly fearless man is a far more dangerous comrade than a coward.\n\"Aye, aye,\" said Stubb, the second mate, \"Starbuck, there, is as careful a man as you'll find anywhere in this fishery.\" But we shall ere long see what that word \"careful\" precisely means when used by a man like Stubb, or almost any other whale hunter.\nStarbuck was no crusader after perils; in him courage was not a sentiment; but a thing simply useful to him, and always at hand upon all mortally practical occasions. Besides, he thought, perhaps, that in this business of whaling, courage was one of the great staple outfits of the ship, like her beef and her bread, and not to be foolishly wasted. Wherefore he had no fancy for lowering for whales after sun-down; nor for persisting in fighting a fish that too much persisted in fighting him. For, thought Starbuck, I am here in this critical ocean to kill whales for my living, and not to be killed by them for theirs; and that hundreds of men had been so killed Starbuck well knew. What doom was his own father's? Where, in the bottomless deeps, could he find the torn limbs of his brother?\nWith memories like these in him, and, moreover, given to a certain superstitiousness, as has been said; the courage of this Starbuck which could, nevertheless, still flourish, must indeed have been extreme. But it was not in reasonable nature that a man so organized, and with such terrible experiences and remembrances as he had; it was not in nature that these things should fail in latently engendering an element in him, which, under suitable circumstances, would break out from its confinement, and burn all his courage up. And brave as he might be, it was that sort of bravery chiefly, visible in some intrepid men, which, while generally abiding firm in the conflict with seas, or winds, or whales, or any of the ordinary irrational horrors of the world, yet cannot withstand those more terrific, because more spiritual terrors, which sometimes menace you from the concentrating brow of an enraged and mighty man.\nBut were the coming narrative to reveal in any instance, the complete abasement of poor Starbuck's fortitude, scarce might I have the heart to write it; for it is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valour in the soul. Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces; but man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes. That immaculate manliness we feel within ourselves, so far within us, that it remains intact though all the outer character seem gone; bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor-ruined man. Nor can piety itself, at such a shameful sight, completely stifle her upbraidings against the permitting stars. But this august dignity I treat of, is not the dignity of kings and robes, but that abounding dignity which has no robed investiture. Thou shalt see it shining in the arm that wields a pick or drives a spike; that democratic dignity which, on all hands, radiates without end from God; Himself! The great God absolute! The centre and circumference of all democracy! His omnipresence, our divine equality!\nIf, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave round them tragic graces; if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased, among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts; if I shall touch that workman's arm with some ethereal light; if I shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then against all mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality, which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind! Bear me out in it, thou great democratic God! who didst not refuse to the swart convict, Bunyan, the pale, poetic pearl; Thou who didst clothe with doubly hammered leaves of finest gold, the stumped and paupered arm of old Cervantes; Thou who didst pick up Andrew Jackson from the pebbles; who didst hurl him upon a war-horse; who didst thunder him higher than a throne! Thou who, in all Thy mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest Thy selectest champions from the kingly commons; bear me out in it, O God!", "chosen": "If, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave round them tragic graces; if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased, among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts; if I shall touch that workman's arm with some ethereal light; if I shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then against all mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality, which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind!", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nIf, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave round them tragic graces; if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased, among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts; if I shall touch that workman's arm with some ethereal light; if I shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then against all mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality, which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind!\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2701-024-00-6bd84c5b", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"True,\" lightly depositing in an unbroken little cylinder the ashes of his cigar, \"true, the two you name are well opposed.\"\n\"Why, you talk as if there was such a being as a surly philanthropist.\"\n\"I do. My eccentric friend, whom you call Coonskins, is an example. Does he not, as I explained to you, hide under a surly air a philanthropic heart? Now, the genial misanthrope, when, in the process of eras, he shall turn up, will be the converse of this; under an affable air, he will hide a misanthropical heart. In short, the genial misanthrope will be a new kind of monster, but still no small improvement upon the original one, since, instead of making faces and throwing stones at people, like that poor old crazy man, Timon, he will take steps, fiddle in hand, and set the tickled world a'dancing. In a word, as the progress of Christianization mellows those in manner whom it cannot mend in mind, much the same will it prove with the progress of genialization. And so, thanks to geniality, the misanthrope, reclaimed from his boorish address, will take on refinement and softness--to so genial a degree, indeed, that it may possibly fall out that the misanthrope of the coming century will be almost as popular as, I am sincerely sorry to say, some philanthropists of the present time would seem not to be, as witness my eccentric friend named before.\"\n\"Well,\" cried the other, a little weary, perhaps, of a speculation so abstract, \"well, however it may be with the century to come, certainly in the century which is, whatever else one may be, he must be genial or he is nothing. So fill up, fill up, and be genial!\"\n\"I am trying my best,\" said the cosmopolitan, still calmly companionable. \"A moment since, we talked of Pizarro, gold, and Peru; no doubt, now, you remember that when the Spaniard first entered Atahalpa's treasure-chamber, and saw such profusion of plate stacked up, right and left, with the wantonness of old barrels in a brewer's yard, the needy fellow felt a twinge of misgiving, of want of confidence, as to the genuineness of an opulence so profuse. He went about rapping the shining vases with his knuckles. But it was all gold, pure gold, good gold, sterling gold, which how cheerfully would have been stamped such at Goldsmiths' Hall. And just so those needy minds, which, through their own insincerity, having no confidence in mankind, doubt lest the liberal geniality of this age be spurious. They are small Pizarros in their way--by the very princeliness of men's geniality stunned into distrust of it.\"\n\"Far be such distrust from you and me, my genial friend,\" cried the other fervently; \"fill up, fill up!\"\n\"Well, this all along seems a division of labor,\" smiled the cosmopolitan. \"I do about all the drinking, and you do about all--the genial. But yours is a nature competent to do that to a large population. And now, my friend,\" with a peculiarly grave air, evidently foreshadowing something not unimportant, and very likely of close personal interest; \"wine, you know, opens the heart, and----\"\n\"Opens it!\" with exultation, \"it thaws it right out. Every heart is ice-bound till wine melt it, and reveal the tender grass and sweet herbage budding below, with every dear secret, hidden before like a dropped jewel in a snow-bank, lying there unsuspected through winter till spring.\"\n\"And just in that way, my dear Charlie, is one of my little secrets now to be shown forth.\"\n\"Ah!\" eagerly moving round his chair, \"what is it?\"\n\"Be not so impetuous, my dear Charlie. Let me explain. You see, naturally, I am a man not overgifted with assurance; in general, I am, if anything, diffidently reserved; so, if I shall presently seem otherwise, the reason is, that you, by the geniality you have evinced in all your talk, and especially the noble way in which, while affirming your good opinion of men, you intimated that you never could prove false to any man, but most by your indignation at a particularly illiberal passage in Polonius' advice--in short, in short,\" with extreme embarrassment, \"how shall I express what I mean, unless I add that by your whole character you impel me to throw myself upon your nobleness; in one word, put confidence in you, a generous confidence?\"\n\"I see, I see,\" with heightened interest, \"something of moment you wish to confide. Now, what is it, Frank? Love affair?\"\n\"No, not that.\"\n\"What, then, my dear Frank? Speak--depend upon me to the last. Out with it.\"\n\"Out it shall come, then,\" said the cosmopolitan. \"I am in want, urgent want, of money.\"", "chosen": "[\"True,\", \"true, the two you name are well opposed.\", \"Why, you talk as if there was such a being as a surly philanthropist.\", \"Well,\", \"well, however it may be with the century to come, certainly in the century which is, whatever else one may be, he must be genial or he is nothing. So fill up, fill up, and be genial!\", \"I am trying my best,\", \"Far be such distrust from you and me, my genial friend,\", \"fill up, fill up!\", \"Well, this all along seems a division of labor,\", \"I do about all the drinking, and you do about all--the genial. But yours is a nature competent to do that to a large population. And now, my friend,\", \"wine, you know, opens the heart, and----\", \"Opens it!\", \"And just in that way, my dear Charlie, is one of my little secrets now to be shown forth.\", \" eagerly moving round his chair, \", \" with extreme embarrassment, \", \"I see, I see,\", \"something of moment you wish to confide. Now, what is it, Frank? Love affair?\", \"No, not that.\", \"What, then, my dear Frank? Speak--depend upon me to the last. Out with it.\", \"Out it shall come, then,\", \"I am in want, urgent want, of money.\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"True,\", \"true, the two you name are well opposed.\", \"Why, you talk as if there was such a being as a surly philanthropist.\", \"Well,\", \"well, however it may be with the century to come, certainly in the century which is, whatever else one may be, he must be genial or he is nothing. So fill up, fill up, and be genial!\", \"I am trying my best,\", \"Far be such distrust from you and me, my genial friend,\", \"fill up, fill up!\", \"Well, this all along seems a division of labor,\", \"I do about all the drinking, and you do about all--the genial. But yours is a nature competent to do that to a large population. And now, my friend,\", \"wine, you know, opens the heart, and----\", \"Opens it!\", \"And just in that way, my dear Charlie, is one of my little secrets now to be shown forth.\", \" eagerly moving round his chair, \", \" with extreme embarrassment, \", \"I see, I see,\", \"something of moment you wish to confide. Now, what is it, Frank? Love affair?\", \"No, not that.\", \"What, then, my dear Frank? Speak--depend upon me to the last. Out with it.\", \"Out it shall come, then,\", \"I am in want, urgent want, of money.\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-21816-029-03-ee319c97", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIt would be most an hour yet till breakfast, so we left and struck down into the woods; because Tom said we got to have some light to see how to dig by, and a lantern makes too much, and might get us into trouble; what we must have was a lot of them rotten chunks that's called fox-fire, and just makes a soft kind of a glow when you lay them in a dark place. We fetched an armful and hid it in the weeds, and set down to rest, and Tom says, kind of dissatisfied:\n\"Blame it, this whole thing is just as easy and awkward as it can be. And so it makes it so rotten difficult to get up a difficult plan. There ain't no watchman to be drugged—now there ought to be a watchman. There ain't even a dog to give a sleeping-mixture to. And there's Jim chained by one leg, with a ten-foot chain, to the leg of his bed: why, all you got to do is to lift up the bedstead and slip off the chain. And Uncle Silas he trusts everybody; sends the key to the punkin-headed nigger, and don't send nobody to watch the nigger. Jim could a got out of that window-hole before this, only there wouldn't be no use trying to travel with a ten-foot chain on his leg. Why, drat it, Huck, it's the stupidest arrangement I ever see. You got to invent all the difficulties. Well, we can't help it; we got to do the best we can with the materials we've got. Anyhow, there's one thing—there's more honor in getting him out through a lot of difficulties and dangers, where there warn't one of them furnished to you by the people who it was their duty to furnish them, and you had to contrive them all out of your own head. Now look at just that one thing of the lantern. When you come down to the cold facts, we simply got to let on that a lantern's resky. Why, we could work with a torchlight procession if we wanted to, I believe. Now, whilst I think of it, we got to hunt up something to make a saw out of the first chance we get.\"\n\"What do we want of a saw?\"\n\"What do we want of it? Hain't we got to saw the leg of Jim's bed off, so as to get the chain loose?\"\n\"Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain off.\"\n\"Well, if that ain't just like you, Huck Finn. You can get up the infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing. Why, hain't you ever read any books at all?—Baron Trenck, nor Casanova, nor Benvenuto Chelleeny, nor Henri IV., nor none of them heroes? Who ever heard of getting a prisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as that? No; the way all the best authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just so, and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and grease around the sawed place so the very keenest seneskal can't see no sign of it's being sawed, and thinks the bed-leg is perfectly sound. Then, the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she goes; slip off your chain, and there you are. Nothing to do but hitch your rope ladder to the battlements, shin down it, break your leg in the moat—because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too short, you know—and there's your horses and your trusty vassles, and they scoop you up and fling you across a saddle, and away you go to your native Langudoc, or Navarre, or wherever it is. It's gaudy, Huck. I wish there was a moat to this cabin. If we get time, the night of the escape, we'll dig one.\"\nI says:\n\"What do we want of a moat when we're going to snake him out from under the cabin?\"\nBut he never heard me. He had forgot me and everything else. He had his chin in his hand, thinking. Pretty soon he sighs and shakes his head; then sighs again, and says:\n\"No, it wouldn't do—there ain't necessity enough for it.\"\n\"For what?\" I says.\n\"Why, to saw Jim's leg off,\" he says.\n\"Good land!\" I says; \"why, there ain't no necessity for it. And what would you want to saw his leg off for, anyway?\"\n\"Well, some of the best authorities has done it. They couldn't get the chain off, so they just cut their hand off and shoved. And a leg would be better still. But we got to let that go. There ain't necessity enough in this case; and, besides, Jim's a nigger, and wouldn't understand the reasons for it, and how it's the custom in Europe; so we'll let it go. But there's one thing—he can have a rope ladder; we can tear up our sheets and make him a rope ladder easy enough. And we can send it to him in a pie; it's mostly done that way. And I've et worse pies.\"\n\"Why, Tom Sawyer, how you talk,\" I says; \"Jim ain't got no use for a rope ladder.\"\n\"He has got use for it. How you talk, you better say; you don't know nothing about it. He's got to have a rope ladder; they all do.\"\n\"What in the nation can he do with it?\"\n\"Do with it? He can hide it in his bed, can't he? That's what they all do; and he's got to, too. Huck, you don't ever seem to want to do anything that's regular; you want to be starting something fresh all the time. S'pose he don't do nothing with it? ain't it there in his bed, for a clew, after he's gone? and don't you reckon they'll want clews? Of course they will. And you wouldn't leave them any? That would be a pretty howdy-do, wouldn't it! I never heard of such a thing.\"\n\"Well,\" I says, \"if it's in the regulations, and he's got to have it, all right, let him have it; because I don't wish to go back on no regulations; but there's one thing, Tom Sawyer—if we go to tearing up our sheets to make Jim a rope ladder, we're going to get into trouble with Aunt Sally, just as sure as you're born. Now, the way I look at it, a hickry-bark ladder don't cost nothing, and don't waste nothing, and is just as good to load up a pie with, and hide in a straw tick, as any rag ladder you can start; and as for Jim, he ain't had no experience, and so he don't care what kind of a—\"\n\"Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, if I was as ignorant as you I'd keep still—that's what I'd do. Who ever heard of a state prisoner escaping by a hickry-bark ladder? Why, it's perfectly ridiculous.\"\n\"Well, all right, Tom, fix it your own way; but if you'll take my advice, you'll let me borrow a sheet off of the clothesline.\"\nHe said that would do. And that gave him another idea, and he says:\n\"Borrow a shirt, too.\"\n\"What do we want of a shirt, Tom?\"\n\"Want it for Jim to keep a journal on.\"\n\"Journal your granny—Jim can't write.\"\n\"S'pose he can't write—he can make marks on the shirt, can't he, if we make him a pen out of an old pewter spoon or a piece of an old iron barrel-hoop?\"\n\"Why, Tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose and make him a better one; and quicker, too.\"\n\"Prisoners don't have geese running around the donjon-keep to pull pens out of, you muggins. They always make their pens out of the hardest, toughest, troublesomest piece of old brass candlestick or something like that they can get their hands on; and it takes them weeks and weeks and months and months to file it out, too, because they've got to do it by rubbing it on the wall. They wouldn't use a goose-quill if they had it. It ain't regular.\"\n\"Well, then, what'll we make him the ink out of?\"", "chosen": "of", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nof\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-035-00-6216efe6", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Sydney,\" said Mr. Stryver, on that self-same night, or morning, to his jackal; \"mix another bowl of punch; I have something to say to you.\"\nSydney had been working double tides that night, and the night before, and the night before that, and a good many nights in succession, making a grand clearance among Mr. Stryver's papers before the setting in of the long vacation. The clearance was effected at last; the Stryver arrears were handsomely fetched up; everything was got rid of until November should come with its fogs atmospheric, and fogs legal, and bring grist to the mill again.\nSydney was none the livelier and none the soberer for so much application. It had taken a deal of extra wet-towelling to pull him through the night; a correspondingly extra quantity of wine had preceded the towelling; and he was in a very damaged condition, as he now pulled his turban off and threw it into the basin in which he had steeped it at intervals for the last six hours.\n\"Are you mixing that other bowl of punch?\" said Stryver the portly, with his hands in his waistband, glancing round from the sofa where he lay on his back.\n\"I am.\"\n\"Now, look here! I am going to tell you something that will rather surprise you, and that perhaps will make you think me not quite as shrewd as you usually do think me. I intend to marry.\"\n\"Do you?\"\n\"Yes. And not for money. What do you say now?\"\n\"I don't feel disposed to say much. Who is she?\"\n\"Guess.\"\n\"Do I know her?\"\n\"Guess.\"\n\"I am not going to guess, at five o'clock in the morning, with my brains frying and sputtering in my head. If you want me to guess, you must ask me to dinner.\"\n\"Well then, I'll tell you,\" said Stryver, coming slowly into a sitting posture. \"Sydney, I rather despair of making myself intelligible to you, because you are such an insensible dog.\"\n\"And you,\" returned Sydney, busy concocting the punch, \"are such a sensitive and poetical spirit--\"\n\"Come!\" rejoined Stryver, laughing boastfully, \"though I don't prefer any claim to being the soul of Romance (for I hope I know better), still I am a tenderer sort of fellow than you.\"\n\"You are a luckier, if you mean that.\"\n\"I don't mean that. I mean I am a man of more--more--\"\n\"Say gallantry, while you are about it,\" suggested Carton.\n\"Well! I'll say gallantry. My meaning is that I am a man,\" said Stryver, inflating himself at his friend as he made the punch, \"who cares more to be agreeable, who takes more pains to be agreeable, who knows better how to be agreeable, in a woman's society, than you do.\"\n\"Go on,\" said Sydney Carton.\n\"No; but before I go on,\" said Stryver, shaking his head in his bullying way, \"I'll have this out with you. You've been at Doctor Manette's house as much as I have, or more than I have. Why, I have been ashamed of your moroseness there! Your manners have been of that silent and sullen and hangdog kind, that, upon my life and soul, I have been ashamed of you, Sydney!\"\n\"It should be very beneficial to a man in your practice at the bar, to be ashamed of anything,\" returned Sydney; \"you ought to be much obliged to me.\"\n\"You shall not get off in that way,\" rejoined Stryver, shouldering the rejoinder at him; \"no, Sydney, it's my duty to tell you--and I tell you to your face to do you good--that you are a devilish ill-conditioned fellow in that sort of society. You are a disagreeable fellow.\"\nSydney drank a bumper of the punch he had made, and laughed.\n\"Look at me!\" said Stryver, squaring himself; \"I have less need to make myself agreeable than you have, being more independent in circumstances. Why do I do it?\"\n\"I never saw you do it yet,\" muttered Carton.\n\"I do it because it's politic; I do it on principle. And look at me! I get on.\"\n\"You don't get on with your account of your matrimonial intentions,\" answered Carton, with a careless air; \"I wish you would keep to that. As to me--will you never understand that I am incorrigible?\"\nHe asked the question with some appearance of scorn.\n\"You have no business to be incorrigible,\" was his friend's answer, delivered in no very soothing tone.\n\"I have no business to be, at all, that I know of,\" said Sydney Carton. \"Who is the lady?\"\n\"Now, don't let my announcement of the name make you uncomfortable, Sydney,\" said Mr. Stryver, preparing him with ostentatious friendliness for the disclosure he was about to make, \"because I know you don't mean half you say; and if you meant it all, it would be of no importance. I make this little preface, because you once mentioned the young lady to me in slighting terms.\"\n\"I did?\"\n\"Certainly; and in these chambers.\"\nSydney Carton looked at his punch and looked at his complacent friend; drank his punch and looked at his complacent friend.\n\"You made mention of the young lady as a golden-haired doll. The young lady is Miss Manette. If you had been a fellow of any sensitiveness or delicacy of feeling in that kind of way, Sydney, I might have been a little resentful of your employing such a designation; but you are not. You want that sense altogether; therefore I am no more annoyed when I think of the expression, than I should be annoyed by a man's opinion of a picture of mine, who had no eye for pictures: or of a piece of music of mine, who had no ear for music.\"\nSydney Carton drank the punch at a great rate; drank it by bumpers, looking at his friend.\n\"Now you know all about it, Syd,\" said Mr. Stryver. \"I don't care about fortune: she is a charming creature, and I have made up my mind to please myself: on the whole, I think I can afford to please myself. She will have in me a man already pretty well off, and a rapidly rising man, and a man of some distinction: it is a piece of good fortune for her, but she is worthy of good fortune. Are you astonished?\"\nCarton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, \"Why should I be astonished?\"\n\"You approve?\"\nCarton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, \"Why should I not approve?\"\n\"Well!\" said his friend Stryver, \"you take it more easily than I fancied you would, and are less mercenary on my behalf than I thought you would be; though, to be sure, you know well enough by this time that your ancient chum is a man of a pretty strong will. Yes, Sydney, I have had enough of this style of life, with no other as a change from it; I feel that it is a pleasant thing for a man to have a home when he feels inclined to go to it (when he doesn't, he can stay away), and I feel that Miss Manette will tell well in any station, and will always do me credit. So I have made up my mind. And now, Sydney, old boy, I want to say a word to you about your prospects. You are in a bad way, you know; you really are in a bad way. You don't know the value of money, you live hard, you'll knock up one of these days, and be ill and poor; you really ought to think about a nurse.\"\nThe prosperous patronage with which he said it, made him look twice as big as he was, and four times as offensive.\n\"Now, let me recommend you,\" pursued Stryver, \"to look it in the face. I have looked it in the face, in my different way; look it in the face, you, in your different way. Marry. Provide somebody to take care of you. Never mind your having no enjoyment of women's society, nor understanding of it, nor tact for it. Find out somebody. Find out some respectable woman with a little property--somebody in the landlady way, or lodging-letting way--and marry her, against a rainy day. That's the kind of thing for you. Now think of it, Sydney.\"\n\"I'll think of it,\" said Sydney.", "chosen": "[\"Sydney\", \"Stryver\", \"November\", \"Are\", \"Guess\", \"Come\", \"Romance\", \"Say\", \"Carton\", \"Manette\", \"Look\", \"Certainly\", \"Syd\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Sydney\", \"Stryver\", \"November\", \"Are\", \"Guess\", \"Come\", \"Romance\", \"Say\", \"Carton\", \"Manette\", \"Look\", \"Certainly\", \"Syd\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-98-017-00-256b94d6", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"What is it, my child?\"\n\"Absolve my soul, Father,\" she articulated softly, and slowly sank on her knees and bowed down at his feet. \"I have sinned, Father. I am afraid of my sin.\"\nThe elder sat down on the lower step. The woman crept closer to him, still on her knees.\n\"I am a widow these three years,\" she began in a half-whisper, with a sort of shudder. \"I had a hard life with my husband. He was an old man. He used to beat me cruelly. He lay ill; I thought looking at him, if he were to get well, if he were to get up again, what then? And then the thought came to me—\"\n\"Stay!\" said the elder, and he put his ear close to her lips.\nThe woman went on in a low whisper, so that it was almost impossible to catch anything. She had soon done.\n\"Three years ago?\" asked the elder.\n\"Three years. At first I didn't think about it, but now I've begun to be ill, and the thought never leaves me.\"\n\"Have you come from far?\"\n\"Over three hundred miles away.\"\n\"Have you told it in confession?\"\n\"I have confessed it. Twice I have confessed it.\"\n\"Have you been admitted to Communion?\"\n\"Yes. I am afraid. I am afraid to die.\"\n\"Fear nothing and never be afraid; and don't fret. If only your penitence fail not, God will forgive all. There is no sin, and there can be no sin on all the earth, which the Lord will not forgive to the truly repentant! Man cannot commit a sin so great as to exhaust the infinite love of God. Can there be a sin which could exceed the love of God? Think only of repentance, continual repentance, but dismiss fear altogether. Believe that God loves you as you cannot conceive; that He loves you with your sin, in your sin. It has been said of old that over one repentant sinner there is more joy in heaven than over ten righteous men. Go, and fear not. Be not bitter against men. Be not angry if you are wronged. Forgive the dead man in your heart what wrong he did you. Be reconciled with him in truth. If you are penitent, you love. And if you love you are of God. All things are atoned for, all things are saved by love. If I, a sinner, even as you are, am tender with you and have pity on you, how much more will God. Love is such a priceless treasure that you can redeem the whole world by it, and expiate not only your own sins but the sins of others.\"\nHe signed her three times with the cross, took from his own neck a little ikon and put it upon her. She bowed down to the earth without speaking.\nHe got up and looked cheerfully at a healthy peasant woman with a tiny baby in her arms.\n\"From Vyshegorye, dear Father.\"\n\"Five miles you have dragged yourself with the baby. What do you want?\"\n\"I've come to look at you. I have been to you before—or have you forgotten? You've no great memory if you've forgotten me. They told us you were ill. Thinks I, I'll go and see him for myself. Now I see you, and you're not ill! You'll live another twenty years. God bless you! There are plenty to pray for you; how should you be ill?\"\n\"I thank you for all, daughter.\"\n\"By the way, I have a thing to ask, not a great one. Here are sixty copecks. Give them, dear Father, to some one poorer than me. I thought as I came along, better give through him. He'll know whom to give to.\"\n\"Thanks, my dear, thanks! You are a good woman. I love you. I will do so certainly. Is that your little girl?\"\n\"My little girl, Father, Lizaveta.\"\n\"May the Lord bless you both, you and your babe Lizaveta! You have gladdened my heart, mother. Farewell, dear children, farewell, dear ones.\"\nHe blessed them all and bowed low to them.", "chosen": "What, I, I, The, I, I, He, He, He, And, The, She, Three, Three, At, Twice, I, I, If, There, Man, Can, Think, Believe, It, Go,, Be, Be, Forgive, Be, If, And, All, If, Love, She, He, From, What, I, You've, They, Thinks, Now, You'll, God, There, Here, Give, I, He'll, You, I, I, Is, You, Farewell,", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nWhat, I, I, The, I, I, He, He, He, And, The, She, Three, Three, At, Twice, I, I, If, There, Man, Can, Think, Believe, It, Go,, Be, Be, Forgive, Be, If, And, All, If, Love, She, He, From, What, I, You've, They, Thinks, Now, You'll, God, There, Here, Give, I, He'll, You, I, I, Is, You, Farewell,\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-008-02-8b93a19b", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nWithin a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the world, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a son and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least to all those intimate connections who knew it before.\nThis event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings's happiness, produced a temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a like degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to be as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every morning as soon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in the evening; and the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of the Middletons, spent the whole of every day, in Conduit Street. For their own comfort they would much rather have remained, at least all the morning, in Mrs. Jennings's house; but it was not a thing to be urged against the wishes of everybody. Their hours were therefore made over to Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles, by whom their company, in fact was as little valued, as it was professedly sought.\nThey had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on their ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to monopolize. Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton's behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical; but that did not signify. It was censure in common use, and easily given.\nTheir presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the idleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was proud to think of and administer at other times, she feared they would despise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the three, by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to it entirely. Would either of them only have given her a full and minute account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby, she would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned. But this conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once dropt a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne, no effect was produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of disgust in the latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made her their friend. Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor! But so little were they, anymore than the others, inclined to oblige her, that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without hearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was kind enough to bestow on herself.\nAll these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful thing for the girls to be together; and generally congratulated her young friends every night, on having escaped the company of a stupid old woman so long. She joined them sometimes at Sir John's, sometimes at her own house; but wherever it was, she always came in excellent spirits, full of delight and importance, attributing Charlotte's well doing to her own care, and ready to give so exact, so minute a detail of her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire. One thing did disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint. Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at different times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the world.\nI come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time befell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her two sisters with Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another of her acquaintance had dropt in--a circumstance in itself not apparently likely to produce evil to her. But while the imaginations of other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our conduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one's happiness must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present instance, this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far outrun truth and probability, that on merely hearing the name of the Miss Dashwoods, and understanding them to be Mr. Dashwood's sisters, she immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards, cards of invitation for them as well as for their brother and sister, to a small musical party at her house. The consequence of which was, that Mrs. John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, but, what was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing to treat them with attention: and who could tell that they might not expect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing them, it was true, must always be her's. But that was not enough; for when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from them.\nMarianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the habit of going out every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to her, whether she went or not: and she prepared quietly and mechanically for every evening's engagement, though without expecting the smallest amusement from any, and very often without knowing, till the last moment, where it was to take her.\nTo her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent, as not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of their being together, when it was finished. Nothing escaped her minute observation and general curiosity; she saw every thing, and asked every thing; was never easy till she knew the price of every part of Marianne's dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns altogether with better judgment than Marianne herself, and was not without hopes of finding out before they parted, how much her washing cost per week, and how much she had every year to spend upon herself. The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally concluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur, was considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost sure of being told that upon \"her word she looked vastly smart, and she dared to say she would make a great many conquests.\"\nWith such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the present occasion, to her brother's carriage; which they were ready to enter five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very agreeable to their sister-in-law, who had preceded them to the house of her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their part that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman.", "chosen": "42", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n42\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-21839-036-00-90f28f52", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"In a stationer's shop in Pall Mall, where I had business. Two ladies were waiting for their carriage, and one of them was giving the other an account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting concealment, that it was impossible for me not to hear all. The name of Willoughby, John Willoughby, frequently repeated, first caught my attention; and what followed was a positive assertion that every thing was now finally settled respecting his marriage with Miss Grey--it was no longer to be a secret--it would take place even within a few weeks, with many particulars of preparations and other matters. One thing, especially, I remember, because it served to identify the man still more:--as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to go to Combe Magna, his seat in Somersetshire. My astonishment!--but it would be impossible to describe what I felt. The communicative lady I learnt, on inquiry,--for I stayed in the shop till they were gone,--was a Mrs. Ellison, and that, as I have been since informed, is the name of Miss Grey's guardian.\"\n\"It is. But have you likewise heard that Miss Grey has fifty thousand pounds? In that, if in any thing, we may find an explanation.\"\n\"It may be so; but Willoughby is capable--at least I think--\" He stopped a moment; then added in a voice which seemed to distrust itself, \"And your sister,--how did she,--\"\n\"Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to hope that they may be proportionately short. It has been, it is a most cruel affliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard; and even now, perhaps--but I am almost convinced that he never was really attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and, in some points, there seems a hardness of heart about him.\"\n\"Ah!\" said Colonel Brandon, \"there is, indeed! But your sister does not--I think you said so--she does not consider quite as you do?\"\n\"You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still justify him if she could.\"\nHe made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removal of the tea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties, the subject was necessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, who had watched them with pleasure while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss Dashwood's communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel Brandon's side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening more serious and thoughtful than usual.", "chosen": "Jennings, who had watched them with pleasure while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss Dashwood's communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel Brandon's side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening more serious and thoughtful than usual.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nJennings, who had watched them with pleasure while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss Dashwood's communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel Brandon's side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening more serious and thoughtful than usual.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21839-030-02-91319fa4", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Did not you know,\" said Willoughby, \"that we had been out in my curricle?\"\n\"Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined to find out where you had been to. I hope you like your house, Miss Marianne. It is a very large one, I know; and when I come to see you, I hope you will have new-furnished it, for it wanted it very much when I was there six years ago.\"\nMarianne turned away in great confusion. Mrs. Jennings laughed heartily; and Elinor found that in her resolution to know where they had been, she had actually made her own woman enquire of Mr. Willoughby's groom; and that she had by that method been informed that they had gone to Allenham, and spent a considerable time there in walking about the garden and going all over the house.\nElinor could hardly believe this to be true, as it seemed very unlikely that Willoughby should propose, or Marianne consent, to enter the house while Mrs. Smith was in it, with whom Marianne had not the smallest acquaintance.\nAs soon as they left the dining-room, Elinor enquired of her about it; and great was her surprise when she found that every circumstance related by Mrs. Jennings was perfectly true. Marianne was quite angry with her for doubting it.\n\"Why should you imagine, Elinor, that we did not go there, or that we did not see the house? Is not it what you have often wished to do yourself?\"\n\"Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was there, and with no other companion than Mr. Willoughby.\"\n\"Mr. Willoughby however is the only person who can have a right to show that house; and as he went in an open carriage, it was impossible to have any other companion. I never spent a pleasanter morning in my life.\"\n\"I am afraid,\" replied Elinor, \"that the pleasantness of an employment does not always evince its propriety.\"\n\"On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if there had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting wrong, and with such a conviction I could have had no pleasure.\"\n\"But, my dear Marianne, as it has already exposed you to some very impertinent remarks, do you not now begin to doubt the discretion of your own conduct?\"\n\"If the impertinent remarks of Mrs. Jennings are to be the proof of impropriety in conduct, we are all offending every moment of our lives. I value not her censure any more than I should do her commendation. I am not sensible of having done anything wrong in walking over Mrs. Smith's grounds, or in seeing her house. They will one day be Mr. Willoughby's, and--\"\n\"If they were one day to be your own, Marianne, you would not be justified in what you have done.\"\nShe blushed at this hint; but it was even visibly gratifying to her; and after a ten minutes' interval of earnest thought, she came to her sister again, and said with great good humour, \"Perhaps, Elinor, it was rather ill-judged in me to go to Allenham; but Mr. Willoughby wanted particularly to show me the place; and it is a charming house, I assure you. There is one remarkably pretty sitting room up stairs; of a nice comfortable size for constant use, and with modern furniture it would be delightful. It is a corner room, and has windows on two sides. On one side you look across the bowling-green, behind the house, to a beautiful hanging wood, and on the other you have a view of the church and village, and, beyond them, of those fine bold hills that we have so often admired. I did not see it to advantage, for nothing could be more forlorn than the furniture; but if it were newly fitted up--a couple of hundred pounds, Willoughby says, would make it one of the pleasantest summer-rooms in England.\"\nCould Elinor have listened to her without interruption from the others, she would have described every room in the house with equal delight.", "chosen": "delight", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\ndelight\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-013-01-5d613223", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThere was no doubt about it this time. Clean across the space of grass, about two hundred yards away, with a crowd screaming and scampering vainly at his heels, went a huge grey elephant at an awful stride, with his trunk thrown out as rigid as a ship's bowsprit, and trumpeting like the trumpet of doom. On the back of the bellowing and plunging animal sat President Sunday with all the placidity of a sultan, but goading the animal to a furious speed with some sharp object in his hand.\n\"Stop him!\" screamed the populace. \"He'll be out of the gate!\"\n\"Stop a landslide!\" said the keeper. \"He is out of the gate!\"\nAnd even as he spoke, a final crash and roar of terror announced that the great grey elephant had broken out of the gates of the Zoological Gardens, and was careening down Albany Street like a new and swift sort of omnibus.\n\"Great Lord!\" cried Bull, \"I never knew an elephant could go so fast. Well, it must be hansom-cabs again if we are to keep him in sight.\"\nAs they raced along to the gate out of which the elephant had vanished, Syme felt a glaring panorama of the strange animals in the cages which they passed. Afterwards he thought it queer that he should have seen them so clearly. He remembered especially seeing pelicans, with their preposterous, pendant throats. He wondered why the pelican was the symbol of charity, except it was that it wanted a good deal of charity to admire a pelican. He remembered a hornbill, which was simply a huge yellow beak with a small bird tied on behind it. The whole gave him a sensation, the vividness of which he could not explain, that Nature was always making quite mysterious jokes. Sunday had told them that they would understand him when they had understood the stars. He wondered whether even the archangels understood the hornbill.\nThe six unhappy detectives flung themselves into cabs and followed the elephant sharing the terror which he spread through the long stretch of the streets. This time Sunday did not turn round, but offered them the solid stretch of his unconscious back, which maddened them, if possible, more than his previous mockeries. Just before they came to Baker Street, however, he was seen to throw something far up into the air, as a boy does a ball meaning to catch it again. But at their rate of racing it fell far behind, just by the cab containing Gogol; and in faint hope of a clue or for some impulse unexplainable, he stopped his cab so as to pick it up. It was addressed to himself, and was quite a bulky parcel. On examination, however, its bulk was found to consist of thirty-three pieces of paper of no value wrapped one round the other. When the last covering was torn away it reduced itself to a small slip of paper, on which was written:—\n\"The word, I fancy, should be 'pink'.\"\nThe man once known as Gogol said nothing, but the movements of his hands and feet were like those of a man urging a horse to renewed efforts.\nThrough street after street, through district after district, went the prodigy of the flying elephant, calling crowds to every window, and driving the traffic left and right. And still through all this insane publicity the three cabs toiled after it, until they came to be regarded as part of a procession, and perhaps the advertisement of a circus. They went at such a rate that distances were shortened beyond belief, and Syme saw the Albert Hall in Kensington when he thought that he was still in Paddington. The animal's pace was even more fast and free through the empty, aristocratic streets of South Kensington, and he finally headed towards that part of the sky-line where the enormous Wheel of Earl's Court stood up in the sky. The wheel grew larger and larger, till it filled heaven like the wheel of stars.\nThe beast outstripped the cabs. They lost him round several corners, and when they came to one of the gates of the Earl's Court Exhibition they found themselves finally blocked. In front of them was an enormous crowd; in the midst of it was an enormous elephant, heaving and shuddering as such shapeless creatures do. But the President had disappeared.\n\"Where has he gone to?\" asked Syme, slipping to the ground.\n\"Gentleman rushed into the Exhibition, sir!\" said an official in a dazed manner. Then he added in an injured voice: \"Funny gentleman, sir. Asked me to hold his horse, and gave me this.\"\nHe held out with distaste a piece of folded paper, addressed: \"To the Secretary of the Central Anarchist Council.\"\nThe Secretary, raging, rent it open, and found written inside it:—\n\"When the herring runs a mile, Let the Secretary smile; When the herring tries to fly, Let the Secretary die. Rustic Proverb.\"\n\"Why the eternal crikey,\" began the Secretary, \"did you let the man in? Do people commonly come to your Exhibition riding on mad elephants? Do—\"\n\"Look!\" shouted Syme suddenly. \"Look over there!\"\n\"Look at what?\" asked the Secretary savagely.\n\"Look at the captive balloon!\" said Syme, and pointed in a frenzy.\n\"Why the blazes should I look at a captive balloon?\" demanded the Secretary. \"What is there queer about a captive balloon?\"\n\"Nothing,\" said Syme, \"except that it isn't captive!\"\nThey all turned their eyes to where the balloon swung and swelled above the Exhibition on a string, like a child's balloon. A second afterwards the string came in two just under the car, and the balloon, broken loose, floated away with the freedom of a soap bubble.\n\"Ten thousand devils!\" shrieked the Secretary. \"He's got into it!\" and he shook his fists at the sky.\nThe balloon, borne by some chance wind, came right above them, and they could see the great white head of the President peering over the side and looking benevolently down on them.\n\"God bless my soul!\" said the Professor with the elderly manner that he could never disconnect from his bleached beard and parchment face. \"God bless my soul! I seemed to fancy that something fell on the top of my hat!\"\nHe put up a trembling hand and took from that shelf a piece of twisted paper, which he opened absently only to find it inscribed with a true lover's knot and, the words:—\n\"Your beauty has not left me indifferent.—From LITTLE SNOWDROP.\"\nThere was a short silence, and then Syme said, biting his beard—\n\"I'm not beaten yet. The blasted thing must come down somewhere. Let's follow it!\"", "chosen": "[\"President\", \"Sunday\", \"Stop\", \"Zoological\", \"Gardens\", \"Albany\", \"Street\", \"Great\", \"Bull\", \"Syme\", \"Nature\", \"Baker\", \"Gogol\", \"Albert\", \"Hall\", \"Kensington\", \"Paddington\", \"South\", \"Wheel\", \"Earl\", \"Court\", \"Exhibition\", \"Where\", \"Gentleman\", \"Funny\", \"Secretary\", \"Central\", \"Anarchist\", \"Council\", \"Let\", \"Proverb\", \"Look\", \"Nothing\", \"Ten\", \"God\", \"Professor\", \"Your\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"President\", \"Sunday\", \"Stop\", \"Zoological\", \"Gardens\", \"Albany\", \"Street\", \"Great\", \"Bull\", \"Syme\", \"Nature\", \"Baker\", \"Gogol\", \"Albert\", \"Hall\", \"Kensington\", \"Paddington\", \"South\", \"Wheel\", \"Earl\", \"Court\", \"Exhibition\", \"Where\", \"Gentleman\", \"Funny\", \"Secretary\", \"Central\", \"Anarchist\", \"Council\", \"Let\", \"Proverb\", \"Look\", \"Nothing\", \"Ten\", \"God\", \"Professor\", \"Your\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1695-013-02-9b47ad4c", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"May I go with you, Mary?\" whispered Letty—a most inconvenient child, who listened to everything. But she was made exultant by having her chin pinched and her cheek kissed by Mr. Farebrother—an incident which she narrated to her mother and father.\nAs the Vicar walked to Lowick, any one watching him closely might have seen him twice shrug his shoulders. I think that the rare Englishmen who have this gesture are never of the heavy type—for fear of any lumbering instance to the contrary, I will say, hardly ever; they have usually a fine temperament and much tolerance towards the smaller errors of men (themselves inclusive). The Vicar was holding an inward dialogue in which he told himself that there was probably something more between Fred and Mary Garth than the regard of old playfellows, and replied with a question whether that bit of womanhood were not a great deal too choice for that crude young gentleman. The rejoinder to this was the first shrug. Then he laughed at himself for being likely to have felt jealous, as if he had been a man able to marry, which, added he, it is as clear as any balance-sheet that I am not. Whereupon followed the second shrug.\nWhat could two men, so different from each other, see in this \"brown patch,\" as Mary called herself? It was certainly not her plainness that attracted them (and let all plain young ladies be warned against the dangerous encouragement given them by Society to confide in their want of beauty). A human being in this aged nation of ours is a very wonderful whole, the slow creation of long interchanging influences: and charm is a result of two such wholes, the one loving and the one loved.\nWhen Mr. and Mrs. Garth were sitting alone, Caleb said, \"Susan, guess what I'm thinking of.\"\n\"The rotation of crops,\" said Mrs. Garth, smiling at him, above her knitting, \"or else the back-doors of the Tipton cottages.\"\n\"No,\" said Caleb, gravely; \"I am thinking that I could do a great turn for Fred Vincy. Christy's gone, Alfred will be gone soon, and it will be five years before Jim is ready to take to business. I shall want help, and Fred might come in and learn the nature of things and act under me, and it might be the making of him into a useful man, if he gives up being a parson. What do you think?\"\n\"I think, there is hardly anything honest that his family would object to more,\" said Mrs. Garth, decidedly.\n\"What care I about their objecting?\" said Caleb, with a sturdiness which he was apt to show when he had an opinion. \"The lad is of age and must get his bread. He has sense enough and quickness enough; he likes being on the land, and it's my belief that he could learn business well if he gave his mind to it.\"\n\"But would he? His father and mother wanted him to be a fine gentleman, and I think he has the same sort of feeling himself. They all think us beneath them. And if the proposal came from you, I am sure Mrs. Vincy would say that we wanted Fred for Mary.\"\n\"Life is a poor tale, if it is to be settled by nonsense of that sort,\" said Caleb, with disgust.\n\"Yes, but there is a certain pride which is proper, Caleb.\"\n\"I call it improper pride to let fools' notions hinder you from doing a good action. There's no sort of work,\" said Caleb, with fervor, putting out his hand and moving it up and down to mark his emphasis, \"that could ever be done well, if you minded what fools say. You must have it inside you that your plan is right, and that plan you must follow.\"\n\"I will not oppose any plan you have set your mind on, Caleb,\" said Mrs. Garth, who was a firm woman, but knew that there were some points on which her mild husband was yet firmer. \"Still, it seems to be fixed that Fred is to go back to college: will it not be better to wait and see what he will choose to do after that? It is not easy to keep people against their will. And you are not yet quite sure enough of your own position, or what you will want.\"\n\"Well, it may be better to wait a bit. But as to my getting plenty of work for two, I'm pretty sure of that. I've always had my hands full with scattered things, and there's always something fresh turning up. Why, only yesterday—bless me, I don't think I told you!—it was rather odd that two men should have been at me on different sides to do the same bit of valuing. And who do you think they were?\" said Caleb, taking a pinch of snuff and holding it up between his fingers, as if it were a part of his exposition. He was fond of a pinch when it occurred to him, but he usually forgot that this indulgence was at his command.\nHis wife held down her knitting and looked attentive.\n\"Why, that Rigg, or Rigg Featherstone, was one. But Bulstrode was before him, so I'm going to do it for Bulstrode. Whether it's mortgage or purchase they're going for, I can't tell yet.\"\n\"Can that man be going to sell the land just left him—which he has taken the name for?\" said Mrs. Garth.\n\"Deuce knows,\" said Caleb, who never referred the knowledge of discreditable doings to any higher power than the deuce. \"But Bulstrode has long been wanting to get a handsome bit of land under his fingers—that I know. And it's a difficult matter to get, in this part of the country.\"\nCaleb scattered his snuff carefully instead of taking it, and then added, \"The ins and outs of things are curious. Here is the land they've been all along expecting for Fred, which it seems the old man never meant to leave him a foot of, but left it to this side-slip of a son that he kept in the dark, and thought of his sticking there and vexing everybody as well as he could have vexed 'em himself if he could have kept alive. I say, it would be curious if it got into Bulstrode's hands after all. The old man hated him, and never would bank with him.\"\n\"What reason could the miserable creature have for hating a man whom he had nothing to do with?\" said Mrs. Garth.\n\"Pooh! where's the use of asking for such fellows' reasons? The soul of man,\" said Caleb, with the deep tone and grave shake of the head which always came when he used this phrase—\"The soul of man, when it gets fairly rotten, will bear you all sorts of poisonous toad-stools, and no eye can see whence came the seed thereof.\"\nIt was one of Caleb's quaintnesses, that in his difficulty of finding speech for his thought, he caught, as it were, snatches of diction which he associated with various points of view or states of mind; and whenever he had a feeling of awe, he was haunted by a sense of Biblical phraseology, though he could hardly have given a strict quotation.", "chosen": "May, But, Farebrother—an, As, I, The, The, Then, Whereupon, What, It, A, When, and, Garth, Garth,, Christy's, I, What, Garth,, What, The, He, His, They, And, Vincy, Yes,, There's, You, Garth,, Still,, It, And, But, I've, Why,, And, He, His, Why,, But, Whether, Garth., Deuce, But, And, Here, I, The, Garth., Pooh!, where's, The", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nMay, But, Farebrother—an, As, I, The, The, Then, Whereupon, What, It, A, When, and, Garth, Garth,, Christy's, I, What, Garth,, What, The, He, His, They, And, Vincy, Yes,, There's, You, Garth,, Still,, It, And, But, I've, Why,, And, He, His, Why,, But, Whether, Garth., Deuce, But, And, Here, I, The, Garth., Pooh!, where's, The\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-040-03-b5119f69", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nFor the first time he perceived how elementary his own principles had always been. He passed for a young man who had not been afraid of risks, and he knew that his secret love-affair with poor silly Mrs. Thorley Rushworth had not been too secret to invest him with a becoming air of adventure. But Mrs. Rushworth was \"that kind of woman\"; foolish, vain, clandestine by nature, and far more attracted by the secrecy and peril of the affair than by such charms and qualities as he possessed. When the fact dawned on him it nearly broke his heart, but now it seemed the redeeming feature of the case. The affair, in short, had been of the kind that most of the young men of his age had been through, and emerged from with calm consciences and an undisturbed belief in the abysmal distinction between the women one loved and respected and those one enjoyed--and pitied. In this view they were sedulously abetted by their mothers, aunts and other elderly female relatives, who all shared Mrs. Archer's belief that when \"such things happened\" it was undoubtedly foolish of the man, but somehow always criminal of the woman. All the elderly ladies whom Archer knew regarded any woman who loved imprudently as necessarily unscrupulous and designing, and mere simple-minded man as powerless in her clutches. The only thing to do was to persuade him, as early as possible, to marry a nice girl, and then trust to her to look after him.\nIn the complicated old European communities, Archer began to guess, love-problems might be less simple and less easily classified. Rich and idle and ornamental societies must produce many more such situations; and there might even be one in which a woman naturally sensitive and aloof would yet, from the force of circumstances, from sheer defencelessness and loneliness, be drawn into a tie inexcusable by conventional standards.\nOn reaching home he wrote a line to the Countess Olenska, asking at what hour of the next day she could receive him, and despatched it by a messenger-boy, who returned presently with a word to the effect that she was going to Skuytercliff the next morning to stay over Sunday with the van der Luydens, but that he would find her alone that evening after dinner. The note was written on a rather untidy half-sheet, without date or address, but her hand was firm and free. He was amused at the idea of her week-ending in the stately solitude of Skuytercliff, but immediately afterward felt that there, of all places, she would most feel the chill of minds rigorously averted from the \"unpleasant.\"\nHe was at Mr. Letterblair's punctually at seven, glad of the pretext for excusing himself soon after dinner. He had formed his own opinion from the papers entrusted to him, and did not especially want to go into the matter with his senior partner. Mr. Letterblair was a widower, and they dined alone, copiously and slowly, in a dark shabby room hung with yellowing prints of \"The Death of Chatham\" and \"The Coronation of Napoleon.\" On the sideboard, between fluted Sheraton knife-cases, stood a decanter of Haut Brion, and another of the old Lanning port (the gift of a client), which the wastrel Tom Lanning had sold off a year or two before his mysterious and discreditable death in San Francisco--an incident less publicly humiliating to the family than the sale of the cellar.\nAfter a velvety oyster soup came shad and cucumbers, then a young broiled turkey with corn fritters, followed by a canvas-back with currant jelly and a celery mayonnaise. Mr. Letterblair, who lunched on a sandwich and tea, dined deliberately and deeply, and insisted on his guest's doing the same. Finally, when the closing rites had been accomplished, the cloth was removed, cigars were lit, and Mr. Letterblair, leaning back in his chair and pushing the port westward, said, spreading his back agreeably to the coal fire behind him: \"The whole family are against a divorce. And I think rightly.\"\nArcher instantly felt himself on the other side of the argument. \"But why, sir? If there ever was a case--\"\n\"Well--what's the use? she's here--he's there; the Atlantic's between them. She'll never get back a dollar more of her money than what he's voluntarily returned to her: their damned heathen marriage settlements take precious good care of that. As things go over there, Olenski's acted generously: he might have turned her out without a penny.\"\nThe young man knew this and was silent.\n\"I understand, though,\" Mr. Letterblair continued, \"that she attaches no importance to the money. Therefore, as the family say, why not let well enough alone?\"\nArcher had gone to the house an hour earlier in full agreement with Mr. Letterblair's view; but put into words by this selfish, well-fed and supremely indifferent old man it suddenly became the Pharisaic voice of a society wholly absorbed in barricading itself against the unpleasant.\n\"I think that's for her to decide.\"\n\"H'm--have you considered the consequences if she decides for divorce?\"\n\"You mean the threat in her husband's letter? What weight would that carry? It's no more than the vague charge of an angry blackguard.\"\n\"Yes; but it might make some unpleasant talk if he really defends the suit.\"\n\"Unpleasant--!\" said Archer explosively.\nMr. Letterblair looked at him from under enquiring eyebrows, and the young man, aware of the uselessness of trying to explain what was in his mind, bowed acquiescently while his senior continued: \"Divorce is always unpleasant.\"\n\"You agree with me?\" Mr. Letterblair resumed, after a waiting silence.\n\"Naturally,\" said Archer.\n\"Well, then, I may count on you; the Mingotts may count on you; to use your influence against the idea?\"\nArcher hesitated. \"I can't pledge myself till I've seen the Countess Olenska,\" he said at length.\n\"Mr. Archer, I don't understand you. Do you want to marry into a family with a scandalous divorce-suit hanging over it?\"\n\"I don't think that has anything to do with the case.\"\nMr. Letterblair put down his glass of port and fixed on his young partner a cautious and apprehensive gaze.\nArcher understood that he ran the risk of having his mandate withdrawn, and for some obscure reason he disliked the prospect. Now that the job had been thrust on him he did not propose to relinquish it; and, to guard against the possibility, he saw that he must reassure the unimaginative old man who was the legal conscience of the Mingotts.\n\"You may be sure, sir, that I shan't commit myself till I've reported to you; what I meant was that I'd rather not give an opinion till I've heard what Madame Olenska has to say.\"\nMr. Letterblair nodded approvingly at an excess of caution worthy of the best New York tradition, and the young man, glancing at his watch, pleaded an engagement and took leave.\nOld-fashioned New York dined at seven, and the habit of after-dinner calls, though derided in Archer's set, still generally prevailed. As the young man strolled up Fifth Avenue from Waverley Place, the long thoroughfare was deserted but for a group of carriages standing before the Reggie Chiverses' (where there was a dinner for the Duke), and the occasional figure of an elderly gentleman in heavy overcoat and muffler ascending a brownstone doorstep and disappearing into a gas-lit hall. Thus, as Archer crossed Washington Square, he remarked that old Mr. du Lac was calling on his cousins the Dagonets, and turning down the corner of West Tenth Street he saw Mr. Skipworth, of his own firm, obviously bound on a visit to the Miss Lannings. A little farther up Fifth Avenue, Beaufort appeared on his doorstep, darkly projected against a blaze of light, descended to his private brougham, and rolled away to a mysterious and probably unmentionable destination. It was not an Opera night, and no one was giving a party, so that Beaufort's outing was undoubtedly of a clandestine nature. Archer connected it in his mind with a little house beyond Lexington Avenue in which beribboned window curtains and flower-boxes had recently appeared, and before whose newly painted door the canary-coloured brougham of Miss Fanny Ring was frequently seen to wait.", "chosen": "60", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n60\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-541-005-01-079737c4", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"How shall I answer without being ashamed? What fickle beings we men are, Stephen! Men may love strongest for a while, but women love longest. I used to love her—in my way, you know.\"\n\"Yes, I understand. Ah, and I used to love her in my way. In fact, I loved her a good deal at one time; but travel has a tendency to obliterate early fancies.\"\n\"It has—it has, truly.\"\nPerhaps the most extraordinary feature in this conversation was the circumstance that, though each interlocutor had at first his suspicions of the other's abiding passion awakened by several little acts, neither would allow himself to see that his friend might now be speaking deceitfully as well as he.\n\"Stephen.\" resumed Knight, \"now that matters are smooth between us, I think I must leave you. You won't mind my hurrying off to my quarters?\"\n\"You'll stay to some sort of supper surely? didn't you come to dinner!\"\n\"You must really excuse me this once.\"\n\"Then you'll drop in to breakfast to-morrow.\"\n\"I shall be rather pressed for time.\"\n\"An early breakfast, which shall interfere with nothing?\"\n\"I'll come,\" said Knight, with as much readiness as it was possible to graft upon a huge stock of reluctance. \"Yes, early; eight o'clock say, as we are under the same roof.\"\n\"Any time you like. Eight it shall be.\"\nAnd Knight left him. To wear a mask, to dissemble his feelings as he had in their late miserable conversation, was such torture that he could support it no longer. It was the first time in Knight's life that he had ever been so entirely the player of a part. And the man he had thus deceived was Stephen, who had docilely looked up to him from youth as a superior of unblemished integrity.\nHe went to bed, and allowed the fever of his excitement to rage uncontrolled. Stephen—it was only he who was the rival—only Stephen! There was an anti-climax of absurdity which Knight, wretched and conscience-stricken as he was, could not help recognizing. Stephen was but a boy to him. Where the great grief lay was in perceiving that the very innocence of Elfride in reading her little fault as one so grave was what had fatally misled him. Had Elfride, with any degree of coolness, asserted that she had done no harm, the poisonous breath of the dead Mrs. Jethway would have been inoperative. Why did he not make his little docile girl tell more? If on that subject he had only exercised the imperativeness customary with him on others, all might have been revealed. It smote his heart like a switch when he remembered how gently she had borne his scourging speeches, never answering him with a single reproach, only assuring him of her unbounded love.\nKnight blessed Elfride for her sweetness, and forgot her fault. He pictured with a vivid fancy those fair summer scenes with her. He again saw her as at their first meeting, timid at speaking, yet in her eagerness to be explanatory borne forward almost against her will. How she would wait for him in green places, without showing any of the ordinary womanly affectations of indifference! How proud she was to be seen walking with him, bearing legibly in her eyes the thought that he was the greatest genius in the world!\nHe formed a resolution; and after that could make pretence of slumber no longer. Rising and dressing himself, he sat down and waited for day.\nThat night Stephen was restless too. Not because of the unwontedness of a return to English scenery; not because he was about to meet his parents, and settle down for awhile to English cottage life. He was indulging in dreams, and for the nonce the warehouses of Bombay and the plains and forts of Poonah were but a shadow's shadow. His dream was based on this one atom of fact: Elfride and Knight had become separated, and their engagement was as if it had never been. Their rupture must have occurred soon after Stephen's discovery of the fact of their union; and, Stephen went on to think, what so probable as that a return of her errant affection to himself was the cause?\nStephen's opinions in this matter were those of a lover, and not the balanced judgment of an unbiassed spectator. His naturally sanguine spirit built hope upon hope, till scarcely a doubt remained in his mind that her lingering tenderness for him had in some way been perceived by Knight, and had provoked their parting.\nTo go and see Elfride was the suggestion of impulses it was impossible to withstand. At any rate, to run down from St. Launce's to Castle Poterel, a distance of less than twenty miles, and glide like a ghost about their old haunts, making stealthy inquiries about her, would be a fascinating way of passing the first spare hours after reaching home on the day after the morrow.\nHe was now a richer man than heretofore, standing on his own bottom; and the definite position in which he had rooted himself nullified old local distinctions. He had become illustrious, even sanguine clarus, judging from the tone of the worthy Mayor of St. Launce's.", "chosen": "In fact, I loved her a good deal at one time; but travel has a tendency to obliterate early fancies.\"\n\"It has—it has, truly.\"\nPerhaps the most extraordinary feature in this conversation was the circumstance that, though each interlocutor had at first his suspicions of the other's abiding passion awakened by several little acts, neither would allow himself to see that his friend might now be speaking deceitfully as well as he.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nIn fact, I loved her a good deal at one time; but travel has a tendency to obliterate early fancies.\"\n\"It has—it has, truly.\"\nPerhaps the most extraordinary feature in this conversation was the circumstance that, though each interlocutor had at first his suspicions of the other's abiding passion awakened by several little acts, neither would allow himself to see that his friend might now be speaking deceitfully as well as he.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-037-02-d4350224", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single man, who lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his life, had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister. But her death, which happened ten years before his own, produced a great alteration in his home; for to supply her loss, he invited and received into his house the family of his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritor of the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intended to bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece, and their children, the old Gentleman's days were comfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased. The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest, but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solid comfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulness of the children added a relish to his existence.\nBy a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son: by his present lady, three daughters. The son, a steady respectable young man, was amply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large, and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age. By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his wealth. To him therefore the succession to the Norland estate was not so really important as to his sisters; for their fortune, independent of what might arise to them from their father's inheriting that property, could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and their father only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal; for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune was also secured to her child, and he had only a life-interest in it.\nThe old gentleman died: his will was read, and like almost every other will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave his estate from his nephew; but he left it to him on such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest. Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife and daughters than for himself or his son; but to his son, and his son's son, a child of four years old, it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himself no power of providing for those who were most dear to him, and who most needed a provision by any charge on the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods. The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who, in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland, had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by such attractions as are by no means unusual in children of two or three years old; an imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the value of all the attention which, for years, he had received from his niece and her daughters. He meant not to be unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.\nMr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe; but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he might reasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically, lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estate already large, and capable of almost immediate improvement. But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was his only one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer; and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies, was all that remained for his widow and daughters.\nHis son was sent for as soon as his danger was known, and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness could command, the interest of his mother-in-law and sisters.\nMr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at such a time, and he promised to do every thing in his power to make them comfortable. His father was rendered easy by such an assurance, and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how much there might prudently be in his power to do for them.\nHe was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to be ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been made still more respectable than he was: he might even have been made amiable himself; for he was very young when he married, and very fond of his wife. But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself; more narrow-minded and selfish.\nWhen he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself to increase the fortunes of his sisters by the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He then really thought himself equal to it. The prospect of four thousand a-year, in addition to his present income, besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune, warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity. \"Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome! It would be enough to make them completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he could spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.\" He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively, and he did not repent.\nNo sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. John Dashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to her mother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants. No one could dispute her right to come; the house was her husband's from the moment of his father's decease; but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater, and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with only common feelings, must have been highly unpleasing. But in her mind there was a sense of honor so keen, a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind, by whomsoever given or received, was to her a source of immovable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with any of her husband's family; but she had had no opportunity, till the present, of showing them with how little attention to the comfort of other people she could act when occasion required it.\nSo acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious behaviour, and so earnestly did she despise her daughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter, she would have quitted the house for ever, had not the entreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the propriety of going, and her own tender love for all her three children determined her afterwards to stay, and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.\nElinor, this eldest daughter, whose advice was so effectual, possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment, which qualified her, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother, and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantage of them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led to imprudence. She had an excellent heart; her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern them: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn; and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.\nMarianne's abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor's. She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything: her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: she was everything but prudent. The resemblance between her and her mother was strikingly great.", "chosen": "great", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\ngreat\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-001-00-94375548", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAt half-past nine, that night, Tom and Sid were sent to bed, as usual. They said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay awake and waited, in restless impatience. When it seemed to him that it must be nearly daylight, he heard the clock strike ten! This was despair. He would have tossed and fidgeted, as his nerves demanded, but he was afraid he might wake Sid. So he lay still, and stared up into the dark. Everything was dismally still. By and by, out of the stillness, little, scarcely perceptible noises began to emphasize themselves. The ticking of the clock began to bring itself into notice. Old beams began to crack mysteriously. The stairs creaked faintly. Evidently spirits were abroad. A measured, muffled snore issued from Aunt Polly's chamber. And now the tiresome chirping of a cricket that no human ingenuity could locate, began. Next the ghastly ticking of a death-watch in the wall at the bed's head made Tom shudder—it meant that somebody's days were numbered. Then the howl of a far-off dog rose on the night air, and was answered by a fainter howl from a remoter distance. Tom was in an agony. At last he was satisfied that time had ceased and eternity begun; he began to doze, in spite of himself; the clock chimed eleven, but he did not hear it. And then there came, mingling with his half-formed dreams, a most melancholy caterwauling. The raising of a neighboring window disturbed him. A cry of \"Scat! you devil!\" and the crash of an empty bottle against the back of his aunt's woodshed brought him wide awake, and a single minute later he was dressed and out of the window and creeping along the roof of the \"ell\" on all fours. He \"meow'd\" with caution once or twice, as he went; then jumped to the roof of the woodshed and thence to the ground. Huckleberry Finn was there, with his dead cat. The boys moved off and disappeared in the gloom. At the end of half an hour they were wading through the tall grass of the graveyard.\nIt was a graveyard of the old-fashioned Western kind. It was on a hill, about a mile and a half from the village. It had a crazy board fence around it, which leaned inward in places, and outward the rest of the time, but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over the whole cemetery. All the old graves were sunken in, there was not a tombstone on the place; round-topped, worm-eaten boards staggered over the graves, leaning for support and finding none. \"Sacred to the memory of\" So-and-So had been painted on them once, but it could no longer have been read, on the most of them, now, even if there had been light.\nA faint wind moaned through the trees, and Tom feared it might be the spirits of the dead, complaining at being disturbed. The boys talked little, and only under their breath, for the time and the place and the pervading solemnity and silence oppressed their spirits. They found the sharp new heap they were seeking, and ensconced themselves within the protection of three great elms that grew in a bunch within a few feet of the grave.\nThen they waited in silence for what seemed a long time. The hooting of a distant owl was all the sound that troubled the dead stillness. Tom's reflections grew oppressive. He must force some talk. So he said in a whisper:\n\"Hucky, do you believe the dead people like it for us to be here?\"\nHuckleberry whispered:\n\"I wisht I knowed. It's awful solemn like, ain't it?\"\n\"I bet it is.\"\nThere was a considerable pause, while the boys canvassed this matter inwardly. Then Tom whispered:\n\"Say, Hucky—do you reckon Hoss Williams hears us talking?\"\n\"O' course he does. Least his sperrit does.\"\nTom, after a pause:\n\"I wish I'd said Mister Williams. But I never meant any harm. Everybody calls him Hoss.\"\n\"A body can't be too partic'lar how they talk 'bout these-yer dead people, Tom.\"\nThis was a damper, and conversation died again.\nPresently Tom seized his comrade's arm and said:\n\"Sh!\"\n\"What is it, Tom?\" And the two clung together with beating hearts.\n\"Sh! There 'tis again! Didn't you hear it?\"\n\"I—\"\n\"There! Now you hear it.\"\n\"Lord, Tom, they're coming! They're coming, sure. What'll we do?\"\n\"I dono. Think they'll see us?\"\n\"Oh, Tom, they can see in the dark, same as cats. I wisht I hadn't come.\"\n\"Oh, don't be afeard. I don't believe they'll bother us. We ain't doing any harm. If we keep perfectly still, maybe they won't notice us at all.\"\n\"I'll try to, Tom, but, Lord, I'm all of a shiver.\"\n\"Listen!\"\nThe boys bent their heads together and scarcely breathed. A muffled sound of voices floated up from the far end of the graveyard.\n\"Look! See there!\" whispered Tom. \"What is it?\"\n\"It's devil-fire. Oh, Tom, this is awful.\"\nSome vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging an old-fashioned tin lantern that freckled the ground with innumerable little spangles of light. Presently Huckleberry whispered with a shudder:\n\"It's the devils sure enough. Three of 'em! Lordy, Tom, we're goners! Can you pray?\"\n\"I'll try, but don't you be afeard. They ain't going to hurt us. 'Now I lay me down to sleep, I—'\"\n\"Sh!\"\n\"What is it, Huck?\"\n\"They're humans! One of 'em is, anyway. One of 'em's old Muff Potter's voice.\"\n\"No—'tain't so, is it?\"\n\"I bet I know it. Don't you stir nor budge. He ain't sharp enough to notice us. Drunk, the same as usual, likely—blamed old rip!\"\n\"All right, I'll keep still. Now they're stuck. Can't find it. Here they come again. Now they're hot. Cold again. Hot again. Red hot! They're p'inted right, this time. Say, Huck, I know another o' them voices; it's Injun Joe.\"\n\"That's so—that murderin' half-breed! I'd druther they was devils a dern sight. What kin they be up to?\"\nThe whisper died wholly out, now, for the three men had reached the grave and stood within a few feet of the boys' hiding-place.\n\"Here it is,\" said the third voice; and the owner of it held the lantern up and revealed the face of young Doctor Robinson.\nPotter and Injun Joe were carrying a handbarrow with a rope and a couple of shovels on it. They cast down their load and began to open the grave. The doctor put the lantern at the head of the grave and came and sat down with his back against one of the elm trees. He was so close the boys could have touched him.\n\"Hurry, men!\" he said, in a low voice; \"the moon might come out at any moment.\"\nThey growled a response and went on digging. For some time there was no noise but the grating sound of the spades discharging their freight of mould and gravel. It was very monotonous. Finally a spade struck upon the coffin with a dull woody accent, and within another minute or two the men had hoisted it out on the ground. They pried off the lid with their shovels, got out the body and dumped it rudely on the ground. The moon drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the pallid face. The barrow was got ready and the corpse placed on it, covered with a blanket, and bound to its place with the rope. Potter took out a large spring-knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and then said:\n\"Now the cussed thing's ready, Sawbones, and you'll just out with another five, or here she stays.\"\n\"That's the talk!\" said Injun Joe.\n\"Look here, what does this mean?\" said the doctor. \"You required your pay in advance, and I've paid you.\"", "chosen": "[\"Tom\", \"Sid\", \"Polly\", \"Scat\", \"Finn\", \"Western\", \"Sacred\", \"Hucky\", \"Say\", \"Hoss\", \"Williams\", \"Mister\", \"Listen\", \"Look\", \"Huckleberry\", \"Huck\", \"Muff\", \"Potter\", \"All\", \"Injun\", \"Joe\", \"Here\", \"Robinson\", \"Hurry\", \"Sawbones\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Tom\", \"Sid\", \"Polly\", \"Scat\", \"Finn\", \"Western\", \"Sacred\", \"Hucky\", \"Say\", \"Hoss\", \"Williams\", \"Mister\", \"Listen\", \"Look\", \"Huckleberry\", \"Huck\", \"Muff\", \"Potter\", \"All\", \"Injun\", \"Joe\", \"Here\", \"Robinson\", \"Hurry\", \"Sawbones\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-74-009-00-9e159af9", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"To say that I give both pledges, Mr. Crisparkle, out of my innermost heart, and to say that there is no treachery in it, is to say nothing!\" Thus Neville, greatly moved. \"I beg your forgiveness for my miserable lapse into a burst of passion.\"\n\"Not mine, Neville, not mine. You know with whom forgiveness lies, as the highest attribute conceivable. Miss Helena, you and your brother are twin children. You came into this world with the same dispositions, and you passed your younger days together surrounded by the same adverse circumstances. What you have overcome in yourself, can you not overcome in him? You see the rock that lies in his course. Who but you can keep him clear of it?\"\n\"Who but you, sir?\" replied Helena. \"What is my influence, or my weak wisdom, compared with yours!\"\n\"You have the wisdom of Love,\" returned the Minor Canon, \"and it was the highest wisdom ever known upon this earth, remember. As to mine—but the less said of that commonplace commodity the better. Good night!\"\nShe took the hand he offered her, and gratefully and almost reverently raised it to her lips.\n\"Tut!\" said the Minor Canon softly, \"I am much overpaid!\" and turned away.\nRetracing his steps towards the Cathedral Close, he tried, as he went along in the dark, to think out the best means of bringing to pass what he had promised to effect, and what must somehow be done. \"I shall probably be asked to marry them,\" he reflected, \"and I would they were married and gone! But this presses first.\"\nHe debated principally whether he should write to young Drood, or whether he should speak to Jasper. The consciousness of being popular with the whole Cathedral establishment inclined him to the latter course, and the well-timed sight of the lighted gatehouse decided him to take it. \"I will strike while the iron is hot,\" he said, \"and see him now.\"\nJasper was lying asleep on a couch before the fire, when, having ascended the postern-stair, and received no answer to his knock at the door, Mr. Crisparkle gently turned the handle and looked in. Long afterwards he had cause to remember how Jasper sprang from the couch in a delirious state between sleeping and waking, and crying out: \"What is the matter? Who did it?\"\n\"It is only I, Jasper. I am sorry to have disturbed you.\"\nThe glare of his eyes settled down into a look of recognition, and he moved a chair or two, to make a way to the fireside.\n\"I was dreaming at a great rate, and am glad to be disturbed from an indigestive after-dinner sleep. Not to mention that you are always welcome.\"\n\"Thank you. I am not confident,\" returned Mr. Crisparkle, as he sat himself down in the easy-chair placed for him, \"that my subject will at first sight be quite as welcome as myself; but I am a minister of peace, and I pursue my subject in the interests of peace. In a word, Jasper, I want to establish peace between these two young fellows.\"\nA very perplexed expression took hold of Mr. Jasper's face; a very perplexing expression too, for Mr. Crisparkle could make nothing of it.\n\"How?\" was Jasper's inquiry, in a low and slow voice, after a silence.\n\"For the 'How' I come to you. I want to ask you to do me the great favour and service of interposing with your nephew (I have already interposed with Mr. Neville), and getting him to write you a short note, in his lively way, saying that he is willing to shake hands. I know what a good-natured fellow he is, and what influence you have with him. And without in the least defending Mr. Neville, we must all admit that he was bitterly stung.\"\nJasper turned that perplexed face towards the fire. Mr. Crisparkle continuing to observe it, found it even more perplexing than before, inasmuch as it seemed to denote (which could hardly be) some close internal calculation.\n\"I know that you are not prepossessed in Mr. Neville's favour,\" the Minor Canon was going on, when Jasper stopped him:\n\"You have cause to say so. I am not, indeed.\"\n\"Undoubtedly; and I admit his lamentable violence of temper, though I hope he and I will get the better of it between us. But I have exacted a very solemn promise from him as to his future demeanour towards your nephew, if you do kindly interpose; and I am sure he will keep it.\"\n\"You are always responsible and trustworthy, Mr. Crisparkle. Do you really feel sure that you can answer for him so confidently?\"\n\"I do.\"\nThe perplexed and perplexing look vanished.\n\"Then you relieve my mind of a great dread, and a heavy weight,\" said Jasper; \"I will do it.\"\nMr. Crisparkle, delighted by the swiftness and completeness of his success, acknowledged it in the handsomest terms.\n\"I will do it,\" repeated Jasper, \"for the comfort of having your guarantee against my vague and unfounded fears. You will laugh—but do you keep a Diary?\"\n\"A line for a day; not more.\"\n\"A line for a day would be quite as much as my uneventful life would need, Heaven knows,\" said Jasper, taking a book from a desk, \"but that my Diary is, in fact, a Diary of Ned's life too. You will laugh at this entry; you will guess when it was made:\n\"'Past midnight.—After what I have just now seen, I have a morbid dread upon me of some horrible consequences resulting to my dear boy, that I cannot reason with or in any way contend against. All my efforts are vain. The demoniacal passion of this Neville Landless, his strength in his fury, and his savage rage for the destruction of its object, appal me. So profound is the impression, that twice since I have gone into my dear boy's room, to assure myself of his sleeping safely, and not lying dead in his blood.'\n\"Here is another entry next morning:\n\"'Ned up and away. Light-hearted and unsuspicious as ever. He laughed when I cautioned him, and said he was as good a man as Neville Landless any day. I told him that might be, but he was not as bad a man. He continued to make light of it, but I travelled with him as far as I could, and left him most unwillingly. I am unable to shake off these dark intangible presentiments of evil—if feelings founded upon staring facts are to be so called.'\n\"Again and again,\" said Jasper, in conclusion, twirling the leaves of the book before putting it by, \"I have relapsed into these moods, as other entries show. But I have now your assurance at my back, and shall put it in my book, and make it an antidote to my black humours.\"\n\"Such an antidote, I hope,\" returned Mr. Crisparkle, \"as will induce you before long to consign the black humours to the flames. I ought to be the last to find any fault with you this evening, when you have met my wishes so freely; but I must say, Jasper, that your devotion to your nephew has made you exaggerative here.\"\n\"You are my witness,\" said Jasper, shrugging his shoulders, \"what my state of mind honestly was, that night, before I sat down to write, and in what words I expressed it. You remember objecting to a word I used, as being too strong? It was a stronger word than any in my Diary.\"\n\"Well, well. Try the antidote,\" rejoined Mr. Crisparkle; \"and may it give you a brighter and better view of the case! We will discuss it no more now. I have to thank you for myself, thank you sincerely.\"\n\"You shall find,\" said Jasper, as they shook hands, \"that I will not do the thing you wish me to do, by halves. I will take care that Ned, giving way at all, shall give way thoroughly.\"\nOn the third day after this conversation, he called on Mr. Crisparkle with the following letter:", "chosen": "To, Crisparkle,, I, You, Miss, You, What, You, Who, What, As, Good, Tut!\", Retracing, I, But, The, I, Crisparkle, Long, Who, I, I, Not, I, Crisparkle,, In, Jasper's, Crisparkle, How?\", For, I, Neville),, I, And, Neville,, Mr., Crisparkle, I, Neville's, I, But, Crisparkle., Do, Then, Crisparkle,, I, You, You, All, The, So, Light-hearted, He, I, He, I, But, Crisparkle,, I, You, It, Try, Crisparkle;, We, I, I, Crisparkle", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nTo, Crisparkle,, I, You, Miss, You, What, You, Who, What, As, Good, Tut!\", Retracing, I, But, The, I, Crisparkle, Long, Who, I, I, Not, I, Crisparkle,, In, Jasper's, Crisparkle, How?\", For, I, Neville),, I, And, Neville,, Mr., Crisparkle, I, Neville's, I, But, Crisparkle., Do, Then, Crisparkle,, I, You, You, All, The, So, Light-hearted, He, I, He, I, But, Crisparkle,, I, You, It, Try, Crisparkle;, We, I, I, Crisparkle\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-564-010-03-7c03a374", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n'Yes. I was sitting up to finish a cigar, when I thought I heard a noise in this direction. On coming to his room I find he is not there.'\n'Good Heaven! I wonder what has happened!' she exclaimed, in apparently intense alarm.\n'I wonder,' said Glanville grimly.\n'Suppose he is a somnambulist! If so, he may have gone out and broken his neck. I have never heard that he is one, but they say that sleeping in strange places disturbs the minds of people who are given to that sort of thing, and provokes them to it.'\n'Unfortunately for your theory his bed has not been touched.'\n'Oh, what then can it be?'\nHer brother looked her full in the face. 'Viviette!' he said sternly.\nShe seemed puzzled. 'Well?' she replied, in simple tones.\n'I heard voices in your room,' he continued.\n'Voices?'\n'A voice,--yours.'\n'Yes, you may have done so. It was mine.'\n'A listener is required for a speaker.'\n'True, Louis.'\n'Well, to whom were you speaking?'\n'God.'\n'Viviette! I am ashamed of you.'\n'I was saying my prayers.'\n'Prayers--to God! To St. Swithin, rather!'\n'What do you mean, Louis?' she asked, flushing up warm, and drawing back from him. 'It was a form of prayer I use, particularly when I am in trouble. It was recommended to me by the Bishop, and Mr. Torkingham commends it very highly.'\n'On your honour, if you have any,' he said bitterly, 'whom have you there in your room?'\n'No human being.'\n'Flatly, I don't believe you.'\nShe gave a dignified little bow, and, waving her hand into the apartment, said, 'Very well; then search and see.'\nLouis entered, and glanced round the room, behind the curtains, under the bed, out of the window--a view from which showed that escape thence would have been impossible,--everywhere, in short, capable or incapable of affording a retreat to humanity; but discovered nobody. All he observed was that a light stood on the low table by her bedside; that on the bed lay an open Prayer-Book, the counterpane being unpressed, except into a little pit beside the Prayer Book, apparently where her head had rested in kneeling.\n'But where is St. Cleeve?' he said, turning in bewilderment from these evidences of innocent devotion.\n'Where can he be?' she chimed in, with real distress. 'I should so much like to know. Look about for him. I am quite uneasy!'\n'I will, on one condition: that you own that you love him.'\n'Why should you force me to that?' she murmured. 'It would be no such wonder if I did.'\n'Come, you do.'\n'Well, I do.'\n'Now I'll look for him.'\nLouis took a light, and turned away, astonished that she had not indignantly resented his intrusion and the nature of his questioning.\nAt this moment a slight noise was heard on the staircase, and they could see a figure rising step by step, and coming forward against the long lights of the staircase window. It was Swithin, in his ordinary dress, and carrying his boots in his hand. When he beheld them standing there so motionless, he looked rather disconcerted, but came on towards his room.\nLady Constantine was too agitated to speak, but Louis said, 'I am glad to see you again. Hearing a noise, a few minutes ago, I came out to learn what it could be. I found you absent, and we have been very much alarmed.'\n'I am very sorry,' said Swithin, with contrition. 'I owe you a hundred apologies: but the truth is that on entering my bedroom I found the sky remarkably clear, and though I told you that the observation I was to make was of no great consequence, on thinking it over alone I felt it ought not to be allowed to pass; so I was tempted to run across to the observatory, and make it, as I had hoped, without disturbing anybody. If I had known that I should alarm you I would not have done it for the world.'\nSwithin spoke very earnestly to Louis, and did not observe the tender reproach in Viviette's eyes when he showed by his tale his decided notion that the prime use of dark nights lay in their furtherance of practical astronomy.\nEverything being now satisfactorily explained the three retired to their several chambers, and Louis heard no more noises that night, or rather morning; his attempts to solve the mystery of Viviette's life here and her relations with St. Cleeve having thus far resulted chiefly in perplexity. True, an admission had been wrung from her; and even without such an admission it was clear that she had a tender feeling for Swithin. How to extinguish that romantic folly it now became his object to consider.", "chosen": "40", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n40\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-3146-029-01-f3674fba", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nTuesday afternoon came, and waned to the twilight. The village of St. Petersburg still mourned. The lost children had not been found. Public prayers had been offered up for them, and many and many a private prayer that had the petitioner's whole heart in it; but still no good news came from the cave. The majority of the searchers had given up the quest and gone back to their daily avocations, saying that it was plain the children could never be found. Mrs. Thatcher was very ill, and a great part of the time delirious. People said it was heartbreaking to hear her call her child, and raise her head and listen a whole minute at a time, then lay it wearily down again with a moan. Aunt Polly had drooped into a settled melancholy, and her gray hair had grown almost white. The village went to its rest on Tuesday night, sad and forlorn.\nAway in the middle of the night a wild peal burst from the village bells, and in a moment the streets were swarming with frantic half-clad people, who shouted, \"Turn out! turn out! they're found! they're found!\" Tin pans and horns were added to the din, the population massed itself and moved toward the river, met the children coming in an open carriage drawn by shouting citizens, thronged around it, joined its homeward march, and swept magnificently up the main street roaring huzzah after huzzah!\nThe village was illuminated; nobody went to bed again; it was the greatest night the little town had ever seen. During the first half-hour a procession of villagers filed through Judge Thatcher's house, seized the saved ones and kissed them, squeezed Mrs. Thatcher's hand, tried to speak but couldn't—and drifted out raining tears all over the place.\nAunt Polly's happiness was complete, and Mrs. Thatcher's nearly so. It would be complete, however, as soon as the messenger dispatched with the great news to the cave should get the word to her husband. Tom lay upon a sofa with an eager auditory about him and told the history of the wonderful adventure, putting in many striking additions to adorn it withal; and closed with a description of how he left Becky and went on an exploring expedition; how he followed two avenues as far as his kite-line would reach; how he followed a third to the fullest stretch of the kite-line, and was about to turn back when he glimpsed a far-off speck that looked like daylight; dropped the line and groped toward it, pushed his head and shoulders through a small hole, and saw the broad Mississippi rolling by!\nAnd if it had only happened to be night he would not have seen that speck of daylight and would not have explored that passage any more! He told how he went back for Becky and broke the good news and she told him not to fret her with such stuff, for she was tired, and knew she was going to die, and wanted to. He described how he labored with her and convinced her; and how she almost died for joy when she had groped to where she actually saw the blue speck of daylight; how he pushed his way out at the hole and then helped her out; how they sat there and cried for gladness; how some men came along in a skiff and Tom hailed them and told them their situation and their famished condition; how the men didn't believe the wild tale at first, \"because,\" said they, \"you are five miles down the river below the valley the cave is in\"—then took them aboard, rowed to a house, gave them supper, made them rest till two or three hours after dark and then brought them home.\nBefore day-dawn, Judge Thatcher and the handful of searchers with him were tracked out, in the cave, by the twine clews they had strung behind them, and informed of the great news.\nThree days and nights of toil and hunger in the cave were not to be shaken off at once, as Tom and Becky soon discovered. They were bedridden all of Wednesday and Thursday, and seemed to grow more and more tired and worn, all the time. Tom got about, a little, on Thursday, was downtown Friday, and nearly as whole as ever Saturday; but Becky did not leave her room until Sunday, and then she looked as if she had passed through a wasting illness.\nTom learned of Huck's sickness and went to see him on Friday, but could not be admitted to the bedroom; neither could he on Saturday or Sunday. He was admitted daily after that, but was warned to keep still about his adventure and introduce no exciting topic. The Widow Douglas stayed by to see that he obeyed. At home Tom learned of the Cardiff Hill event; also that the \"ragged man's\" body had eventually been found in the river near the ferry-landing; he had been drowned while trying to escape, perhaps.\nAbout a fortnight after Tom's rescue from the cave, he started off to visit Huck, who had grown plenty strong enough, now, to hear exciting talk, and Tom had some that would interest him, he thought. Judge Thatcher's house was on Tom's way, and he stopped to see Becky. The Judge and some friends set Tom to talking, and some one asked him ironically if he wouldn't like to go to the cave again. Tom said he thought he wouldn't mind it. The Judge said:\n\"Well, there are others just like you, Tom, I've not the least doubt. But we have taken care of that. Nobody will get lost in that cave any more.\"\n\"Why?\"\n\"Because I had its big door sheathed with boiler iron two weeks ago, and triple-locked—and I've got the keys.\"\nTom turned as white as a sheet.\n\"What's the matter, boy! Here, run, somebody! Fetch a glass of water!\"\nThe water was brought and thrown into Tom's face.\n\"Ah, now you're all right. What was the matter with you, Tom?\"\n\"Oh, Judge, Injun Joe's in the cave!\"", "chosen": "He described how he labored with her and convinced her; and how she almost died for joy when she had groped to where she actually saw the blue speck of daylight; how he pushed his way out at the hole and then helped her out; how they sat there and cried for gladness; how some men came along in a skiff and Tom hailed them and told them their situation and their famished condition; how the men didn't believe the wild tale at first, \"because,\" said they, \"you are five miles down the river below the valley the cave is in\"—then took them aboard, rowed to a house, gave them supper, made them rest till two or three hours after dark and then brought them home.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nHe described how he labored with her and convinced her; and how she almost died for joy when she had groped to where she actually saw the blue speck of daylight; how he pushed his way out at the hole and then helped her out; how they sat there and cried for gladness; how some men came along in a skiff and Tom hailed them and told them their situation and their famished condition; how the men didn't believe the wild tale at first, \"because,\" said they, \"you are five miles down the river below the valley the cave is in\"—then took them aboard, rowed to a house, gave them supper, made them rest till two or three hours after dark and then brought them home.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-74-031-00-9cfc8231", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAt first the large stone stair seemed to Syme as deserted as a pyramid; but before he reached the top he had realised that there was a man leaning over the parapet of the Embankment and looking out across the river. As a figure he was quite conventional, clad in a silk hat and frock-coat of the more formal type of fashion; he had a red flower in his buttonhole. As Syme drew nearer to him step by step, he did not even move a hair; and Syme could come close enough to notice even in the dim, pale morning light that his face was long, pale and intellectual, and ended in a small triangular tuft of dark beard at the very point of the chin, all else being clean-shaven. This scrap of hair almost seemed a mere oversight; the rest of the face was of the type that is best shaven—clear-cut, ascetic, and in its way noble. Syme drew closer and closer, noting all this, and still the figure did not stir.\nAt first an instinct had told Syme that this was the man whom he was meant to meet. Then, seeing that the man made no sign, he had concluded that he was not. And now again he had come back to a certainty that the man had something to do with his mad adventure. For the man remained more still than would have been natural if a stranger had come so close. He was as motionless as a wax-work, and got on the nerves somewhat in the same way. Syme looked again and again at the pale, dignified and delicate face, and the face still looked blankly across the river. Then he took out of his pocket the note from Buttons proving his election, and put it before that sad and beautiful face. Then the man smiled, and his smile was a shock, for it was all on one side, going up in the right cheek and down in the left.\nThere was nothing, rationally speaking, to scare anyone about this. Many people have this nervous trick of a crooked smile, and in many it is even attractive. But in all Syme's circumstances, with the dark dawn and the deadly errand and the loneliness on the great dripping stones, there was something unnerving in it.\nThere was the silent river and the silent man, a man of even classic face. And there was the last nightmare touch that his smile suddenly went wrong.\nThe spasm of smile was instantaneous, and the man's face dropped at once into its harmonious melancholy. He spoke without further explanation or inquiry, like a man speaking to an old colleague.\n\"If we walk up towards Leicester Square,\" he said, \"we shall just be in time for breakfast. Sunday always insists on an early breakfast. Have you had any sleep?\"\n\"No,\" said Syme.\n\"Nor have I,\" answered the man in an ordinary tone. \"I shall try to get to bed after breakfast.\"\nHe spoke with casual civility, but in an utterly dead voice that contradicted the fanaticism of his face. It seemed almost as if all friendly words were to him lifeless conveniences, and that his only life was hate. After a pause the man spoke again.\n\"Of course, the Secretary of the branch told you everything that can be told. But the one thing that can never be told is the last notion of the President, for his notions grow like a tropical forest. So in case you don't know, I'd better tell you that he is carrying out his notion of concealing ourselves by not concealing ourselves to the most extraordinary lengths just now. Originally, of course, we met in a cell underground, just as your branch does. Then Sunday made us take a private room at an ordinary restaurant. He said that if you didn't seem to be hiding nobody hunted you out. Well, he is the only man on earth, I know; but sometimes I really think that his huge brain is going a little mad in its old age. For now we flaunt ourselves before the public. We have our breakfast on a balcony—on a balcony, if you please—overlooking Leicester Square.\"\n\"And what do the people say?\" asked Syme.\n\"It's quite simple what they say,\" answered his guide. \"They say we are a lot of jolly gentlemen who pretend they are anarchists.\"\n\"It seems to me a very clever idea,\" said Syme.\n\"Clever! God blast your impudence! Clever!\" cried out the other in a sudden, shrill voice which was as startling and discordant as his crooked smile. \"When you've seen Sunday for a split second you'll leave off calling him clever.\"\nWith this they emerged out of a narrow street, and saw the early sunlight filling Leicester Square. It will never be known, I suppose, why this square itself should look so alien and in some ways so continental. It will never be known whether it was the foreign look that attracted the foreigners or the foreigners who gave it the foreign look. But on this particular morning the effect seemed singularly bright and clear. Between the open square and the sunlit leaves and the statue and the Saracenic outlines of the Alhambra, it looked the replica of some French or even Spanish public place. And this effect increased in Syme the sensation, which in many shapes he had had through the whole adventure, the eerie sensation of having strayed into a new world. As a fact, he had bought bad cigars round Leicester Square ever since he was a boy. But as he turned that corner, and saw the trees and the Moorish cupolas, he could have sworn that he was turning into an unknown Place de something or other in some foreign town.\nAt one corner of the square there projected a kind of angle of a prosperous but quiet hotel, the bulk of which belonged to a street behind. In the wall there was one large French window, probably the window of a large coffee-room; and outside this window, almost literally overhanging the square, was a formidably buttressed balcony, big enough to contain a dining-table. In fact, it did contain a dining-table, or more strictly a breakfast-table; and round the breakfast-table, glowing in the sunlight and evident to the street, were a group of noisy and talkative men, all dressed in the insolence of fashion, with white waistcoats and expensive button-holes. Some of their jokes could almost be heard across the square. Then the grave Secretary gave his unnatural smile, and Syme knew that this boisterous breakfast party was the secret conclave of the European Dynamiters.\nThen, as Syme continued to stare at them, he saw something that he had not seen before. He had not seen it literally because it was too large to see. At the nearest end of the balcony, blocking up a great part of the perspective, was the back of a great mountain of a man. When Syme had seen him, his first thought was that the weight of him must break down the balcony of stone. His vastness did not lie only in the fact that he was abnormally tall and quite incredibly fat. This man was planned enormously in his original proportions, like a statue carved deliberately as colossal. His head, crowned with white hair, as seen from behind looked bigger than a head ought to be. The ears that stood out from it looked larger than human ears. He was enlarged terribly to scale; and this sense of size was so staggering, that when Syme saw him all the other figures seemed quite suddenly to dwindle and become dwarfish. They were still sitting there as before with their flowers and frock-coats, but now it looked as if the big man was entertaining five children to tea.\nAs Syme and the guide approached the side door of the hotel, a waiter came out smiling with every tooth in his head.\n\"The gentlemen are up there, sare,\" he said. \"They do talk and they do laugh at what they talk. They do say they will throw bombs at ze king.\"\nAnd the waiter hurried away with a napkin over his arm, much pleased with the singular frivolity of the gentlemen upstairs.\nThe two men mounted the stairs in silence.", "chosen": "[\"If we walk up towards Leicester Square,\", \"we shall just be in time for breakfast. Sunday always insists on an early breakfast. Have you had any sleep?\", \" said Syme.\\n\", \" answered the man in an ordinary tone. \", \"And what do the people say?\", \"It's quite simple what they say,\", \"They say we are a lot of jolly gentlemen who pretend they are anarchists.\", \"It seems to me a very clever idea,\", \"Clever! God blast your impudence! Clever!\", \"When you've seen Sunday for a split second you'll leave off calling him clever.\", \"The gentlemen are up there, sare,\", \"They do talk and they do laugh at what they talk. They do say they will throw bombs at ze king.\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"If we walk up towards Leicester Square,\", \"we shall just be in time for breakfast. Sunday always insists on an early breakfast. Have you had any sleep?\", \" said Syme.\\n\", \" answered the man in an ordinary tone. \", \"And what do the people say?\", \"It's quite simple what they say,\", \"They say we are a lot of jolly gentlemen who pretend they are anarchists.\", \"It seems to me a very clever idea,\", \"Clever! God blast your impudence! Clever!\", \"When you've seen Sunday for a split second you'll leave off calling him clever.\", \"The gentlemen are up there, sare,\", \"They do talk and they do laugh at what they talk. They do say they will throw bombs at ze king.\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-1695-005-00-94b232ee", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nA trifle after noon the boys borrowed a small skiff from a citizen who was absent, and got under way at once. When they were several miles below \"Cave Hollow,\" Tom said:\n\"Now you see this bluff here looks all alike all the way down from the cave hollow—no houses, no wood-yards, bushes all alike. But do you see that white place up yonder where there's been a landslide? Well, that's one of my marks. We'll get ashore, now.\"\nThey landed.\n\"Now, Huck, where we're a-standing you could touch that hole I got out of with a fishing-pole. See if you can find it.\"\nHuck searched all the place about, and found nothing. Tom proudly marched into a thick clump of sumach bushes and said:\n\"Here you are! Look at it, Huck; it's the snuggest hole in this country. You just keep mum about it. All along I've been wanting to be a robber, but I knew I'd got to have a thing like this, and where to run across it was the bother. We've got it now, and we'll keep it quiet, only we'll let Joe Harper and Ben Rogers in—because of course there's got to be a Gang, or else there wouldn't be any style about it. Tom Sawyer's Gang—it sounds splendid, don't it, Huck?\"\n\"Well, it just does, Tom. And who'll we rob?\"\n\"Oh, most anybody. Waylay people—that's mostly the way.\"\n\"And kill them?\"\n\"No, not always. Hive them in the cave till they raise a ransom.\"\n\"What's a ransom?\"\n\"Money. You make them raise all they can, off'n their friends; and after you've kept them a year, if it ain't raised then you kill them. That's the general way. Only you don't kill the women. You shut up the women, but you don't kill them. They're always beautiful and rich, and awfully scared. You take their watches and things, but you always take your hat off and talk polite. They ain't anybody as polite as robbers—you'll see that in any book. Well, the women get to loving you, and after they've been in the cave a week or two weeks they stop crying and after that you couldn't get them to leave. If you drove them out they'd turn right around and come back. It's so in all the books.\"\n\"Why, it's real bully, Tom. I believe it's better'n to be a pirate.\"\n\"Yes, it's better in some ways, because it's close to home and circuses and all that.\"\nBy this time everything was ready and the boys entered the hole, Tom in the lead. They toiled their way to the farther end of the tunnel, then made their spliced kite-strings fast and moved on. A few steps brought them to the spring, and Tom felt a shudder quiver all through him. He showed Huck the fragment of candle-wick perched on a lump of clay against the wall, and described how he and Becky had watched the flame struggle and expire.\nThe boys began to quiet down to whispers, now, for the stillness and gloom of the place oppressed their spirits. They went on, and presently entered and followed Tom's other corridor until they reached the \"jumping-off place.\" The candles revealed the fact that it was not really a precipice, but only a steep clay hill twenty or thirty feet high. Tom whispered:\n\"Now I'll show you something, Huck.\"\nHe held his candle aloft and said:\n\"Look as far around the corner as you can. Do you see that? There—on the big rock over yonder—done with candle-smoke.\"\n\"Tom, it's a cross!\"\n\"Now where's your Number Two? 'under the cross,' hey? Right yonder's where I saw Injun Joe poke up his candle, Huck!\"\nHuck stared at the mystic sign awhile, and then said with a shaky voice:\n\"Tom, less git out of here!\"\n\"What! and leave the treasure?\"\n\"Yes—leave it. Injun Joe's ghost is round about there, certain.\"\n\"No it ain't, Huck, no it ain't. It would ha'nt the place where he died—away out at the mouth of the cave—five mile from here.\"\n\"No, Tom, it wouldn't. It would hang round the money. I know the ways of ghosts, and so do you.\"\nTom began to fear that Huck was right. Misgivings gathered in his mind. But presently an idea occurred to him—\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, what fools we're making of ourselves! Injun Joe's ghost ain't a going to come around where there's a cross!\"\nThe point was well taken. It had its effect.\n\"Tom, I didn't think of that. But that's so. It's luck for us, that cross is. I reckon we'll climb down there and have a hunt for that box.\"\nTom went first, cutting rude steps in the clay hill as he descended. Huck followed. Four avenues opened out of the small cavern which the great rock stood in. The boys examined three of them with no result. They found a small recess in the one nearest the base of the rock, with a pallet of blankets spread down in it; also an old suspender, some bacon rind, and the well-gnawed bones of two or three fowls. But there was no moneybox. The lads searched and researched this place, but in vain. Tom said:\n\"He said under the cross. Well, this comes nearest to being under the cross. It can't be under the rock itself, because that sets solid on the ground.\"\nThey searched everywhere once more, and then sat down discouraged. Huck could suggest nothing. By-and-by Tom said:\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, there's footprints and some candle-grease on the clay about one side of this rock, but not on the other sides. Now, what's that for? I bet you the money is under the rock. I'm going to dig in the clay.\"\n\"That ain't no bad notion, Tom!\" said Huck with animation.\nTom's \"real Barlow\" was out at once, and he had not dug four inches before he struck wood.\n\"Hey, Huck!—you hear that?\"\nHuck began to dig and scratch now. Some boards were soon uncovered and removed. They had concealed a natural chasm which led under the rock. Tom got into this and held his candle as far under the rock as he could, but said he could not see to the end of the rift. He proposed to explore. He stooped and passed under; the narrow way descended gradually. He followed its winding course, first to the right, then to the left, Huck at his heels. Tom turned a short curve, by-and-by, and exclaimed:\n\"My goodness, Huck, lookyhere!\"\nIt was the treasure-box, sure enough, occupying a snug little cavern, along with an empty powder-keg, a couple of guns in leather cases, two or three pairs of old moccasins, a leather belt, and some other rubbish well soaked with the water-drip.\n\"Got it at last!\" said Huck, ploughing among the tarnished coins with his hand. \"My, but we're rich, Tom!\"\n\"Huck, I always reckoned we'd get it. It's just too good to believe, but we have got it, sure! Say—let's not fool around here. Let's snake it out. Lemme see if I can lift the box.\"\nIt weighed about fifty pounds. Tom could lift it, after an awkward fashion, but could not carry it conveniently.\n\"I thought so,\" he said; \"They carried it like it was heavy, that day at the ha'nted house. I noticed that. I reckon I was right to think of fetching the little bags along.\"\nThe money was soon in the bags and the boys took it up to the cross rock.\n\"Now less fetch the guns and things,\" said Huck.\n\"No, Huck—leave them there. They're just the tricks to have when we go to robbing. We'll keep them there all the time, and we'll hold our orgies there, too. It's an awful snug place for orgies.\"\n\"What orgies?\"\n\"I dono. But robbers always have orgies, and of course we've got to have them, too. Come along, Huck, we've been in here a long time. It's getting late, I reckon. I'm hungry, too. We'll eat and smoke when we get to the skiff.\"\nThey presently emerged into the clump of sumach bushes, looked warily out, found the coast clear, and were soon lunching and smoking in the skiff. As the sun dipped toward the horizon they pushed out and got under way. Tom skimmed up the shore through the long twilight, chatting cheerily with Huck, and landed shortly after dark.", "chosen": "dark", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\ndark\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-74-032-01-160067bb", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nA cold rain began to fall, and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly in the dripping mist. The public-houses were just closing, and dim men and women were clustering in broken groups round their doors. From some of the bars came the sound of horrible laughter. In others, drunkards brawled and screamed.\nLying back in the hansom, with his hat pulled over his forehead, Dorian Gray watched with listless eyes the sordid shame of the great city, and now and then he repeated to himself the words that Lord Henry had said to him on the first day they had met, \"To cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means of the soul.\" Yes, that was the secret. He had often tried it, and would try it again now. There were opium dens where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were new.\nThe moon hung low in the sky like a yellow skull. From time to time a huge misshapen cloud stretched a long arm across and hid it. The gas-lamps grew fewer, and the streets more narrow and gloomy. Once the man lost his way and had to drive back half a mile. A steam rose from the horse as it splashed up the puddles. The sidewindows of the hansom were clogged with a grey-flannel mist.\n\"To cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means of the soul!\" How the words rang in his ears! His soul, certainly, was sick to death. Was it true that the senses could cure it? Innocent blood had been spilled. What could atone for that? Ah! for that there was no atonement; but though forgiveness was impossible, forgetfulness was possible still, and he was determined to forget, to stamp the thing out, to crush it as one would crush the adder that had stung one. Indeed, what right had Basil to have spoken to him as he had done? Who had made him a judge over others? He had said things that were dreadful, horrible, not to be endured.\nOn and on plodded the hansom, going slower, it seemed to him, at each step. He thrust up the trap and called to the man to drive faster. The hideous hunger for opium began to gnaw at him. His throat burned and his delicate hands twitched nervously together. He struck at the horse madly with his stick. The driver laughed and whipped up. He laughed in answer, and the man was silent.\nThe way seemed interminable, and the streets like the black web of some sprawling spider. The monotony became unbearable, and as the mist thickened, he felt afraid.\nThen they passed by lonely brickfields. The fog was lighter here, and he could see the strange, bottle-shaped kilns with their orange, fanlike tongues of fire. A dog barked as they went by, and far away in the darkness some wandering sea-gull screamed. The horse stumbled in a rut, then swerved aside and broke into a gallop.\nAfter some time they left the clay road and rattled again over rough-paven streets. Most of the windows were dark, but now and then fantastic shadows were silhouetted against some lamplit blind. He watched them curiously. They moved like monstrous marionettes and made gestures like live things. He hated them. A dull rage was in his heart. As they turned a corner, a woman yelled something at them from an open door, and two men ran after the hansom for about a hundred yards. The driver beat at them with his whip.\nIt is said that passion makes one think in a circle. Certainly with hideous iteration the bitten lips of Dorian Gray shaped and reshaped those subtle words that dealt with soul and sense, till he had found in them the full expression, as it were, of his mood, and justified, by intellectual approval, passions that without such justification would still have dominated his temper. From cell to cell of his brain crept the one thought; and the wild desire to live, most terrible of all man's appetites, quickened into force each trembling nerve and fibre. Ugliness that had once been hateful to him because it made things real, became dear to him now for that very reason. Ugliness was the one reality. The coarse brawl, the loathsome den, the crude violence of disordered life, the very vileness of thief and outcast, were more vivid, in their intense actuality of impression, than all the gracious shapes of art, the dreamy shadows of song. They were what he needed for forgetfulness. In three days he would be free.\nSuddenly the man drew up with a jerk at the top of a dark lane. Over the low roofs and jagged chimney-stacks of the houses rose the black masts of ships. Wreaths of white mist clung like ghostly sails to the yards.\n\"Somewhere about here, sir, ain't it?\" he asked huskily through the trap.\nDorian started and peered round. \"This will do,\" he answered, and having got out hastily and given the driver the extra fare he had promised him, he walked quickly in the direction of the quay. Here and there a lantern gleamed at the stern of some huge merchantman. The light shook and splintered in the puddles. A red glare came from an outward-bound steamer that was coaling. The slimy pavement looked like a wet mackintosh.\nHe hurried on towards the left, glancing back now and then to see if he was being followed. In about seven or eight minutes he reached a small shabby house that was wedged in between two gaunt factories. In one of the top-windows stood a lamp. He stopped and gave a peculiar knock.\nAfter a little time he heard steps in the passage and the chain being unhooked. The door opened quietly, and he went in without saying a word to the squat misshapen figure that flattened itself into the shadow as he passed. At the end of the hall hung a tattered green curtain that swayed and shook in the gusty wind which had followed him in from the street. He dragged it aside and entered a long low room which looked as if it had once been a third-rate dancing-saloon. Shrill flaring gas-jets, dulled and distorted in the fly-blown mirrors that faced them, were ranged round the walls. Greasy reflectors of ribbed tin backed them, making quivering disks of light. The floor was covered with ochre-coloured sawdust, trampled here and there into mud, and stained with dark rings of spilled liquor. Some Malays were crouching by a little charcoal stove, playing with bone counters and showing their white teeth as they chattered. In one corner, with his head buried in his arms, a sailor sprawled over a table, and by the tawdrily painted bar that ran across one complete side stood two haggard women, mocking an old man who was brushing the sleeves of his coat with an expression of disgust. \"He thinks he's got red ants on him,\" laughed one of them, as Dorian passed by. The man looked at her in terror and began to whimper.\nAt the end of the room there was a little staircase, leading to a darkened chamber. As Dorian hurried up its three rickety steps, the heavy odour of opium met him. He heaved a deep breath, and his nostrils quivered with pleasure. When he entered, a young man with smooth yellow hair, who was bending over a lamp lighting a long thin pipe, looked up at him and nodded in a hesitating manner.\n\"You here, Adrian?\" muttered Dorian.\n\"Where else should I be?\" he answered, listlessly. \"None of the chaps will speak to me now.\"\n\"I thought you had left England.\"\n\"Darlington is not going to do anything. My brother paid the bill at last. George doesn't speak to me either.... I don't care,\" he added with a sigh. \"As long as one has this stuff, one doesn't want friends. I think I have had too many friends.\"", "chosen": "[\"Dorian\", \"Gray\", \"Henry\", \"Basil\", \"Somewhere\", \"Malays\", \"Adrian\", \"Where\", \"None\", \"England\", \"Darlington\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Dorian\", \"Gray\", \"Henry\", \"Basil\", \"Somewhere\", \"Malays\", \"Adrian\", \"Where\", \"None\", \"England\", \"Darlington\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-174-016-00-6fc052a6", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe herb-doctor had not moved far away, when, in advance of him, this spectacle met his eye. A dried-up old man, with the stature of a boy of twelve, was tottering about like one out of his mind, in rumpled clothes of old moleskin, showing recent contact with bedding, his ferret eyes, blinking in the sunlight of the snowy boat, as imbecilely eager, and, at intervals, coughing, he peered hither and thither as if in alarmed search for his nurse. He presented the aspect of one who, bed-rid, has, through overruling excitement, like that of a fire, been stimulated to his feet.\n\"You seek some one,\" said the herb-doctor, accosting him. \"Can I assist you?\"\n\"Do, do; I am so old and miserable,\" coughed the old man. \"Where is he? This long time I've been trying to get up and find him. But I haven't any friends, and couldn't get up till now. Where is he?\"\n\"Who do you mean?\" drawing closer, to stay the further wanderings of one so weakly.\n\"Why, why, why,\" now marking the other's dress, \"why you, yes you--you, you--ugh, ugh, ugh!\"\n\"I?\"\n\"Ugh, ugh, ugh!--you are the man he spoke of. Who is he?\"\n\"Faith, that is just what I want to know.\"\n\"Mercy, mercy!\" coughed the old man, bewildered, \"ever since seeing him, my head spins round so. I ought to have a guardeean. Is this a snuff-colored surtout of yours, or ain't it? Somehow, can't trust my senses any more, since trusting him--ugh, ugh, ugh!\"\n\"Oh, you have trusted somebody? Glad to hear it. Glad to hear of any instance, of that sort. Reflects well upon all men. But you inquire whether this is a snuff-colored surtout. I answer it is; and will add that a herb-doctor wears it.\"\nUpon this the old man, in his broken way, replied that then he (the herb-doctor) was the person he sought--the person spoken of by the other person as yet unknown. He then, with flighty eagerness, wanted to know who this last person was, and where he was, and whether he could be trusted with money to treble it.\n\"Aye, now, I begin to understand; ten to one you mean my worthy friend, who, in pure goodness of heart, makes people's fortunes for them--their everlasting fortunes, as the phrase goes--only charging his one small commission of confidence. Aye, aye; before intrusting funds with my friend, you want to know about him. Very proper--and, I am glad to assure you, you need have no hesitation; none, none, just none in the world; bona fide, none. Turned me in a trice a hundred dollars the other day into as many eagles.\"\n\"Did he? did he? But where is he? Take me to him.\"\n\"Pray, take my arm! The boat is large! We may have something of a hunt! Come on! Ah, is that he?\"\n\"Where? where?\"\n\"O, no; I took yonder coat-skirts for his. But no, my honest friend would never turn tail that way. Ah!----\"\n\"Where? where?\"\n\"Another mistake. Surprising resemblance. I took yonder clergyman for him. Come on!\"\nHaving searched that part of the boat without success, they went to another part, and, while exploring that, the boat sided up to a landing, when, as the two were passing by the open guard, the herb-doctor suddenly rushed towards the disembarking throng, crying out: \"Mr. Truman, Mr. Truman! There he goes--that's he. Mr. Truman, Mr. Truman!--Confound that steam-pipe., Mr. Truman! for God's sake, Mr. Truman!--No, no.--There, the plank's in--too late--we're off.\"\nWith that, the huge boat, with a mighty, walrus wallow, rolled away from the shore, resuming her course.\n\"How vexatious!\" exclaimed the herb-doctor, returning. \"Had we been but one single moment sooner.--There he goes, now, towards yon hotel, his portmanteau following. You see him, don't you?\"\n\"Where? where?\"\n\"Can't see him any more. Wheel-house shot between. I am very sorry. I should have so liked you to have let him have a hundred or so of your money. You would have been pleased with the investment, believe me.\"\n\"Oh, I have let him have some of my money,\" groaned the old man.\n\"You have? My dear sir,\" seizing both the miser's hands in both his own and heartily shaking them. \"My dear sir, how I congratulate you. You don't know.\"\n\"Ugh, ugh! I fear I don't,\" with another groan. \"His name is Truman, is it?\"\n\"John Truman.\"\n\"Where does he live?\"\n\"In St. Louis.\"\n\"Where's his office?\"\n\"Let me see. Jones street, number one hundred and--no, no--anyway, it's somewhere or other up-stairs in Jones street.\"\n\"Can't you remember the number? Try, now.\"\n\"One hundred--two hundred--three hundred--\"\n\"Oh, my hundred dollars! I wonder whether it will be one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, with them! Ugh, ugh! Can't remember the number?\"\n\"Positively, though I once knew, I have forgotten, quite forgotten it. Strange. But never mind. You will easily learn in St. Louis. He is well known there.\"\n\"But I have no receipt--ugh, ugh! Nothing to show--don't know where I stand--ought to have a guardeean--ugh, ugh! Don't know anything. Ugh, ugh!\"\n\"Why, you know that you gave him your confidence, don't you?\"\n\"Oh, yes.\"\n\"Well, then?\"\n\"But what, what--how, how--ugh, ugh!\"\n\"Why, didn't he tell you?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"What! Didn't he tell you that it was a secret, a mystery?\"\n\"Oh--yes.\"\n\"Well, then?\"\n\"But I have no bond.\"\n\"Don't need any with Mr. Truman. Mr. Truman's word is his bond.\"\n\"But how am I to get my profits--ugh, ugh!--and my money back? Don't know anything. Ugh, ugh!\"\n\"Oh, you must have confidence.\"\n\"Don't say that word again. Makes my head spin so. Oh, I'm so old and miserable, nobody caring for me, everybody fleecing me, and my head spins so--ugh, ugh!--and this cough racks me so. I say again, I ought to have a guardeean.\"\n\"So you ought; and Mr. Truman is your guardian to the extent you invested with him. Sorry we missed him just now. But you'll hear from him. All right. It's imprudent, though, to expose yourself this way. Let me take you to your berth.\"\nForlornly enough the old miser moved slowly away with him. But, while descending a stairway, he was seized with such coughing that he was fain to pause.\n\"That is a very bad cough.\"\n\"Church-yard--ugh, ugh!--church-yard cough.--Ugh!\"\n\"Have you tried anything for it?\"\n\"Tired of trying. Nothing does me any good--ugh! ugh! Not even the Mammoth Cave. Ugh! ugh! Denned there six months, but coughed so bad the rest of the coughers--ugh! ugh!--black-balled me out. Ugh, ugh! Nothing does me good.\"\n\"But have you tried the Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator, sir?\"\n\"That's what that Truman--ugh, ugh!--said I ought to take. Yarb-medicine; you are that yarb-doctor, too?\"\n\"The same. Suppose you try one of my boxes now. Trust me, from what I know of Mr. Truman, he is not the gentleman to recommend, even in behalf of a friend, anything of whose excellence he is not conscientiously satisfied.\"\n\"Ugh!--how much?\"\n\"Only two dollars a box.\"\n\"Two dollars? Why don't you say two millions? ugh, ugh! Two dollars, that's two hundred cents; that's eight hundred farthings; that's two thousand mills; and all for one little box of yarb-medicine. My head, my head!--oh, I ought to have a guardeean for; my head. Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh!\"\n\"Well, if two dollars a box seems too much, take a dozen boxes at twenty dollars; and that will be getting four boxes for nothing, and you need use none but those four, the rest you can retail out at a premium, and so cure your cough, and make money by it. Come, you had better do it. Cash down. Can fill an order in a day or two. Here now,\" producing a box; \"pure herbs.\"\nAt that moment, seized with another spasm, the miser snatched each interval to fix his half distrustful, half hopeful eye upon the medicine, held alluringly up. \"Sure--ugh! Sure it's all nat'ral? Nothing but yarbs? If I only thought it was a purely nat'ral medicine now--all yarbs--ugh, ugh!--oh this cough, this cough--ugh, ugh!--shatters my whole body. Ugh, ugh, ugh!\"\n\"For heaven's sake try my medicine, if but a single box. That it is pure nature you may be confident, Refer you to Mr. Truman.\"", "chosen": "The, A, He, You, Can, Where, This, But, Where, Why,, Who, I, Is, Somehow,, Glad, Glad, Reflects, But, I, He, Aye,, Aye,, Very, Turned, did, But, Take, The, We, Come, Ah,, where?\", But, Ah!----\", where?\", Surprising, I, Come, Truman,, Truman!, There, Mr., Truman,, Truman!--Confound, Truman!, for, Truman!--No,, How, Had, You, where?\", Wheel-house, I, I, You, You, My, My, You, I, His, Louis.\", Jones, Try,, I, Ugh,, Can't, Strange., But, You, Louis., He, Nothing, Don't, Ugh,, Didn't, Truman., Mr., Truman's, Don't, Ugh,, Makes, Oh,, I, Truman, Sorry, But, All, It's, Let, But,, That, Nothing, ugh!, Not, Ugh!, ugh!, Denned, ugh!--black-balled, Ugh,, Nothing, Yarb-medicine;, Suppose, Trust, Truman,, Why, ugh,, Two, My, Ugh,, Come,, Cash, Can, Here, Sure--ugh!, Sure, Nothing, If, Ugh,, That, Truman.\"", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nThe, A, He, You, Can, Where, This, But, Where, Why,, Who, I, Is, Somehow,, Glad, Glad, Reflects, But, I, He, Aye,, Aye,, Very, Turned, did, But, Take, The, We, Come, Ah,, where?\", But, Ah!----\", where?\", Surprising, I, Come, Truman,, Truman!, There, Mr., Truman,, Truman!--Confound, Truman!, for, Truman!--No,, How, Had, You, where?\", Wheel-house, I, I, You, You, My, My, You, I, His, Louis.\", Jones, Try,, I, Ugh,, Can't, Strange., But, You, Louis., He, Nothing, Don't, Ugh,, Didn't, Truman., Mr., Truman's, Don't, Ugh,, Makes, Oh,, I, Truman, Sorry, But, All, It's, Let, But,, That, Nothing, ugh!, Not, Ugh!, ugh!, Denned, ugh!--black-balled, Ugh,, Nothing, Yarb-medicine;, Suppose, Trust, Truman,, Why, ugh,, Two, My, Ugh,, Come,, Cash, Can, Here, Sure--ugh!, Sure, Nothing, If, Ugh,, That, Truman.\"\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21816-020-00-cde7e2e0", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe object of all this staring and blaring, was a young man of about five-and-twenty, well-grown and well-looking, with a sunburnt cheek and a dark eye. His condition was that of a young gentleman. He was plainly dressed in black, or very dark grey, and his hair, which was long and dark, was gathered in a ribbon at the back of his neck; more to be out of his way than for ornament. As an emotion of the mind will express itself through any covering of the body, so the paleness which his situation engendered came through the brown upon his cheek, showing the soul to be stronger than the sun. He was otherwise quite self-possessed, bowed to the Judge, and stood quiet.\nThe sort of interest with which this man was stared and breathed at, was not a sort that elevated humanity. Had he stood in peril of a less horrible sentence--had there been a chance of any one of its savage details being spared--by just so much would he have lost in his fascination. The form that was to be doomed to be so shamefully mangled, was the sight; the immortal creature that was to be so butchered and torn asunder, yielded the sensation. Whatever gloss the various spectators put upon the interest, according to their several arts and powers of self-deceit, the interest was, at the root of it, Ogreish.\nSilence in the court! Charles Darnay had yesterday pleaded Not Guilty to an indictment denouncing him (with infinite jingle and jangle) for that he was a false traitor to our serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, prince, our Lord the King, by reason of his having, on divers occasions, and by divers means and ways, assisted Lewis, the French King, in his wars against our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth; that was to say, by coming and going, between the dominions of our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, and those of the said French Lewis, and wickedly, falsely, traitorously, and otherwise evil-adverbiously, revealing to the said French Lewis what forces our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, had in preparation to send to Canada and North America. This much, Jerry, with his head becoming more and more spiky as the law terms bristled it, made out with huge satisfaction, and so arrived circuitously at the understanding that the aforesaid, and over and over again aforesaid, Charles Darnay, stood there before him upon his trial; that the jury were swearing in; and that Mr. Attorney-General was making ready to speak.\nThe accused, who was (and who knew he was) being mentally hanged, beheaded, and quartered, by everybody there, neither flinched from the situation, nor assumed any theatrical air in it. He was quiet and attentive; watched the opening proceedings with a grave interest; and stood with his hands resting on the slab of wood before him, so composedly, that they had not displaced a leaf of the herbs with which it was strewn. The court was all bestrewn with herbs and sprinkled with vinegar, as a precaution against gaol air and gaol fever.\nOver the prisoner's head there was a mirror, to throw the light down upon him. Crowds of the wicked and the wretched had been reflected in it, and had passed from its surface and this earth's together. Haunted in a most ghastly manner that abominable place would have been, if the glass could ever have rendered back its reflections, as the ocean is one day to give up its dead. Some passing thought of the infamy and disgrace for which it had been reserved, may have struck the prisoner's mind. Be that as it may, a change in his position making him conscious of a bar of light across his face, he looked up; and when he saw the glass his face flushed, and his right hand pushed the herbs away.\nIt happened, that the action turned his face to that side of the court which was on his left. About on a level with his eyes, there sat, in that corner of the Judge's bench, two persons upon whom his look immediately rested; so immediately, and so much to the changing of his aspect, that all the eyes that were turned upon him, turned to them.\nThe spectators saw in the two figures, a young lady of little more than twenty, and a gentleman who was evidently her father; a man of a very remarkable appearance in respect of the absolute whiteness of his hair, and a certain indescribable intensity of face: not of an active kind, but pondering and self-communing. When this expression was upon him, he looked as if he were old; but when it was stirred and broken up--as it was now, in a moment, on his speaking to his daughter--he became a handsome man, not past the prime of life.\nHis daughter had one of her hands drawn through his arm, as she sat by him, and the other pressed upon it. She had drawn close to him, in her dread of the scene, and in her pity for the prisoner. Her forehead had been strikingly expressive of an engrossing terror and compassion that saw nothing but the peril of the accused. This had been so very noticeable, so very powerfully and naturally shown, that starers who had had no pity for him were touched by her; and the whisper went about, \"Who are they?\"\nJerry, the messenger, who had made his own observations, in his own manner, and who had been sucking the rust off his fingers in his absorption, stretched his neck to hear who they were. The crowd about him had pressed and passed the inquiry on to the nearest attendant, and from him it had been more slowly pressed and passed back; at last it got to Jerry:\n\"Witnesses.\"\n\"For which side?\"\n\"Against.\"\n\"Against what side?\"\n\"The prisoner's.\"\nThe Judge, whose eyes had gone in the general direction, recalled them, leaned back in his seat, and looked steadily at the man whose life was in his hand, as Mr. Attorney-General rose to spin the rope, grind the axe, and hammer the nails into the scaffold.", "chosen": "31", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n31\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-98-008-01-5d10e224", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Not all, of course, but anyway it is much better than the life here. Infinitely better. Besides, with love one can live even without happiness. Even in sorrow life is sweet; life is sweet, however one lives. But here what is there but ... foulness. Phew!\"\nI turned away with disgust; I was no longer reasoning coldly. I began to feel myself what I was saying and warmed to the subject. I was already longing to expound the cherished ideas I had brooded over in my corner. Something suddenly flared up in me. An object had appeared before me.\n\"Never mind my being here, I am not an example for you. I am, perhaps, worse than you are. I was drunk when I came here, though,\" I hastened, however, to say in self-defence. \"Besides, a man is no example for a woman. It's a different thing. I may degrade and defile myself, but I am not any one's slave. I come and go, and that's an end of it. I shake it off, and I am a different man. But you are a slave from the start. Yes, a slave! You give up everything, your whole freedom. If you want to break your chains afterwards, you won't be able to: you will be more and more fast in the snares. It is an accursed bondage. I know it. I won't speak of anything else, maybe you won't understand, but tell me: no doubt you are in debt to your madam? There, you see,\" I added, though she made no answer, but only listened in silence, entirely absorbed, \"that's a bondage for you! You will never buy your freedom. They will see to that. It's like selling your soul to the devil.... And besides ... perhaps I, too, am just as unlucky--how do you know--and wallow in the mud on purpose, out of misery? You know, men take to drink from grief; well, maybe I am here from grief. Come, tell me, what is there good here? Here you and I ... came together ... just now and did not say one word to one another all the time, and it was only afterwards you began staring at me like a wild creature, and I at you. Is that loving? Is that how one human being should meet another? It's hideous, that's what it is!\"\n\"Yes!\" she assented sharply and hurriedly.\nI was positively astounded by the promptitude of this \"Yes.\" So the same thought may have been straying through her mind when she was staring at me just before. So she, too, was capable of certain thoughts? \"Damn it all, this was interesting, this was a point of likeness!\" I thought, almost rubbing my hands. And indeed it's easy to turn a young soul like that!\nIt was the exercise of my power that attracted me most.\nShe turned her head nearer to me, and it seemed to me in the darkness that she propped herself on her arm. Perhaps she was scrutinizing me. How I regretted that I could not see her eyes. I heard her deep breathing.\n\"Why have you come here?\" I asked her, with a note of authority already in my voice.\n\"Oh, I don't know.\"\n\"But how nice it would be to be living in your father's house! It's warm and free; you have a home of your own.\"\n\"But what if it's worse than this?\"\n\"I must take the right tone,\" flashed through my mind. \"I may not get far with sentimentality.\" But it was only a momentary thought. I swear she really did interest me. Besides, I was exhausted and moody. And cunning so easily goes hand-in-hand with feeling.\n\"Who denies it!\" I hastened to answer. \"Anything may happen. I am convinced that some one has wronged you, and that you are more sinned against than sinning. Of course, I know nothing of your story, but it's not likely a girl like you has come here of her own inclination....\"\n\"A girl like me?\" she whispered, hardly audibly; but I heard it.\nDamn it all, I was flattering her. That was horrid. But perhaps it was a good thing.... She was silent.\n\"See, Liza, I will tell you about myself. If I had had a home from childhood, I shouldn't be what I am now. I often think that. However bad it may be at home, anyway they are your father and mother, and not enemies, strangers. Once a year at least, they'll show their love of you. Anyway, you know you are at home. I grew up without a home; and perhaps that's why I've turned so ... unfeeling.\"\nI waited again. \"Perhaps she doesn't understand,\" I thought, \"and, indeed, it is absurd--it's moralizing.\"\n\"If I were a father and had a daughter, I believe I should love my daughter more than my sons, really,\" I began indirectly, as though talking of something else, to distract her attention. I must confess I blushed.\n\"Why so?\" she asked.\nAh! so she was listening!\n\"I don't know, Liza. I knew a father who was a stern, austere man, but used to go down on his knees to his daughter, used to kiss her hands, her feet, he couldn't make enough of her, really. When she danced at parties he used to stand for five hours at a stretch, gazing at her. He was mad over her: I understand that! She would fall asleep tired at night, and he would wake to kiss her in her sleep and make the sign of the cross over her. He would go about in a dirty old coat, he was stingy to every one else, but would spend his last penny for her, giving her expensive presents, and it was his greatest delight when she was pleased with what he gave her. Fathers always love their daughters more than the mothers do. Some girls live happily at home! And I believe I should never let my daughters marry.\"\n\"What next?\" she said, with a faint smile.\n\"I should be jealous, I really should. To think that she should kiss any one else! That she should love a stranger more than her father! It's painful to imagine it. Of course, that's all nonsense, of course every father would be reasonable at last. But I believe before I should let her marry, I should worry myself to death; I should find fault with all her suitors. But I should end by letting her marry whom she herself loved. The one whom the daughter loves always seems the worst to the father, you know. That is always so. So many family troubles come from that.\"\n\"Some are glad to sell their daughters, rather than marrying them honourably.\"\nAh, so that was it!\n\"Such a thing, Liza, happens in those accursed families in which there is neither love nor God,\" I retorted warmly, \"and where there is no love, there is no sense either. There are such families, it's true, but I am not speaking of them. You must have seen wickedness in your own family, if you talk like that. Truly, you must have been unlucky. H'm! ... that sort of thing mostly comes about through poverty.\"\n\"And is it any better with the gentry? Even among the poor, honest people live happily.\"", "chosen": "\"Perhaps she doesn't understand,\" I thought, \"and, indeed, it is absurd--it's moralizing.\"\n\"If I were a father and had a daughter, I believe I should love my daughter more than my sons, really,\" I began indirectly, as though talking of something else, to distract her attention.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n\"Perhaps she doesn't understand,\" I thought, \"and, indeed, it is absurd--it's moralizing.\"\n\"If I were a father and had a daughter, I believe I should love my daughter more than my sons, really,\" I began indirectly, as though talking of something else, to distract her attention.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-36034-007-01-b0ac62da", "source": "pg-36034", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe elder raised his hand and would have made the sign of the cross over Ivan from where he stood. But the latter rose from his seat, went up to him, received his blessing, and kissing his hand went back to his place in silence. His face looked firm and earnest. This action and all the preceding conversation, which was so surprising from Ivan, impressed every one by its strangeness and a certain solemnity, so that all were silent for a moment, and there was a look almost of apprehension in Alyosha's face. But Miüsov suddenly shrugged his shoulders. And at the same moment Fyodor Pavlovitch jumped up from his seat.\n\"Most pious and holy elder,\" he cried, pointing to Ivan, \"that is my son, flesh of my flesh, the dearest of my flesh! He is my most dutiful Karl Moor, so to speak, while this son who has just come in, Dmitri, against whom I am seeking justice from you, is the undutiful Franz Moor—they are both out of Schiller's Robbers, and so I am the reigning Count von Moor! Judge and save us! We need not only your prayers but your prophecies!\"\n\"Speak without buffoonery, and don't begin by insulting the members of your family,\" answered the elder, in a faint, exhausted voice. He was obviously getting more and more fatigued, and his strength was failing.\n\"An unseemly farce which I foresaw when I came here!\" cried Dmitri indignantly. He too leapt up. \"Forgive it, reverend Father,\" he added, addressing the elder. \"I am not a cultivated man, and I don't even know how to address you properly, but you have been deceived and you have been too good-natured in letting us meet here. All my father wants is a scandal. Why he wants it only he can tell. He always has some motive. But I believe I know why—\"\n\"They all blame me, all of them!\" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch in his turn. \"Pyotr Alexandrovitch here blames me too. You have been blaming me, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, you have!\" he turned suddenly to Miüsov, although the latter was not dreaming of interrupting him. \"They all accuse me of having hidden the children's money in my boots, and cheated them, but isn't there a court of law? There they will reckon out for you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, from your notes, your letters, and your agreements, how much money you had, how much you have spent, and how much you have left. Why does Pyotr Alexandrovitch refuse to pass judgment? Dmitri is not a stranger to him. Because they are all against me, while Dmitri Fyodorovitch is in debt to me, and not a little, but some thousands of which I have documentary proof. The whole town is echoing with his debaucheries. And where he was stationed before, he several times spent a thousand or two for the seduction of some respectable girl; we know all about that, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, in its most secret details. I'll prove it.... Would you believe it, holy Father, he has captivated the heart of the most honorable of young ladies of good family and fortune, daughter of a gallant colonel, formerly his superior officer, who had received many honors and had the Anna Order on his breast. He compromised the girl by his promise of marriage, now she is an orphan and here; she is betrothed to him, yet before her very eyes he is dancing attendance on a certain enchantress. And although this enchantress has lived in, so to speak, civil marriage with a respectable man, yet she is of an independent character, an unapproachable fortress for everybody, just like a legal wife—for she is virtuous, yes, holy Fathers, she is virtuous. Dmitri Fyodorovitch wants to open this fortress with a golden key, and that's why he is insolent to me now, trying to get money from me, though he has wasted thousands on this enchantress already. He's continually borrowing money for the purpose. From whom do you think? Shall I say, Mitya?\"\n\"Be silent!\" cried Dmitri, \"wait till I'm gone. Don't dare in my presence to asperse the good name of an honorable girl! That you should utter a word about her is an outrage, and I won't permit it!\"\nHe was breathless.\n\"Mitya! Mitya!\" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch hysterically, squeezing out a tear. \"And is your father's blessing nothing to you? If I curse you, what then?\"\n\"Shameless hypocrite!\" exclaimed Dmitri furiously.\n\"He says that to his father! his father! What would he be with others? Gentlemen, only fancy; there's a poor but honorable man living here, burdened with a numerous family, a captain who got into trouble and was discharged from the army, but not publicly, not by court-martial, with no slur on his honor. And three weeks ago, Dmitri seized him by the beard in a tavern, dragged him out into the street and beat him publicly, and all because he is an agent in a little business of mine.\"\n\"It's all a lie! Outwardly it's the truth, but inwardly a lie!\" Dmitri was trembling with rage. \"Father, I don't justify my action. Yes, I confess it publicly, I behaved like a brute to that captain, and I regret it now, and I'm disgusted with myself for my brutal rage. But this captain, this agent of yours, went to that lady whom you call an enchantress, and suggested to her from you, that she should take I.O.U.'s of mine which were in your possession, and should sue me for the money so as to get me into prison by means of them, if I persisted in claiming an account from you of my property. Now you reproach me for having a weakness for that lady when you yourself incited her to captivate me! She told me so to my face.... She told me the story and laughed at you.... You wanted to put me in prison because you are jealous of me with her, because you'd begun to force your attentions upon her; and I know all about that, too; she laughed at you for that as well—you hear—she laughed at you as she described it. So here you have this man, this father who reproaches his profligate son! Gentlemen, forgive my anger, but I foresaw that this crafty old man would only bring you together to create a scandal. I had come to forgive him if he held out his hand; to forgive him, and ask forgiveness! But as he has just this minute insulted not only me, but an honorable young lady, for whom I feel such reverence that I dare not take her name in vain, I have made up my mind to show up his game, though he is my father....\"\nHe could not go on. His eyes were glittering and he breathed with difficulty. But every one in the cell was stirred. All except Father Zossima got up from their seats uneasily. The monks looked austere but waited for guidance from the elder. He sat still, pale, not from excitement but from the weakness of disease. An imploring smile lighted up his face; from time to time he raised his hand, as though to check the storm, and, of course, a gesture from him would have been enough to end the scene; but he seemed to be waiting for something and watched them intently as though trying to make out something which was not perfectly clear to him. At last Miüsov felt completely humiliated and disgraced.\n\"We are all to blame for this scandalous scene,\" he said hotly. \"But I did not foresee it when I came, though I knew with whom I had to deal. This must be stopped at once! Believe me, your reverence, I had no precise knowledge of the details that have just come to light, I was unwilling to believe them, and I learn for the first time.... A father is jealous of his son's relations with a woman of loose behavior and intrigues with the creature to get his son into prison! This is the company in which I have been forced to be present! I was deceived. I declare to you all that I was as much deceived as any one.\"", "chosen": "[\"Most pious and holy elder,\", \"Speak without buffoonery, and don't begin by insulting the members of your family,\", \"An unseemly farce which I foresaw when I came here!\", \"Forgive it, reverend Father,\", \"They all blame me, all of them!\", \"Pyotr Alexandrovitch here blames me too. You have been blaming me, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, you have!\", \"Be silent!\", \"wait till I'm gone. Don't dare in my presence to asperse the good name of an honorable girl! That you should utter a word about her is an outrage, and I won't permit it!\", \"Mitya! Mitya!\", \"And is your father's blessing nothing to you? If I curse you, what then?\", \"Shameless hypocrite!\", \"It's all a lie! Outwardly it's the truth, but inwardly a lie!\", \"We are all to blame for this scandalous scene,\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Most pious and holy elder,\", \"Speak without buffoonery, and don't begin by insulting the members of your family,\", \"An unseemly farce which I foresaw when I came here!\", \"Forgive it, reverend Father,\", \"They all blame me, all of them!\", \"Pyotr Alexandrovitch here blames me too. You have been blaming me, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, you have!\", \"Be silent!\", \"wait till I'm gone. Don't dare in my presence to asperse the good name of an honorable girl! That you should utter a word about her is an outrage, and I won't permit it!\", \"Mitya! Mitya!\", \"And is your father's blessing nothing to you? If I curse you, what then?\", \"Shameless hypocrite!\", \"It's all a lie! Outwardly it's the truth, but inwardly a lie!\", \"We are all to blame for this scandalous scene,\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-011-01-a8b15dfe", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"I must make you one confession,\" Ivan began. \"I could never understand how one can love one's neighbors. It's just one's neighbors, to my mind, that one can't love, though one might love those at a distance. I once read somewhere of John the Merciful, a saint, that when a hungry, frozen beggar came to him, he took him into his bed, held him in his arms, and began breathing into his mouth, which was putrid and loathsome from some awful disease. I am convinced that he did that from 'self-laceration,' from the self-laceration of falsity, for the sake of the charity imposed by duty, as a penance laid on him. For any one to love a man, he must be hidden, for as soon as he shows his face, love is gone.\"\n\"Father Zossima has talked of that more than once,\" observed Alyosha; \"he, too, said that the face of a man often hinders many people not practiced in love, from loving him. But yet there's a great deal of love in mankind, and almost Christ-like love. I know that myself, Ivan.\"\n\"Well, I know nothing of it so far, and can't understand it, and the innumerable mass of mankind are with me there. The question is, whether that's due to men's bad qualities or whether it's inherent in their nature. To my thinking, Christ-like love for men is a miracle impossible on earth. He was God. But we are not gods. Suppose I, for instance, suffer intensely. Another can never know how much I suffer, because he is another and not I. And what's more, a man is rarely ready to admit another's suffering (as though it were a distinction). Why won't he admit it, do you think? Because I smell unpleasant, because I have a stupid face, because I once trod on his foot. Besides, there is suffering and suffering; degrading, humiliating suffering such as humbles me—hunger, for instance—my benefactor will perhaps allow me; but when you come to higher suffering—for an idea, for instance—he will very rarely admit that, perhaps because my face strikes him as not at all what he fancies a man should have who suffers for an idea. And so he deprives me instantly of his favor, and not at all from badness of heart. Beggars, especially genteel beggars, ought never to show themselves, but to ask for charity through the newspapers. One can love one's neighbors in the abstract, or even at a distance, but at close quarters it's almost impossible. If it were as on the stage, in the ballet, where if beggars come in, they wear silken rags and tattered lace and beg for alms dancing gracefully, then one might like looking at them. But even then we should not love them. But enough of that. I simply wanted to show you my point of view. I meant to speak of the suffering of mankind generally, but we had better confine ourselves to the sufferings of the children. That reduces the scope of my argument to a tenth of what it would be. Still we'd better keep to the children, though it does weaken my case. But, in the first place, children can be loved even at close quarters, even when they are dirty, even when they are ugly (I fancy, though, children never are ugly). The second reason why I won't speak of grown-up people is that, besides being disgusting and unworthy of love, they have a compensation—they've eaten the apple and know good and evil, and they have become 'like gods.' They go on eating it still. But the children haven't eaten anything, and are so far innocent. Are you fond of children, Alyosha? I know you are, and you will understand why I prefer to speak of them. If they, too, suffer horribly on earth, they must suffer for their fathers' sins, they must be punished for their fathers, who have eaten the apple; but that reasoning is of the other world and is incomprehensible for the heart of man here on earth. The innocent must not suffer for another's sins, and especially such innocents! You may be surprised at me, Alyosha, but I am awfully fond of children, too. And observe, cruel people, the violent, the rapacious, the Karamazovs are sometimes very fond of children. Children while they are quite little—up to seven, for instance—are so remote from grown-up people; they are different creatures, as it were, of a different species. I knew a criminal in prison who had, in the course of his career as a burglar, murdered whole families, including several children. But when he was in prison, he had a strange affection for them. He spent all his time at his window, watching the children playing in the prison yard. He trained one little boy to come up to his window and made great friends with him.... You don't know why I am telling you all this, Alyosha? My head aches and I am sad.\"\n\"You speak with a strange air,\" observed Alyosha uneasily, \"as though you were not quite yourself.\"\n\"By the way, a Bulgarian I met lately in Moscow,\" Ivan went on, seeming not to hear his brother's words, \"told me about the crimes committed by Turks and Circassians in all parts of Bulgaria through fear of a general rising of the Slavs. They burn villages, murder, outrage women and children, they nail their prisoners by the ears to the fences, leave them so till morning, and in the morning they hang them—all sorts of things you can't imagine. People talk sometimes of bestial cruelty, but that's a great injustice and insult to the beasts; a beast can never be so cruel as a man, so artistically cruel. The tiger only tears and gnaws, that's all he can do. He would never think of nailing people by the ears, even if he were able to do it. These Turks took a pleasure in torturing children, too; cutting the unborn child from the mother's womb, and tossing babies up in the air and catching them on the points of their bayonets before their mothers' eyes. Doing it before the mothers' eyes was what gave zest to the amusement. Here is another scene that I thought very interesting. Imagine a trembling mother with her baby in her arms, a circle of invading Turks around her. They've planned a diversion: they pet the baby, laugh to make it laugh. They succeed, the baby laughs. At that moment a Turk points a pistol four inches from the baby's face. The baby laughs with glee, holds out its little hands to the pistol, and he pulls the trigger in the baby's face and blows out its brains. Artistic, wasn't it? By the way, Turks are particularly fond of sweet things, they say.\"\n\"Brother, what are you driving at?\" asked Alyosha.\n\"I think if the devil doesn't exist, but man has created him, he has created him in his own image and likeness.\"\n\"Just as he did God, then?\" observed Alyosha.", "chosen": "Alyosha", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nAlyosha\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-035-00-e7dbf191", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAnother denial. Tom's uneasiness grew more and more intense under the slow torture of these proceedings. The master scanned the ranks of boys—considered a while, then turned to the girls:\n\"Amy Lawrence?\"\nA shake of the head.\n\"Gracie Miller?\"\nThe same sign.\n\"Susan Harper, did you do this?\"\nAnother negative. The next girl was Becky Thatcher. Tom was trembling from head to foot with excitement and a sense of the hopelessness of the situation.\n\"Rebecca Thatcher\" [Tom glanced at her face—it was white with terror]—\"did you tear—no, look me in the face\" [her hands rose in appeal]—\"did you tear this book?\"\nA thought shot like lightning through Tom's brain. He sprang to his feet and shouted—\"I done it!\"\nThe school stared in perplexity at this incredible folly. Tom stood a moment, to gather his dismembered faculties; and when he stepped forward to go to his punishment the surprise, the gratitude, the adoration that shone upon him out of poor Becky's eyes seemed pay enough for a hundred floggings. Inspired by the splendor of his own act, he took without an outcry the most merciless flaying that even Mr. Dobbins had ever administered; and also received with indifference the added cruelty of a command to remain two hours after school should be dismissed—for he knew who would wait for him outside till his captivity was done, and not count the tedious time as loss, either.\nTom went to bed that night planning vengeance against Alfred Temple; for with shame and repentance Becky had told him all, not forgetting her own treachery; but even the longing for vengeance had to give way, soon, to pleasanter musings, and he fell asleep at last with Becky's latest words lingering dreamily in his ear—\n\"Tom, how could you be so noble!\"", "chosen": "[\"Amy\", \"Lawrence\", \"Gracie\", \"Miller\", \"Susan\", \"Harper\", \"Becky\", \"Thatcher\", \"Rebecca\", \"Tom\", \"Alfred\", \"Temple\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Amy\", \"Lawrence\", \"Gracie\", \"Miller\", \"Susan\", \"Harper\", \"Becky\", \"Thatcher\", \"Rebecca\", \"Tom\", \"Alfred\", \"Temple\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-74-020-01-49376274", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Harry,\" cried Dorian Gray, coming over and sitting down beside him, \"why is it that I cannot feel this tragedy as much as I want to? I don't think I am heartless. Do you?\"\n\"You have done too many foolish things during the last fortnight to be entitled to give yourself that name, Dorian,\" answered Lord Henry with his sweet melancholy smile.\nThe lad frowned. \"I don't like that explanation, Harry,\" he rejoined, \"but I am glad you don't think I am heartless. I am nothing of the kind. I know I am not. And yet I must admit that this thing that has happened does not affect me as it should. It seems to me to be simply like a wonderful ending to a wonderful play. It has all the terrible beauty of a Greek tragedy, a tragedy in which I took a great part, but by which I have not been wounded.\"\n\"It is an interesting question,\" said Lord Henry, who found an exquisite pleasure in playing on the lad's unconscious egotism, \"an extremely interesting question. I fancy that the true explanation is this: It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style. They affect us just as vulgarity affects us. They give us an impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that. Sometimes, however, a tragedy that possesses artistic elements of beauty crosses our lives. If these elements of beauty are real, the whole thing simply appeals to our sense of dramatic effect. Suddenly we find that we are no longer the actors, but the spectators of the play. Or rather we are both. We watch ourselves, and the mere wonder of the spectacle enthralls us. In the present case, what is it that has really happened? Some one has killed herself for love of you. I wish that I had ever had such an experience. It would have made me in love with love for the rest of my life. The people who have adored me—there have not been very many, but there have been some—have always insisted on living on, long after I had ceased to care for them, or they to care for me. They have become stout and tedious, and when I meet them, they go in at once for reminiscences. That awful memory of woman! What a fearful thing it is! And what an utter intellectual stagnation it reveals! One should absorb the colour of life, but one should never remember its details. Details are always vulgar.\"\n\"I must sow poppies in my garden,\" sighed Dorian.\n\"There is no necessity,\" rejoined his companion. \"Life has always poppies in her hands. Of course, now and then things linger. I once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as a form of artistic mourning for a romance that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did die. I forget what killed it. I think it was her proposing to sacrifice the whole world for me. That is always a dreadful moment. It fills one with the terror of eternity. Well—would you believe it?—a week ago, at Lady Hampshire's, I found myself seated at dinner next the lady in question, and she insisted on going over the whole thing again, and digging up the past, and raking up the future. I had buried my romance in a bed of asphodel. She dragged it out again and assured me that I had spoiled her life. I am bound to state that she ate an enormous dinner, so I did not feel any anxiety. But what a lack of taste she showed! The one charm of the past is that it is the past. But women never know when the curtain has fallen. They always want a sixth act, and as soon as the interest of the play is entirely over, they propose to continue it. If they were allowed their own way, every comedy would have a tragic ending, and every tragedy would culminate in a farce. They are charmingly artificial, but they have no sense of art. You are more fortunate than I am. I assure you, Dorian, that not one of the women I have known would have done for me what Sibyl Vane did for you. Ordinary women always console themselves. Some of them do it by going in for sentimental colours. Never trust a woman who wears mauve, whatever her age may be, or a woman over thirty-five who is fond of pink ribbons. It always means that they have a history. Others find a great consolation in suddenly discovering the good qualities of their husbands. They flaunt their conjugal felicity in one's face, as if it were the most fascinating of sins. Religion consoles some. Its mysteries have all the charm of a flirtation, a woman once told me, and I can quite understand it. Besides, nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner. Conscience makes egotists of us all. Yes; there is really no end to the consolations that women find in modern life. Indeed, I have not mentioned the most important one.\"\n\"What is that, Harry?\" said the lad listlessly.\n\"Oh, the obvious consolation. Taking some one else's admirer when one loses one's own. In good society that always whitewashes a woman. But really, Dorian, how different Sibyl Vane must have been from all the women one meets! There is something to me quite beautiful about her death. I am glad I am living in a century when such wonders happen. They make one believe in the reality of the things we all play with, such as romance, passion, and love.\"\n\"I was terribly cruel to her. You forget that.\"\n\"I am afraid that women appreciate cruelty, downright cruelty, more than anything else. They have wonderfully primitive instincts. We have emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for their masters, all the same. They love being dominated. I am sure you were splendid. I have never seen you really and absolutely angry, but I can fancy how delightful you looked. And, after all, you said something to me the day before yesterday that seemed to me at the time to be merely fanciful, but that I see now was absolutely true, and it holds the key to everything.\"\n\"What was that, Harry?\"\n\"You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of romance—that she was Desdemona one night, and Ophelia the other; that if she died as Juliet, she came to life as Imogen.\"\n\"She will never come to life again now,\" muttered the lad, burying his face in his hands.\n\"No, she will never come to life. She has played her last part. But you must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing-room simply as a strange lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy, as a wonderful scene from Webster, or Ford, or Cyril Tourneur. The girl never really lived, and so she has never really died. To you at least she was always a dream, a phantom that flitted through Shakespeare's plays and left them lovelier for its presence, a reed through which Shakespeare's music sounded richer and more full of joy. The moment she touched actual life, she marred it, and it marred her, and so she passed away. Mourn for Ophelia, if you like. Put ashes on your head because Cordelia was strangled. Cry out against Heaven because the daughter of Brabantio died. But don't waste your tears over Sibyl Vane. She was less real than they are.\"\nThere was a silence. The evening darkened in the room. Noiselessly, and with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the garden. The colours faded wearily out of things.\nAfter some time Dorian Gray looked up. \"You have explained me to myself, Harry,\" he murmured with something of a sigh of relief. \"I felt all that you have said, but somehow I was afraid of it, and I could not express it to myself. How well you know me! But we will not talk again of what has happened. It has been a marvellous experience. That is all. I wonder if life has still in store for me anything as marvellous.\"", "chosen": "Harry,\", I, Do, The, I, I, I, And, It, It, I, They, They, Sometimes,, If, Suddenly, Or, We, In, Some, I, It, The, They, That, What, And, One, Details, There, Life, Of, I, Ultimately,, I, I, That, It, Well—would, I, She, I, But, The, But, They, If, They, You, I, Ordinary, Some, Never, It, Others, They, Religion, Its, Besides,, Conscience, Yes;, Indeed,, Oh,, Taking, In, But, There, I, They, You, They, We, They, I, I, And,, No,, She, But, The, To, The, Mourn, Put, Cry, But, She, The, Noiselessly,, The, After, You, I, How, But, It, That, I", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nHarry,\", I, Do, The, I, I, I, And, It, It, I, They, They, Sometimes,, If, Suddenly, Or, We, In, Some, I, It, The, They, That, What, And, One, Details, There, Life, Of, I, Ultimately,, I, I, That, It, Well—would, I, She, I, But, The, But, They, If, They, You, I, Ordinary, Some, Never, It, Others, They, Religion, Its, Besides,, Conscience, Yes;, Indeed,, Oh,, Taking, In, But, There, I, They, You, They, We, They, I, I, And,, No,, She, But, The, To, The, Mourn, Put, Cry, But, She, The, Noiselessly,, The, After, You, I, How, But, It, That, I\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-174-008-02-063728ab", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nWhen I sold off Kimber without reserve, Peartree (as poor as he can hold together) had several prime household lots knocked down to him. I am not to be blinded; and of course it was as plain to me what he was going to do with them, as it was that he was a brown hulking sort of revolutionary subject who had been in India with the soldiers, and ought (for the sake of society) to have his neck broke. I saw the lots shortly afterwards in Kimber's lodgings—through the window—and I easily made out that there had been a sneaking pretence of lending them till better times. A man with a smaller knowledge of the world than myself might have been led to suspect that Kimber had held back money from his creditors, and fraudulently bought the goods. But, besides that I knew for certain he had no money, I knew that this would involve a species of forethought not to be made compatible with the frivolity of a caperer, inoculating other people with capering, for his bread.\nAs it was the first time I had seen either of those two since the sale, I kept myself in what I call Abeyance. When selling him up, I had delivered a few remarks—shall I say a little homily?—concerning Kimber, which the world did regard as more than usually worth notice. I had come up into my pulpit, it was said, uncommonly like—and a murmur of recognition had repeated his (I will not name whose) title, before I spoke. I had then gone on to say that all present would find, in the first page of the catalogue that was lying before them, in the last paragraph before the first lot, the following words: 'Sold in pursuance of a writ of execution issued by a creditor.' I had then proceeded to remind my friends, that however frivolous, not to say contemptible, the business by which a man got his goods together, still his goods were as dear to him, and as cheap to society (if sold without reserve), as though his pursuits had been of a character that would bear serious contemplation. I had then divided my text (if I may be allowed so to call it) into three heads: firstly, Sold; secondly, In pursuance of a writ of execution; thirdly, Issued by a creditor; with a few moral reflections on each, and winding up with, 'Now to the first lot' in a manner that was complimented when I afterwards mingled with my hearers.\nSo, not being certain on what terms I and Kimber stood, I was grave, I was chilling. Kimber, however, moving to me, I moved to Kimber. (I was the creditor who had issued the writ. Not that it matters.)\n'I was alluding, Mr. Sapsea,' said Kimber, 'to a stranger who entered into conversation with me in the street as I came to the Club. He had been speaking to you just before, it seemed, by the churchyard; and though you had told him who you were, I could hardly persuade him that you were not high in the Church.'\n'Idiot?' said Peartree.\n'Ass!' said Kimber.\n'Idiot and Ass!' said the other five members.\n'Idiot and Ass, gentlemen,' I remonstrated, looking around me, 'are strong expressions to apply to a young man of good appearance and address.' My generosity was roused; I own it.\n'You'll admit that he must be a Fool,' said Peartree.\n'You can't deny that he must be a Blockhead,' said Kimber.\nTheir tone of disgust amounted to being offensive. Why should the young man be so calumniated? What had he done? He had only made an innocent and natural mistake. I controlled my generous indignation, and said so.\n'Natural?' repeated Kimber. 'He's a Natural!'\nThe remaining six members of the Eight Club laughed unanimously. It stung me. It was a scornful laugh. My anger was roused in behalf of an absent, friendless stranger. I rose (for I had been sitting down).\n'Gentlemen,' I said with dignity, 'I will not remain one of this Club allowing opprobrium to be cast on an unoffending person in his absence. I will not so violate what I call the sacred rites of hospitality. Gentlemen, until you know how to behave yourselves better, I leave you. Gentlemen, until then I withdraw, from this place of meeting, whatever personal qualifications I may have brought into it. Gentlemen, until then you cease to be the Eight Club, and must make the best you can of becoming the Seven.'\nI put on my hat and retired. As I went down stairs I distinctly heard them give a suppressed cheer. Such is the power of demeanour and knowledge of mankind. I had forced it out of them.", "chosen": "40", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n40\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-564-023-05-ac116681", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nWhile now the fated Pequod had been so long afloat this voyage, the log and line had but very seldom been in use. Owing to a confident reliance upon other means of determining the vessel's place, some merchantmen, and many whalemen, especially when cruising, wholly neglect to heave the log; though at the same time, and frequently more for form's sake than anything else, regularly putting down upon the customary slate the course steered by the ship, as well as the presumed average rate of progression every hour. It had been thus with the Pequod. The wooden reel and angular log attached hung, long untouched, just beneath the railing of the after bulwarks. Rains and spray had damped it; sun and wind had warped it; all the elements had combined to rot a thing that hung so idly. But heedless of all this, his mood seized Ahab, as he happened to glance upon the reel, not many hours after the magnet scene, and he remembered how his quadrant was no more, and recalled his frantic oath about the level log and line. The ship was sailing plungingly; astern the billows rolled in riots.\n\"Forward, there! Heave the log!\"\nTwo seamen came. The golden-hued Tahitian and the grizzly Manxman. \"Take the reel, one of ye, I'll heave.\"\nThey went towards the extreme stern, on the ship's lee side, where the deck, with the oblique energy of the wind, was now almost dipping into the creamy, sidelong-rushing sea.\nThe Manxman took the reel, and holding it high up, by the projecting handle-ends of the spindle, round which the spool of line revolved, so stood with the angular log hanging downwards, till Ahab advanced to him.\nAhab stood before him, and was lightly unwinding some thirty or forty turns to form a preliminary hand-coil to toss overboard, when the old Manxman, who was intently eyeing both him and the line, made bold to speak.\n\"Sir, I mistrust it; this line looks far gone, long heat and wet have spoiled it.\"\n\"'Twill hold, old gentleman. Long heat and wet, have they spoiled thee? Thou seem'st to hold. Or, truer perhaps, life holds thee; not thou it.\"\n\"I hold the spool, sir. But just as my captain says. With these grey hairs of mine 'tis not worth while disputing, 'specially with a superior, who'll ne'er confess.\"\n\"What's that? There now's a patched professor in Queen Nature's granite-founded College; but methinks he's too subservient. Where wert thou born?\"\n\"In the little rocky Isle of Man, sir.\"\n\"Excellent! Thou'st hit the world by that.\"\n\"I know not, sir, but I was born there.\"\n\"In the Isle of Man, hey? Well, the other way, it's good. Here's a man from Man; a man born in once independent Man, and now unmanned of Man; which is sucked in—by what? Up with the reel! The dead, blind wall butts all inquiring heads at last. Up with it! So.\"\nThe log was heaved. The loose coils rapidly straightened out in a long dragging line astern, and then, instantly, the reel began to whirl. In turn, jerkingly raised and lowered by the rolling billows, the towing resistance of the log caused the old reelman to stagger strangely.\n\"Hold hard!\"\nSnap! the overstrained line sagged down in one long festoon; the tugging log was gone.\n\"I crush the quadrant, the thunder turns the needles, and now the mad sea parts the log-line. But Ahab can mend all. Haul in here, Tahitian; reel up, Manxman. And look ye, let the carpenter make another log, and mend thou the line. See to it.\"\n\"There he goes now; to him nothing's happened; but to me, the skewer seems loosening out of the middle of the world. Haul in, haul in, Tahitian! These lines run whole, and whirling out: come in broken, and dragging slow. Ha, Pip? come to help; eh, Pip?\"\n\"Pip? whom call ye Pip? Pip jumped from the whale-boat. Pip's missing. Let's see now if ye haven't fished him up here, fisherman. It drags hard; I guess he's holding on. Jerk him, Tahiti! Jerk him off; we haul in no cowards here. Ho! there's his arm just breaking water. A hatchet! a hatchet! cut it off—we haul in no cowards here. Captain Ahab! sir, sir! here's Pip, trying to get on board again.\"\n\"Peace, thou crazy loon,\" cried the Manxman, seizing him by the arm. \"Away from the quarter-deck!\"\n\"The greater idiot ever scolds the lesser,\" muttered Ahab, advancing. \"Hands off from that holiness! Where sayest thou Pip was, boy?\n\"Astern there, sir, astern! Lo! lo!\"\n\"And who art thou, boy? I see not my reflection in the vacant pupils of thy eyes. Oh God! that man should be a thing for immortal souls to sieve through! Who art thou, boy?\"\n\"Bell-boy, sir; ship's-crier; ding, dong, ding! Pip! Pip! Pip! One hundred pounds of clay reward for Pip; five feet high—looks cowardly—quickest known by that! Ding, dong, ding! Who's seen Pip the coward?\"\n\"There can be no hearts above the snow-line. Oh, ye frozen heavens! look down here. Ye did beget this luckless child, and have abandoned him, ye creative libertines. Here, boy; Ahab's cabin shall be Pip's home henceforth, while Ahab lives. Thou touchest my inmost centre, boy; thou art tied to me by cords woven of my heart-strings. Come, let's down.\"\n\"What's this? here's velvet shark-skin,\" intently gazing at Ahab's hand, and feeling it. \"Ah, now, had poor Pip but felt so kind a thing as this, perhaps he had ne'er been lost! This seems to me, sir, as a man-rope; something that weak souls may hold by. Oh, sir, let old Perth now come and rivet these two hands together; the black one with the white, for I will not let this go.\"\n\"Oh, boy, nor will I thee, unless I should thereby drag thee to worse horrors than are here. Come, then, to my cabin. Lo! ye believers in gods all goodness, and in man all ill, lo you! see the omniscient gods oblivious of suffering man; and man, though idiotic, and knowing not what he does, yet full of the sweet things of love and gratitude. Come! I feel prouder leading thee by thy black hand, than though I grasped an Emperor's!\"\n\"There go two daft ones now,\" muttered the old Manxman. \"One daft with strength, the other daft with weakness. But here's the end of the rotten line—all dripping, too. Mend it, eh? I think we had best have a new line altogether. I'll see Mr. Stubb about it.\"", "chosen": "Owing to a confident reliance upon other means of determining the vessel's place, some merchantmen, and many whalemen, especially when cruising, wholly neglect to heave the log; though at the same time, and frequently more for form's sake than anything else, regularly putting down upon the customary slate the course steered by the ship, as well as the presumed average rate of progression every hour.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nOwing to a confident reliance upon other means of determining the vessel's place, some merchantmen, and many whalemen, especially when cruising, wholly neglect to heave the log; though at the same time, and frequently more for form's sake than anything else, regularly putting down upon the customary slate the course steered by the ship, as well as the presumed average rate of progression every hour.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2701-108-00-1d3ca9ef", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAnd so on that frosty, snowy, and windy day in November, Kolya Krassotkin was sitting at home. It was Sunday and there was no school. It had just struck eleven, and he particularly wanted to go out \"on very urgent business,\" but he was left alone in charge of the house, for it so happened that all its elder inmates were absent owing to a sudden and singular event. Madame Krassotkin had let two little rooms, separated from the rest of the house by a passage, to a doctor's wife with her two small children. This lady was the same age as Anna Fyodorovna, and a great friend of hers. Her husband, the doctor, had taken his departure twelve months before, going first to Orenburg and then to Tashkend, and for the last six months she had not heard a word from him. Had it not been for her friendship with Madame Krassotkin, which was some consolation to the forsaken lady, she would certainly have completely dissolved away in tears. And now, to add to her misfortunes, Katerina, her only servant, was suddenly moved the evening before to announce, to her mistress's amazement, that she proposed to bring a child into the world before morning. It seemed almost miraculous to every one that no one had noticed the probability of it before. The astounded doctor's wife decided to move Katerina while there was still time to an establishment in the town kept by a midwife for such emergencies. As she set great store by her servant, she promptly carried out this plan and remained there looking after her. By the morning all Madame Krassotkin's friendly sympathy and energy were called upon to render assistance and appeal to some one for help in the case.\nSo both the ladies were absent from home, the Krassotkins' servant, Agafya, had gone out to the market, and Kolya was thus left for a time to protect and look after \"the kids,\" that is, the son and daughter of the doctor's wife, who were left alone. Kolya was not afraid of taking care of the house, besides he had Perezvon, who had been told to lie flat, without moving, under the bench in the hall. Every time Kolya, walking to and fro through the rooms, came into the hall, the dog shook his head and gave two loud and insinuating taps on the floor with his tail, but alas! the whistle did not sound to release him. Kolya looked sternly at the luckless dog, who relapsed again into obedient rigidity. The one thing that troubled Kolya was \"the kids.\" He looked, of course, with the utmost scorn on Katerina's unexpected adventure, but he was very fond of the bereaved \"kiddies,\" and had already taken them a picture-book. Nastya, the elder, a girl of eight, could read, and Kostya, the boy, aged seven, was very fond of being read to by her. Krassotkin could, of course, have provided more diverting entertainment for them. He could have made them stand side by side and played soldiers with them, or sent them hiding all over the house. He had done so more than once before and was not above doing it, so much so that a report once spread at school that Krassotkin played horses with the little lodgers at home, prancing with his head on one side like a trace-horse. But Krassotkin haughtily parried this thrust, pointing out that to play horses with boys of one's own age, boys of thirteen, would certainly be disgraceful \"at this date,\" but that he did it for the sake of \"the kids\" because he liked them, and no one had a right to call him to account for his feelings. The two \"kids\" adored him.\nBut on this occasion he was in no mood for games. He had very important business of his own before him, something almost mysterious. Meanwhile time was passing and Agafya, with whom he could have left the children, would not come back from market. He had several times already crossed the passage, opened the door of the lodgers' room and looked anxiously at \"the kids\" who were sitting over the book, as he had bidden them. Every time he opened the door they grinned at him, hoping he would come in and would do something delightful and amusing. But Kolya was bothered and did not go in.\nAt last it struck eleven and he made up his mind, once for all, that if that \"damned\" Agafya did not come back within ten minutes he should go out without waiting for her, making \"the kids\" promise, of course, to be brave when he was away, not to be naughty, not to cry from fright. With this idea he put on his wadded winter overcoat with its catskin fur collar, slung his satchel round his shoulder, and, regardless of his mother's constantly reiterated entreaties that he would always put on goloshes in such cold weather, he looked at them contemptuously as he crossed the hall and went out with only his boots on. Perezvon, seeing him in his outdoor clothes, began tapping nervously, yet vigorously, on the floor with his tail. Twitching all over, he even uttered a plaintive whine. But Kolya, seeing his dog's passionate excitement, decided that it was a breach of discipline, kept him for another minute under the bench, and only when he had opened the door into the passage, whistled for him. The dog leapt up like a mad creature and rushed bounding before him rapturously.\nKolya opened the door to peep at \"the kids.\" They were both sitting as before at the table, not reading but warmly disputing about something. The children often argued together about various exciting problems of life, and Nastya, being the elder, always got the best of it. If Kostya did not agree with her, he almost always appealed to Kolya Krassotkin, and his verdict was regarded as infallible by both of them. This time the \"kids'\" discussion rather interested Krassotkin, and he stood still in the passage to listen. The children saw he was listening and that made them dispute with even greater energy.\n\"I shall never, never believe,\" Nastya prattled, \"that the old women find babies among the cabbages in the kitchen-garden. It's winter now and there are no cabbages, and so the old woman couldn't have taken Katerina a daughter.\"\nKolya whistled to himself.\n\"Or perhaps they do bring babies from somewhere, but only to those who are married.\"\nKostya stared at Nastya and listened, pondering profoundly.\n\"Nastya, how silly you are!\" he said at last, firmly and calmly. \"How can Katerina have a baby when she isn't married?\"\nNastya was exasperated.\n\"You know nothing about it,\" she snapped irritably. \"Perhaps she has a husband, only he is in prison, so now she's got a baby.\"\n\"But is her husband in prison?\" the matter-of-fact Kostya inquired gravely.\n\"Or, I tell you what,\" Nastya interrupted impulsively, completely rejecting and forgetting her first hypothesis. \"She hasn't a husband, you are right there, but she wants to be married, and so she's been thinking of getting married, and thinking and thinking of it till now she's got it, that is, not a husband but a baby.\"\n\"Well, perhaps so,\" Kostya agreed, entirely vanquished. \"But you didn't say so before. So how could I tell?\"\n\"Come, kiddies,\" said Kolya, stepping into the room. \"You're terrible people, I see.\"\n\"And Perezvon with you!\" grinned Kostya, and began snapping his fingers and calling Perezvon.\n\"I am in a difficulty, kids,\" Krassotkin began solemnly, \"and you must help me. Agafya must have broken her leg, since she has not turned up till now, that's certain. I must go out. Will you let me go?\"\nThe children looked anxiously at one another. Their smiling faces showed signs of uneasiness, but they did not yet fully grasp what was expected of them.\n\"You won't be naughty while I am gone? You won't climb on the cupboard and break your legs? You won't be frightened alone and cry?\"\nA look of profound despondency came into the children's faces.\n\"And I could show you something as a reward, a little copper cannon which can be fired with real gunpowder.\"\nThe children's faces instantly brightened. \"Show us the cannon,\" said Kostya, beaming all over.", "chosen": "[\"on very urgent business,\", \"the kids,\", \"the kids.\", \"kiddies,\", \"at this date,\", \"the kids\", \"kids\", \"the kids\", \"damned\", \"the kids\", \"the kids.\", \"kids'\", \"I shall never, never believe,\", \"that the old women find babies among the cabbages in the kitchen-garden. It's winter now and there are no cabbages, and so the old woman couldn't have taken Katerina a daughter.\", \"Or perhaps they do bring babies from somewhere, but only to those who are married.\", \"Nastya, how silly you are!\", \"How can Katerina have a baby when she isn't married?\", \"You know nothing about it,\", \"Perhaps she has a husband, only he is in prison, so now she's got a baby.\", \"But is her husband in prison?\", \"Or, I tell you what,\", \"Well, perhaps so,\", \"But you didn't say so before. So how could I tell?\", \"Come, kiddies,\", \"You're terrible people, I see.\", \"And Perezvon with you!\", \"I am in a difficulty, kids,\", \"and you must help me. Agafya must have broken her leg, since she has not turned up till now, that's certain. I must go out. Will you let me go?\", \"You won't be naughty while I am gone? You won't climb on the cupboard and break your legs? You won't be frightened alone and cry?\", \"And I could show you something as a reward, a little copper cannon which can be fired with real gunpowder.\", \"Show us the cannon,\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"on very urgent business,\", \"the kids,\", \"the kids.\", \"kiddies,\", \"at this date,\", \"the kids\", \"kids\", \"the kids\", \"damned\", \"the kids\", \"the kids.\", \"kids'\", \"I shall never, never believe,\", \"that the old women find babies among the cabbages in the kitchen-garden. It's winter now and there are no cabbages, and so the old woman couldn't have taken Katerina a daughter.\", \"Or perhaps they do bring babies from somewhere, but only to those who are married.\", \"Nastya, how silly you are!\", \"How can Katerina have a baby when she isn't married?\", \"You know nothing about it,\", \"Perhaps she has a husband, only he is in prison, so now she's got a baby.\", \"But is her husband in prison?\", \"Or, I tell you what,\", \"Well, perhaps so,\", \"But you didn't say so before. So how could I tell?\", \"Come, kiddies,\", \"You're terrible people, I see.\", \"And Perezvon with you!\", \"I am in a difficulty, kids,\", \"and you must help me. Agafya must have broken her leg, since she has not turned up till now, that's certain. I must go out. Will you let me go?\", \"You won't be naughty while I am gone? You won't climb on the cupboard and break your legs? You won't be frightened alone and cry?\", \"And I could show you something as a reward, a little copper cannon which can be fired with real gunpowder.\", \"Show us the cannon,\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-062-00-f055b274", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"If thou hast heard a word, let it die with thee.\" —Ecclesiasticus.\nMr. Bulstrode was still seated in his manager's room at the Bank, about three o'clock of the same day on which he had received Lydgate there, when the clerk entered to say that his horse was waiting, and also that Mr. Garth was outside and begged to speak with him.\n\"By all means,\" said Bulstrode; and Caleb entered. \"Pray sit down, Mr. Garth,\" continued the banker, in his suavest tone.\n\"I am glad that you arrived just in time to find me here. I know you count your minutes.\"\n\"Oh,\" said Caleb, gently, with a slow swing of his head on one side, as he seated himself and laid his hat on the floor.\nHe looked at the ground, leaning forward and letting his long fingers droop between his legs, while each finger moved in succession, as if it were sharing some thought which filled his large quiet brow.\nMr. Bulstrode, like every one else who knew Caleb, was used to his slowness in beginning to speak on any topic which he felt to be important, and rather expected that he was about to recur to the buying of some houses in Blindman's Court, for the sake of pulling them down, as a sacrifice of property which would be well repaid by the influx of air and light on that spot. It was by propositions of this kind that Caleb was sometimes troublesome to his employers; but he had usually found Bulstrode ready to meet him in projects of improvement, and they had got on well together. When he spoke again, however, it was to say, in rather a subdued voice—\n\"I have just come away from Stone Court, Mr. Bulstrode.\"\n\"You found nothing wrong there, I hope,\" said the banker; \"I was there myself yesterday. Abel has done well with the lambs this year.\"\n\"Why, yes,\" said Caleb, looking up gravely, \"there is something wrong—a stranger, who is very ill, I think. He wants a doctor, and I came to tell you of that. His name is Raffles.\"\nHe saw the shock of his words passing through Bulstrode's frame. On this subject the banker had thought that his fears were too constantly on the watch to be taken by surprise; but he had been mistaken.\n\"Poor wretch!\" he said in a compassionate tone, though his lips trembled a little. \"Do you know how he came there?\"\n\"I took him myself,\" said Caleb, quietly—\"took him up in my gig. He had got down from the coach, and was walking a little beyond the turning from the toll-house, and I overtook him. He remembered seeing me with you once before, at Stone Court, and he asked me to take him on. I saw he was ill: it seemed to me the right thing to do, to carry him under shelter. And now I think you should lose no time in getting advice for him.\" Caleb took up his hat from the floor as he ended, and rose slowly from his seat.\n\"Certainly,\" said Bulstrode, whose mind was very active at this moment. \"Perhaps you will yourself oblige me, Mr. Garth, by calling at Mr. Lydgate's as you pass—or stay! he may at this hour probably be at the Hospital. I will first send my man on the horse there with a note this instant, and then I will myself ride to Stone Court.\"\nBulstrode quickly wrote a note, and went out himself to give the commission to his man. When he returned, Caleb was standing as before with one hand on the back of the chair, holding his hat with the other. In Bulstrode's mind the dominant thought was, \"Perhaps Raffles only spoke to Garth of his illness. Garth may wonder, as he must have done before, at this disreputable fellow's claiming intimacy with me; but he will know nothing. And he is friendly to me—I can be of use to him.\"\nHe longed for some confirmation of this hopeful conjecture, but to have asked any question as to what Raffles had said or done would have been to betray fear.\n\"I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Garth,\" he said, in his usual tone of politeness. \"My servant will be back in a few minutes, and I shall then go myself to see what can be done for this unfortunate man. Perhaps you had some other business with me? If so, pray be seated.\"\n\"Thank you,\" said Caleb, making a slight gesture with his right hand to waive the invitation. \"I wish to say, Mr. Bulstrode, that I must request you to put your business into some other hands than mine. I am obliged to you for your handsome way of meeting me—about the letting of Stone Court, and all other business. But I must give it up.\" A sharp certainty entered like a stab into Bulstrode's soul.\n\"This is sudden, Mr. Garth,\" was all he could say at first.\n\"It is,\" said Caleb; \"but it is quite fixed. I must give it up.\"\nHe spoke with a firmness which was very gentle, and yet he could see that Bulstrode seemed to cower under that gentleness, his face looking dried and his eyes swerving away from the glance which rested on him. Caleb felt a deep pity for him, but he could have used no pretexts to account for his resolve, even if they would have been of any use.\n\"You have been led to this, I apprehend, by some slanders concerning me uttered by that unhappy creature,\" said Bulstrode, anxious now to know the utmost.\n\"That is true. I can't deny that I act upon what I heard from him.\"\n\"You are a conscientious man, Mr. Garth—a man, I trust, who feels himself accountable to God. You would not wish to injure me by being too ready to believe a slander,\" said Bulstrode, casting about for pleas that might be adapted to his hearer's mind. \"That is a poor reason for giving up a connection which I think I may say will be mutually beneficial.\"\n\"I would injure no man if I could help it,\" said Caleb; \"even if I thought God winked at it. I hope I should have a feeling for my fellow-creature. But, sir—I am obliged to believe that this Raffles has told me the truth. And I can't be happy in working with you, or profiting by you. It hurts my mind. I must beg you to seek another agent.\"\n\"Very well, Mr. Garth. But I must at least claim to know the worst that he has told you. I must know what is the foul speech that I am liable to be the victim of,\" said Bulstrode, a certain amount of anger beginning to mingle with his humiliation before this quiet man who renounced his benefits.\n\"That's needless,\" said Caleb, waving his hand, bowing his head slightly, and not swerving from the tone which had in it the merciful intention to spare this pitiable man. \"What he has said to me will never pass from my lips, unless something now unknown forces it from me. If you led a harmful life for gain, and kept others out of their rights by deceit, to get the more for yourself, I dare say you repent—you would like to go back, and can't: that must be a bitter thing\"—Caleb paused a moment and shook his head—\"it is not for me to make your life harder to you.\"\n\"But you do—you do make it harder to me,\" said Bulstrode constrained into a genuine, pleading cry. \"You make it harder to me by turning your back on me.\"\n\"That I'm forced to do,\" said Caleb, still more gently, lifting up his hand. \"I am sorry. I don't judge you and say, he is wicked, and I am righteous. God forbid. I don't know everything. A man may do wrong, and his will may rise clear out of it, though he can't get his life clear. That's a bad punishment. If it is so with you,—well, I'm very sorry for you. But I have that feeling inside me, that I can't go on working with you. That's all, Mr. Bulstrode. Everything else is buried, so far as my will goes. And I wish you good-day.\"", "chosen": "goodday", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\ngoodday\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-069-00-b49a6264", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nWhen he was half-way there, the keen dry wind that had been blowing early that morning rose again, and a fine dry snow began falling thickly. It did not lie on the ground, but was whirled about by the wind, and soon there was a regular snowstorm. There were scarcely any lamp-posts in the part of the town where Smerdyakov lived. Ivan strode alone in the darkness, unconscious of the storm, instinctively picking out his way. His head ached and there was a painful throbbing in his temples. He felt that his hands were twitching convulsively. Not far from Marya Kondratyevna's cottage, Ivan suddenly came upon a solitary drunken little peasant. He was wearing a coarse and patched coat, and was walking in zigzags, grumbling and swearing to himself. Then suddenly he would begin singing in a husky drunken voice:\n\"Ach, Vanka's gone to Petersburg; I won't wait till he comes back.\"\nBut he broke off every time at the second line and began swearing again; then he would begin the same song again. Ivan felt an intense hatred for him before he had thought about him at all. Suddenly he realized his presence and felt an irresistible impulse to knock him down. At that moment they met, and the peasant with a violent lurch fell full tilt against Ivan, who pushed him back furiously. The peasant went flying backwards and fell like a log on the frozen ground. He uttered one plaintive \"O—oh!\" and then was silent. Ivan stepped up to him. He was lying on his back, without movement or consciousness. \"He will be frozen,\" thought Ivan, and he went on his way to Smerdyakov's.\nIn the passage, Marya Kondratyevna, who ran out to open the door with a candle in her hand, whispered that Smerdyakov was very ill, \"It's not that he's laid up, but he seems not himself, and he even told us to take the tea away; he wouldn't have any.\"\n\"Why, does he make a row?\" asked Ivan coarsely.\n\"Oh, dear, no, quite the contrary, he's very quiet. Only please don't talk to him too long,\" Marya Kondratyevna begged him. Ivan opened the door and stepped into the room.\nIt was over-heated as before, but there were changes in the room. One of the benches at the side had been removed, and in its place had been put a large old mahogany leather sofa, on which a bed had been made up, with fairly clean white pillows. Smerdyakov was sitting on the sofa, wearing the same dressing-gown. The table had been brought out in front of the sofa, so that there was hardly room to move. On the table lay a thick book in yellow cover, but Smerdyakov was not reading it. He seemed to be sitting doing nothing. He met Ivan with a slow silent gaze, and was apparently not at all surprised at his coming. There was a great change in his face; he was much thinner and sallower. His eyes were sunken and there were blue marks under them.\n\"Why, you really are ill?\" Ivan stopped short. \"I won't keep you long, I won't even take off my coat. Where can one sit down?\"\nHe went to the other end of the table, moved up a chair and sat down on it.\n\"Why do you look at me without speaking? I've only come with one question, and I swear I won't go without an answer. Has the young lady, Katerina Ivanovna, been with you?\"\nSmerdyakov still remained silent, looking quietly at Ivan as before. Suddenly, with a motion of his hand, he turned his face away.\n\"What's the matter with you?\" cried Ivan.\n\"Nothing.\"\n\"What do you mean by 'nothing'?\"\n\"Yes, she has. It's no matter to you. Let me alone.\"\n\"No, I won't let you alone. Tell me, when was she here?\"\n\"Why, I'd quite forgotten about her,\" said Smerdyakov, with a scornful smile, and turning his face to Ivan again, he stared at him with a look of frenzied hatred, the same look that he had fixed on him at their last interview, a month before.\n\"You seem very ill yourself, your face is sunken; you don't look like yourself,\" he said to Ivan.\n\"Never mind my health, tell me what I ask you.\"\n\"But why are your eyes so yellow? The whites are quite yellow. Are you so worried?\" He smiled contemptuously and suddenly laughed outright.\n\"Listen; I've told you I won't go away without an answer!\" Ivan cried, intensely irritated.\n\"Why do you keep pestering me? Why do you torment me?\" said Smerdyakov, with a look of suffering.\n\"Damn it! I've nothing to do with you. Just answer my question and I'll go away.\"\n\"I've no answer to give you,\" said Smerdyakov, looking down again.\n\"You may be sure I'll make you answer!\"\n\"Why are you so uneasy?\" Smerdyakov stared at him, not simply with contempt, but almost with repulsion. \"Is this because the trial begins to-morrow? Nothing will happen to you; can't you believe that at last? Go home, go to bed and sleep in peace, don't be afraid of anything.\"\n\"I don't understand you.... What have I to be afraid of to-morrow?\" Ivan articulated in astonishment, and suddenly a chill breath of fear did in fact pass over his soul. Smerdyakov measured him with his eyes.\n\"You don't understand?\" he drawled reproachfully. \"It's a strange thing a sensible man should care to play such a farce!\"\nIvan looked at him speechless. The startling, incredibly supercilious tone of this man who had once been his valet, was extraordinary in itself. He had not taken such a tone even at their last interview.\n\"I tell you, you've nothing to be afraid of. I won't say anything about you; there's no proof against you. I say, how your hands are trembling! Why are your fingers moving like that? Go home, you did not murder him.\"\nIvan started. He remembered Alyosha.\n\"I know it was not I,\" he faltered.\n\"Do you?\" Smerdyakov caught him up again.\nIvan jumped up and seized him by the shoulder.\n\"Tell me everything, you viper! Tell me everything!\"\nSmerdyakov was not in the least scared. He only riveted his eyes on Ivan with insane hatred.\n\"Well, it was you who murdered him, if that's it,\" he whispered furiously.\nIvan sank back on his chair, as though pondering something. He laughed malignantly.\n\"You mean my going away. What you talked about last time?\"\n\"You stood before me last time and understood it all, and you understand it now.\"\n\"All I understand is that you are mad.\"\n\"Aren't you tired of it? Here we are face to face; what's the use of going on keeping up a farce to each other? Are you still trying to throw it all on me, to my face? You murdered him; you are the real murderer, I was only your instrument, your faithful servant, and it was following your words I did it.\"\n\"Did it? Why, did you murder him?\" Ivan turned cold.\nSomething seemed to give way in his brain, and he shuddered all over with a cold shiver. Then Smerdyakov himself looked at him wonderingly; probably the genuineness of Ivan's horror struck him.\n\"You don't mean to say you really did not know?\" he faltered mistrustfully, looking with a forced smile into his eyes. Ivan still gazed at him, and seemed unable to speak.\nAch, Vanka's gone to Petersburg; I won't wait till he comes back,\nsuddenly echoed in his head.\n\"Do you know, I am afraid that you are a dream, a phantom sitting before me,\" he muttered.\n\"There's no phantom here, but only us two and one other. No doubt he is here, that third, between us.\"\n\"Who is he? Who is here? What third person?\" Ivan cried in alarm, looking about him, his eyes hastily searching in every corner.\n\"That third is God Himself—Providence. He is the third beside us now. Only don't look for Him, you won't find Him.\"\n\"It's a lie that you killed him!\" Ivan cried madly. \"You are mad, or teasing me again!\"\nSmerdyakov, as before, watched him curiously, with no sign of fear. He could still scarcely get over his incredulity; he still fancied that Ivan knew everything and was trying to \"throw it all on him to his face.\"", "chosen": "[\"Smerdyakov\", \"Marya\", \"Kondratyevna\", \"Ivan\", \"Ach\", \"Vanka\", \"Petersburg\", \"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Nothing\", \"Never\", \"Listen\", \"Damn\", \"Alyosha\", \"Tell\", \"All\", \"Aren\", \"Did\", \"God\", \"Himself\", \"Him\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Smerdyakov\", \"Marya\", \"Kondratyevna\", \"Ivan\", \"Ach\", \"Vanka\", \"Petersburg\", \"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Nothing\", \"Never\", \"Listen\", \"Damn\", \"Alyosha\", \"Tell\", \"All\", \"Aren\", \"Did\", \"God\", \"Himself\", \"Him\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-075-00-ac7695ab", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIt was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out together from Gracechurch Street for the town of ----, in Hertfordshire; and, as they drew near the appointed inn where Mr. Bennet's carriage was to meet them, they quickly perceived, in token of the coachman's punctuality, both Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining-room upstairs. These two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the sentinel on guard, and dressing a salad and cucumber.\nAfter welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed a table set out with such cold meat as an inn larder usually affords, exclaiming, \"Is not this nice? is not this an agreeable surprise?\"\n\"And we mean to treat you all,\" added Lydia; \"but you must lend us the money, for we have just spent ours at the shop out there.\" Then showing her purchases,--\"Look here, I have bought this bonnet. I do not think it is very pretty; but I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it up any better.\"\nAnd when her sisters abused it as ugly, she added, with perfect unconcern, \"Oh, but there were two or three much uglier in the shop; and when I have bought some prettier-coloured satin to trim it with fresh, I think it will be very tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify what one wears this summer, after the ----shire have left Meryton, and they are going in a fortnight.\"\n\"Are they, indeed?\" cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.\n\"They are going to be encamped near Brighton; and I do so want papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious scheme, and I dare say would hardly cost anything at all. Mamma would like to go, too, of all things! Only think what a miserable summer else we shall have!\"\n\"Yes,\" thought Elizabeth; \"that would be a delightful scheme, indeed, and completely do for us at once. Good Heaven! Brighton and a whole campful of soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor regiment of militia, and the monthly balls of Meryton!\"\n\"Now I have got some news for you,\" said Lydia, as they sat down to table. \"What do you think? It is excellent news, capital news, and about a certain person that we all like.\"\nJane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told that he need not stay. Lydia laughed, and said,--\n\"Ay, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought the waiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say he often hears worse things said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad he is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life. Well, but now for my news: it is about dear Wickham; too good for the waiter, is not it? There is no danger of Wickham's marrying Mary King--there's for you! She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool; gone to stay. Wickham is safe.\"\n\"And Mary King is safe!\" added Elizabeth; \"safe from a connection imprudent as to fortune.\"\n\"She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him.\"\n\"But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side,\" said Jane.\n\"I am sure there is not on his. I will answer for it, he never cared three straws about her. Who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?\"\nElizabeth was shocked to think that, however incapable of such coarseness of expression herself, the coarseness of the sentiment was little other than her own breast had formerly harboured and fancied liberal!\nAs soon as all had ate, and the elder ones paid, the carriage was ordered; and, after some contrivance, the whole party, with all their boxes, workbags, and parcels, and the unwelcome addition of Kitty's and Lydia's purchases, were seated in it.\n\"How nicely we are crammed in!\" cried Lydia. \"I am glad I brought my bonnet, if it is only for the fun of having another band-box! Well, now let us be quite comfortable and snug, and talk and laugh all the way home. And in the first place, let us hear what has happened to you all since you went away. Have you seen any pleasant men? Have you had any flirting? I was in great hopes that one of you would have got a husband before you came back. Jane will be quite an old maid soon, I declare. She is almost three-and-twenty! Lord! how ashamed I should be of not being married before three-and-twenty! My aunt Philips wants you so to get husbands you can't think. She says Lizzy had better have taken Mr. Collins; but I do not think there would have been any fun in it. Lord! how I should like to be married before any of you! and then I would chaperon you about to all the balls. Dear me! we had such a good piece of fun the other day at Colonel Forster's! Kitty and me were to spend the day there, and Mrs. Forster promised to have a little dance in the evening; (by-the-bye, Mrs. Forster and me are such friends!) and so she asked the two Harringtons to come: but Harriet was ill, and so Pen was forced to come by herself; and then, what do you think we did? We dressed up Chamberlayne in woman's clothes, on purpose to pass for a lady,--only think what fun! Not a soul knew of it, but Colonel and Mrs. Forster, and Kitty and me, except my aunt, for we were forced to borrow one of her gowns; and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When Denny, and Wickham, and Pratt, and two or three more of the men came in, they did not know him in the least. Lord! how I laughed! and so did Mrs. Forster. I thought I should have died. And that made the men suspect something, and then they soon found out what was the matter.\"\nWith such kind of histories of their parties and good jokes did Lydia, assisted by Kitty's hints and additions, endeavour to amuse her companions all the way to Longbourn. Elizabeth listened as little as she could, but there was no escaping the frequent mention of Wickham's name.\nTheir reception at home was most kind. Mrs. Bennet rejoiced to see Jane in undiminished beauty; and more than once during dinner did Mr. Bennet say voluntarily to Elizabeth,----\n\"I am glad you are come back, Lizzy.\"\nTheir party in the dining-room was large, for almost all the Lucases came to meet Maria and hear the news; and various were the subjects which occupied them: Lady Lucas was inquiring of Maria, across the table, after the welfare and poultry of her eldest daughter; Mrs. Bennet was doubly engaged, on one hand collecting an account of the present fashions from Jane, who sat some way below her, and on the other, retailing them all to the younger Miss Lucases; and Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any other person's, was enumerating the various pleasures of the morning to anybody who would hear her.\n\"Oh, Mary,\" said she, \"I wish you had gone with us, for we had such fun! as we went along Kitty and me drew up all the blinds, and pretended there was nobody in the coach; and I should have gone so all the way, if Kitty had not been sick; and when we got to the George, I do think we behaved very handsomely, for we treated the other three with the nicest cold luncheon in the world, and if you would have gone, we would have treated you too. And then when we came away it was such fun! I thought we never should have got into the coach. I was ready to die of laughter. And then we were so merry all the way home! we talked and laughed so loud, that anybody might have heard us ten miles off!\"", "chosen": "It, Bennet's, These, After, is, I, I, Besides,, They, It, Mamma, Only, Good, Brighton, What, It, Lydia, You, I, But, I, I, Well,, There, She, Wickham, I, I, Who, As, How, I, Well,, And, Have, Have, I, Jane, She, Lord!, how, My, She, Collins;, Lord!, how, and, Dear, we, Kitty, Forster, Forster, We, Not, Forster,, When, Lord!, how, and, Forster., I, And, Elizabeth, Their, Mrs., Bennet, Bennet, Bennet, Oh,, as, And, I, I, And, we", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nIt, Bennet's, These, After, is, I, I, Besides,, They, It, Mamma, Only, Good, Brighton, What, It, Lydia, You, I, But, I, I, Well,, There, She, Wickham, I, I, Who, As, How, I, Well,, And, Have, Have, I, Jane, She, Lord!, how, My, She, Collins;, Lord!, how, and, Dear, we, Kitty, Forster, Forster, We, Not, Forster,, When, Lord!, how, and, Forster., I, And, Elizabeth, Their, Mrs., Bennet, Bennet, Bennet, Oh,, as, And, I, I, And, we\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-1342-039-00-0ad313ff", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nArcher had not seen his wife since the evening before. He had left early for the office, where he had plunged into an accumulation of unimportant business. In the afternoon one of the senior partners had made an unexpected call on his time; and he had reached home so late that May had preceded him to the van der Luydens', and sent back the carriage.\nNow, across the Skuytercliff carnations and the massive plate, she struck him as pale and languid; but her eyes shone, and she talked with exaggerated animation.\nThe subject which had called forth Mr. Sillerton Jackson's favourite allusion had been brought up (Archer fancied not without intention) by their hostess. The Beaufort failure, or rather the Beaufort attitude since the failure, was still a fruitful theme for the drawing-room moralist; and after it had been thoroughly examined and condemned Mrs. van der Luyden had turned her scrupulous eyes on May Archer.\n\"Is it possible, dear, that what I hear is true? I was told your grandmother Mingott's carriage was seen standing at Mrs. Beaufort's door.\" It was noticeable that she no longer called the offending lady by her Christian name.\nMay's colour rose, and Mrs. Archer put in hastily: \"If it was, I'm convinced it was there without Mrs. Mingott's knowledge.\"\n\"Ah, you think--?\" Mrs. van der Luyden paused, sighed, and glanced at her husband.\n\"I'm afraid,\" Mr. van der Luyden said, \"that Madame Olenska's kind heart may have led her into the imprudence of calling on Mrs. Beaufort.\"\n\"Or her taste for peculiar people,\" put in Mrs. Archer in a dry tone, while her eyes dwelt innocently on her son's.\n\"I'm sorry to think it of Madame Olenska,\" said Mrs. van der Luyden; and Mrs. Archer murmured: \"Ah, my dear--and after you'd had her twice at Skuytercliff!\"\nIt was at this point that Mr. Jackson seized the chance to place his favourite allusion.\n\"At the Tuileries,\" he repeated, seeing the eyes of the company expectantly turned on him, \"the standard was excessively lax in some respects; and if you'd asked where Morny's money came from--! Or who paid the debts of some of the Court beauties ...\"\n\"I hope, dear Sillerton,\" said Mrs. Archer, \"you are not suggesting that we should adopt such standards?\"\n\"I never suggest,\" returned Mr. Jackson imperturbably. \"But Madame Olenska's foreign bringing-up may make her less particular--\"\n\"Ah,\" the two elder ladies sighed.\n\"Still, to have kept her grandmother's carriage at a defaulter's door!\" Mr. van der Luyden protested; and Archer guessed that he was remembering, and resenting, the hampers of carnations he had sent to the little house in Twenty-third Street.\n\"Of course I've always said that she looks at things quite differently,\" Mrs. Archer summed up.\nA flush rose to May's forehead. She looked across the table at her husband, and said precipitately: \"I'm sure Ellen meant it kindly.\"\n\"Imprudent people are often kind,\" said Mrs. Archer, as if the fact were scarcely an extenuation; and Mrs. van der Luyden murmured: \"If only she had consulted some one--\"\n\"Ah, that she never did!\" Mrs. Archer rejoined.\nAt this point Mr. van der Luyden glanced at his wife, who bent her head slightly in the direction of Mrs. Archer; and the glimmering trains of the three ladies swept out of the door while the gentlemen settled down to their cigars. Mr. van der Luyden supplied short ones on Opera nights; but they were so good that they made his guests deplore his inexorable punctuality.\nArcher, after the first act, had detached himself from the party and made his way to the back of the club box. From there he watched, over various Chivers, Mingott and Rushworth shoulders, the same scene that he had looked at, two years previously, on the night of his first meeting with Ellen Olenska. He had half-expected her to appear again in old Mrs. Mingott's box, but it remained empty; and he sat motionless, his eyes fastened on it, till suddenly Madame Nilsson's pure soprano broke out into \"M'ama, non m'ama ...\"\nArcher turned to the stage, where, in the familiar setting of giant roses and pen-wiper pansies, the same large blonde victim was succumbing to the same small brown seducer.\nFrom the stage his eyes wandered to the point of the horseshoe where May sat between two older ladies, just as, on that former evening, she had sat between Mrs. Lovell Mingott and her newly-arrived \"foreign\" cousin. As on that evening, she was all in white; and Archer, who had not noticed what she wore, recognised the blue-white satin and old lace of her wedding dress.\nIt was the custom, in old New York, for brides to appear in this costly garment during the first year or two of marriage: his mother, he knew, kept hers in tissue paper in the hope that Janey might some day wear it, though poor Janey was reaching the age when pearl grey poplin and no bridesmaids would be thought more \"appropriate.\"\nIt struck Archer that May, since their return from Europe, had seldom worn her bridal satin, and the surprise of seeing her in it made him compare her appearance with that of the young girl he had watched with such blissful anticipations two years earlier.\nThough May's outline was slightly heavier, as her goddesslike build had foretold, her athletic erectness of carriage, and the girlish transparency of her expression, remained unchanged: but for the slight languor that Archer had lately noticed in her she would have been the exact image of the girl playing with the bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her betrothal evening. The fact seemed an additional appeal to his pity: such innocence was as moving as the trustful clasp of a child. Then he remembered the passionate generosity latent under that incurious calm. He recalled her glance of understanding when he had urged that their engagement should be announced at the Beaufort ball; he heard the voice in which she had said, in the Mission garden: \"I couldn't have my happiness made out of a wrong--a wrong to some one else;\" and an uncontrollable longing seized him to tell her the truth, to throw himself on her generosity, and ask for the freedom he had once refused.\nNewland Archer was a quiet and self-controlled young man. Conformity to the discipline of a small society had become almost his second nature. It was deeply distasteful to him to do anything melodramatic and conspicuous, anything Mr. van der Luyden would have deprecated and the club box condemned as bad form. But he had become suddenly unconscious of the club box, of Mr. van der Luyden, of all that had so long enclosed him in the warm shelter of habit. He walked along the semi-circular passage at the back of the house, and opened the door of Mrs. van der Luyden's box as if it had been a gate into the unknown.\n\"M'ama!\" thrilled out the triumphant Marguerite; and the occupants of the box looked up in surprise at Archer's entrance. He had already broken one of the rules of his world, which forbade the entering of a box during a solo.\nSlipping between Mr. van der Luyden and Sillerton Jackson, he leaned over his wife.\n\"I've got a beastly headache; don't tell any one, but come home, won't you?\" he whispered.\nMay gave him a glance of comprehension, and he saw her whisper to his mother, who nodded sympathetically; then she murmured an excuse to Mrs. van der Luyden, and rose from her seat just as Marguerite fell into Faust's arms. Archer, while he helped her on with her Opera cloak, noticed the exchange of a significant smile between the older ladies.\nAs they drove away May laid her hand shyly on his. \"I'm so sorry you don't feel well. I'm afraid they've been overworking you again at the office.\"\n\"No--it's not that: do you mind if I open the window?\" he returned confusedly, letting down the pane on his side. He sat staring out into the street, feeling his wife beside him as a silent watchful interrogation, and keeping his eyes steadily fixed on the passing houses. At their door she caught her skirt in the step of the carriage, and fell against him.\n\"Did you hurt yourself?\" he asked, steadying her with his arm.", "chosen": "76", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n76\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-541-014-03-b1e54eb9", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Gentlemen of the jury, is that really so? Is it positively, actually true that there is no one else at all? We've heard the prosecutor count on his fingers all the persons who were in that house that night. They were five in number; three of them, I agree, could not have been responsible—the murdered man himself, old Grigory, and his wife. There are left then the prisoner and Smerdyakov, and the prosecutor dramatically exclaims that the prisoner pointed to Smerdyakov because he had no one else to fix on, that had there been a sixth person, even a phantom of a sixth person, he would have abandoned the charge against Smerdyakov at once in shame and have accused that other. But, gentlemen of the jury, why may I not draw the very opposite conclusion? There are two persons—the prisoner and Smerdyakov. Why can I not say that you accuse my client, simply because you have no one else to accuse? And you have no one else only because you have determined to exclude Smerdyakov from all suspicion.\n\"It's true, indeed, Smerdyakov is accused only by the prisoner, his two brothers, and Madame Svyetlov. But there are others who accuse him: there are vague rumors of a question, of a suspicion, an obscure report, a feeling of expectation. Finally, we have the evidence of a combination of facts very suggestive, though, I admit, inconclusive. In the first place we have precisely on the day of the catastrophe that fit, for the genuineness of which the prosecutor, for some reason, has felt obliged to make a careful defense. Then Smerdyakov's sudden suicide on the eve of the trial. Then the equally startling evidence given in court to-day by the elder of the prisoner's brothers, who had believed in his guilt, but has to-day produced a bundle of notes and proclaimed Smerdyakov as the murderer. Oh, I fully share the court's and the prosecutor's conviction that Ivan Karamazov is suffering from brain fever, that his statement may really be a desperate effort, planned in delirium, to save his brother by throwing the guilt on the dead man. But again Smerdyakov's name is pronounced, again there is a suggestion of mystery. There is something unexplained, incomplete. And perhaps it may one day be explained. But we won't go into that now. Of that later.\n\"The court has resolved to go on with the trial, but, meantime, I might make a few remarks about the character-sketch of Smerdyakov drawn with subtlety and talent by the prosecutor. But while I admire his talent I cannot agree with him. I have visited Smerdyakov, I have seen him and talked to him, and he made a very different impression on me. He was weak in health, it is true; but in character, in spirit, he was by no means the weak man the prosecutor has made him out to be. I found in him no trace of the timidity on which the prosecutor so insisted. There was no simplicity about him, either. I found in him, on the contrary, an extreme mistrustfulness concealed under a mask of naïveté, and an intelligence of considerable range. The prosecutor was too simple in taking him for weak-minded. He made a very definite impression on me: I left him with the conviction that he was a distinctly spiteful creature, excessively ambitious, vindictive, and intensely envious. I made some inquiries: he resented his parentage, was ashamed of it, and would clench his teeth when he remembered that he was the son of 'stinking Lizaveta.' He was disrespectful to the servant Grigory and his wife, who had cared for him in his childhood. He cursed and jeered at Russia. He dreamed of going to France and becoming a Frenchman. He used often to say that he hadn't the means to do so. I fancy he loved no one but himself and had a strangely high opinion of himself. His conception of culture was limited to good clothes, clean shirt-fronts and polished boots. Believing himself to be the illegitimate son of Fyodor Pavlovitch (there is evidence of this), he might well have resented his position, compared with that of his master's legitimate sons. They had everything, he nothing. They had all the rights, they had the inheritance, while he was only the cook. He told me himself that he had helped Fyodor Pavlovitch to put the notes in the envelope. The destination of that sum—a sum which would have made his career—must have been hateful to him. Moreover, he saw three thousand roubles in new rainbow-colored notes. (I asked him about that on purpose.) Oh, beware of showing an ambitious and envious man a large sum of money at once! And it was the first time he had seen so much money in the hands of one man. The sight of the rainbow-colored notes may have made a morbid impression on his imagination, but with no immediate results.\n\"The talented prosecutor, with extraordinary subtlety, sketched for us all the arguments for and against the hypothesis of Smerdyakov's guilt, and asked us in particular what motive he had in feigning a fit. But he may not have been feigning at all, the fit may have happened quite naturally, but it may have passed off quite naturally, and the sick man may have recovered, not completely perhaps, but still regaining consciousness, as happens with epileptics.\n\"The prosecutor asks at what moment could Smerdyakov have committed the murder. But it is very easy to point out that moment. He might have waked up from deep sleep (for he was only asleep—an epileptic fit is always followed by a deep sleep) at that moment when the old Grigory shouted at the top of his voice 'Parricide!' That shout in the dark and stillness may have waked Smerdyakov whose sleep may have been less sound at the moment: he might naturally have waked up an hour before.\n\"Getting out of bed, he goes almost unconsciously and with no definite motive towards the sound to see what's the matter. His head is still clouded with his attack, his faculties are half asleep; but, once in the garden, he walks to the lighted windows and he hears terrible news from his master, who would be, of course, glad to see him. His mind sets to work at once. He hears all the details from his frightened master, and gradually in his disordered brain there shapes itself an idea—terrible, but seductive and irresistibly logical. To kill the old man, take the three thousand, and throw all the blame on to his young master. A terrible lust of money, of booty, might seize upon him as he realized his security from detection. Oh! these sudden and irresistible impulses come so often when there is a favorable opportunity, and especially with murderers who have had no idea of committing a murder beforehand. And Smerdyakov may have gone in and carried out his plan. With what weapon? Why, with any stone picked up in the garden. But what for, with what object? Why, the three thousand which means a career for him. Oh, I am not contradicting myself—the money may have existed. And perhaps Smerdyakov alone knew where to find it, where his master kept it. And the covering of the money—the torn envelope on the floor?\n\"Just now, when the prosecutor was explaining his subtle theory that only an inexperienced thief like Karamazov would have left the envelope on the floor, and not one like Smerdyakov, who would have avoided leaving a piece of evidence against himself, I thought as I listened that I was hearing something very familiar, and, would you believe it, I have heard that very argument, that very conjecture, of how Karamazov would have behaved, precisely two days before, from Smerdyakov himself. What's more, it struck me at the time. I fancied that there was an artificial simplicity about him; that he was in a hurry to suggest this idea to me that I might fancy it was my own. He insinuated it, as it were. Did he not insinuate the same idea at the inquiry and suggest it to the talented prosecutor?", "chosen": "\"Just now, when the prosecutor was explaining his subtle theory that only an inexperienced thief like Karamazov would have left the envelope on the floor, and not one like Smerdyakov, who would have avoided leaving a piece of evidence against himself, I thought as I listened that I was hearing something very familiar, and, would you believe it, I have heard that very argument, that very conjecture, of how Karamazov would have behaved, precisely two days before, from Smerdyakov himself.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n\"Just now, when the prosecutor was explaining his subtle theory that only an inexperienced thief like Karamazov would have left the envelope on the floor, and not one like Smerdyakov, who would have avoided leaving a piece of evidence against himself, I thought as I listened that I was hearing something very familiar, and, would you believe it, I have heard that very argument, that very conjecture, of how Karamazov would have behaved, precisely two days before, from Smerdyakov himself.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-089-01-4ed1c278", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nBut Dmitri Fyodorovitch was speeding along the road. It was a little more than twenty versts to Mokroe, but Andrey's three horses galloped at such a pace that the distance might be covered in an hour and a quarter. The swift motion revived Mitya. The air was fresh and cool, there were big stars shining in the sky. It was the very night, and perhaps the very hour, in which Alyosha fell on the earth, and rapturously swore to love it for ever and ever.\nAll was confusion, confusion, in Mitya's soul, but although many things were goading his heart, at that moment his whole being was yearning for her, his queen, to whom he was flying to look on her for the last time. One thing I can say for certain; his heart did not waver for one instant. I shall perhaps not be believed when I say that this jealous lover felt not the slightest jealousy of this new rival, who seemed to have sprung out of the earth. If any other had appeared on the scene, he would have been jealous at once, and would perhaps have stained his fierce hands with blood again. But as he flew through the night, he felt no envy, no hostility even, for the man who had been her first lover.... It is true he had not yet seen him.\n\"Here there was no room for dispute: it was her right and his; this was her first love which, after five years, she had not forgotten; so she had loved him only for those five years, and I, how do I come in? What right have I? Step aside, Mitya, and make way! What am I now? Now everything is over apart from the officer—even if he had not appeared, everything would be over ...\"\nThese words would roughly have expressed his feelings, if he had been capable of reasoning. But he could not reason at that moment. His present plan of action had arisen without reasoning. At Fenya's first words, it had sprung from feeling, and been adopted in a flash, with all its consequences. And yet, in spite of his resolution, there was confusion in his soul, an agonizing confusion: his resolution did not give him peace. There was so much behind that tortured him. And it seemed strange to him, at moments, to think that he had written his own sentence of death with pen and paper: \"I punish myself,\" and the paper was lying there in his pocket, ready; the pistol was loaded; he had already resolved how, next morning, he would meet the first warm ray of \"golden-haired Phœbus.\"\nAnd yet he could not be quit of the past, of all that he had left behind and that tortured him. He felt that miserably, and the thought of it sank into his heart with despair. There was one moment when he felt an impulse to stop Andrey, to jump out of the cart, to pull out his loaded pistol, and to make an end of everything without waiting for the dawn. But that moment flew by like a spark. The horses galloped on, \"devouring space,\" and as he drew near his goal, again the thought of her, of her alone, took more and more complete possession of his soul, chasing away the fearful images that had been haunting it. Oh, how he longed to look upon her, if only for a moment, if only from a distance!\n\"She's now with him,\" he thought, \"now I shall see what she looks like with him, her first love, and that's all I want.\" Never had this woman, who was such a fateful influence in his life, aroused such love in his breast, such new and unknown feeling, surprising even to himself, a feeling tender to devoutness, to self-effacement before her! \"I will efface myself!\" he said, in a rush of almost hysterical ecstasy.\nThey had been galloping nearly an hour. Mitya was silent, and though Andrey was, as a rule, a talkative peasant, he did not utter a word, either. He seemed afraid to talk, he only whipped up smartly his three lean, but mettlesome, bay horses. Suddenly Mitya cried out in horrible anxiety:\n\"Andrey! What if they're asleep?\"\nThis thought fell upon him like a blow. It had not occurred to him before.\n\"It may well be that they're gone to bed, by now, Dmitri Fyodorovitch.\"\nMitya frowned as though in pain. Yes, indeed ... he was rushing there ... with such feelings ... while they were asleep ... she was asleep, perhaps, there too.... An angry feeling surged up in his heart.\n\"Drive on, Andrey! Whip them up! Look alive!\" he cried, beside himself.\n\"But maybe they're not in bed!\" Andrey went on after a pause. \"Timofey said they were a lot of them there—\"\n\"At the station?\"\n\"Not at the posting-station, but at Plastunov's, at the inn, where they let out horses, too.\"\n\"I know. So you say there are a lot of them? How's that? Who are they?\" cried Mitya, greatly dismayed at this unexpected news.\n\"Well, Timofey was saying they're all gentlefolk. Two from our town—who they are I can't say—and there are two others, strangers, maybe more besides. I didn't ask particularly. They've set to playing cards, so Timofey said.\"\n\"Cards?\"\n\"So, maybe they're not in bed if they're at cards. It's most likely not more than eleven.\"\n\"Quicker, Andrey! Quicker!\" Mitya cried again, nervously.\n\"May I ask you something, sir?\" said Andrey, after a pause. \"Only I'm afraid of angering you, sir.\"\n\"What is it?\"\n\"Why, Fenya threw herself at your feet just now, and begged you not to harm her mistress, and some one else, too ... so you see, sir— It's I am taking you there ... forgive me, sir, it's my conscience ... maybe it's stupid of me to speak of it—\"\nMitya suddenly seized him by the shoulders from behind.\n\"Are you a driver?\" he asked frantically.\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\"Then you know that one has to make way. What would you say to a driver who wouldn't make way for any one, but would just drive on and crush people? No, a driver mustn't run over people. One can't run over a man. One can't spoil people's lives. And if you have spoilt a life—punish yourself.... If only you've spoilt, if only you've ruined any one's life—punish yourself and go away.\"\nThese phrases burst from Mitya almost hysterically. Though Andrey was surprised at him, he kept up the conversation.\n\"That's right, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, you're quite right, one mustn't crush or torment a man, or any kind of creature, for every creature is created by God. Take a horse, for instance, for some folks, even among us drivers, drive anyhow. Nothing will restrain them, they just force it along.\"\n\"To hell?\" Mitya interrupted, and went off into his abrupt, short laugh. \"Andrey, simple soul,\" he seized him by the shoulders again, \"tell me, will Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov go to hell, or not, what do you think?\"\n\"I don't know, darling, it depends on you, for you are ... you see, sir, when the Son of God was nailed on the Cross and died, He went straight down to hell from the Cross, and set free all sinners that were in agony. And the devil groaned, because he thought that he would get no more sinners in hell. And God said to him, then, 'Don't groan, for you shall have all the mighty of the earth, the rulers, the chief judges, and the rich men, and shall be filled up as you have been in all the ages till I come again.' Those were His very words ...\"\n\"A peasant legend! Capital! Whip up the left, Andrey!\"\n\"So you see, sir, who it is hell's for,\" said Andrey, whipping up the left horse, \"but you're like a little child ... that's how we look on you ... and though you're hasty-tempered, sir, yet God will forgive you for your kind heart.\"\n\"And you, do you forgive me, Andrey?\"\n\"What should I forgive you for, sir? You've never done me any harm.\"\n\"No, for every one, for every one, you here alone, on the road, will you forgive me for every one? Speak, simple peasant heart!\"\n\"Oh, sir! I feel afraid of driving you, your talk is so strange.\"", "chosen": "[\"I punish myself,\", \"golden-haired Ph\\u0153bus.\", \"devouring space,\", \"She's now with him,\", \"now I shall see what she looks like with him, her first love, and that's all I want.\", \"I will efface myself!\", \"Andrey! What if they're asleep?\", \"It may well be that they're gone to bed, by now, Dmitri Fyodorovitch.\", \"Drive on, Andrey! Whip them up! Look alive!\", \"But maybe they're not in bed!\", \"Timofey said they were a lot of them there\\u2014\", \"At the station?\", \"Not at the posting-station, but at Plastunov's, at the inn, where they let out horses, too.\", \"I know. So you say there are a lot of them? How's that? Who are they?\", \"Cards?\", \"So, maybe they're not in bed if they're at cards. It's most likely not more than eleven.\", \"Quicker, Andrey! Quicker!\", \"May I ask you something, sir?\", \"Only I'm afraid of angering you, sir.\", \"What is it?\", \"\\nMitya suddenly seized him by the shoulders from behind.\\n\", \" he asked frantically.\\n\", \"\\nThese phrases burst from Mitya almost hysterically. Though Andrey was surprised at him, he kept up the conversation.\\n\", \"To hell?\", \"Andrey, simple soul,\", \"tell me, will Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov go to hell, or not, what do you think?\", \"A peasant legend! Capital! Whip up the left, Andrey!\", \"So you see, sir, who it is hell's for,\", \"but you're like a little child ... that's how we look on you ... and though you're hasty-tempered, sir, yet God will forgive you for your kind heart.\", \"And you, do you forgive me, Andrey?\", \"What should I forgive you for, sir? You've never done me any harm.\", \"No, for every one, for every one, you here alone, on the road, will you forgive me for every one? Speak, simple peasant heart!\", \"Oh, sir! I feel afraid of driving you, your talk is so strange.\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"I punish myself,\", \"golden-haired Ph\\u0153bus.\", \"devouring space,\", \"She's now with him,\", \"now I shall see what she looks like with him, her first love, and that's all I want.\", \"I will efface myself!\", \"Andrey! What if they're asleep?\", \"It may well be that they're gone to bed, by now, Dmitri Fyodorovitch.\", \"Drive on, Andrey! Whip them up! Look alive!\", \"But maybe they're not in bed!\", \"Timofey said they were a lot of them there\\u2014\", \"At the station?\", \"Not at the posting-station, but at Plastunov's, at the inn, where they let out horses, too.\", \"I know. So you say there are a lot of them? How's that? Who are they?\", \"Cards?\", \"So, maybe they're not in bed if they're at cards. It's most likely not more than eleven.\", \"Quicker, Andrey! Quicker!\", \"May I ask you something, sir?\", \"Only I'm afraid of angering you, sir.\", \"What is it?\", \"\\nMitya suddenly seized him by the shoulders from behind.\\n\", \" he asked frantically.\\n\", \"\\nThese phrases burst from Mitya almost hysterically. Though Andrey was surprised at him, he kept up the conversation.\\n\", \"To hell?\", \"Andrey, simple soul,\", \"tell me, will Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov go to hell, or not, what do you think?\", \"A peasant legend! Capital! Whip up the left, Andrey!\", \"So you see, sir, who it is hell's for,\", \"but you're like a little child ... that's how we look on you ... and though you're hasty-tempered, sir, yet God will forgive you for your kind heart.\", \"And you, do you forgive me, Andrey?\", \"What should I forgive you for, sir? You've never done me any harm.\", \"No, for every one, for every one, you here alone, on the road, will you forgive me for every one? Speak, simple peasant heart!\", \"Oh, sir! I feel afraid of driving you, your talk is so strange.\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-049-00-ecb5adab", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThis was the third time that Ivan had been to see Smerdyakov since his return from Moscow. The first time he had seen him and talked to him was on the first day of his arrival, then he had visited him once more, a fortnight later. But his visits had ended with that second one, so that it was now over a month since he had seen him. And he had scarcely heard anything of him.\nIvan had only returned five days after his father's death, so that he was not present at the funeral, which took place the day before he came back. The cause of his delay was that Alyosha, not knowing his Moscow address, had to apply to Katerina Ivanovna to telegraph to him, and she, not knowing his address either, telegraphed to her sister and aunt, reckoning on Ivan's going to see them as soon as he arrived in Moscow. But he did not go to them till four days after his arrival. When he got the telegram, he had, of course, set off post-haste to our town. The first to meet him was Alyosha, and Ivan was greatly surprised to find that, in opposition to the general opinion of the town, he refused to entertain a suspicion against Mitya, and spoke openly of Smerdyakov as the murderer. Later on, after seeing the police captain and the prosecutor, and hearing the details of the charge and the arrest, he was still more surprised at Alyosha, and ascribed his opinion only to his exaggerated brotherly feeling and sympathy with Mitya, of whom Alyosha, as Ivan knew, was very fond.\nBy the way, let us say a word or two of Ivan's feeling to his brother Dmitri. He positively disliked him; at most, felt sometimes a compassion for him, and even that was mixed with great contempt, almost repugnance. Mitya's whole personality, even his appearance, was extremely unattractive to him. Ivan looked with indignation on Katerina Ivanovna's love for his brother. Yet he went to see Mitya on the first day of his arrival, and that interview, far from shaking Ivan's belief in his guilt, positively strengthened it. He found his brother agitated, nervously excited. Mitya had been talkative, but very absent-minded and incoherent. He used violent language, accused Smerdyakov, and was fearfully muddled. He talked principally about the three thousand roubles, which he said had been \"stolen\" from him by his father.\n\"The money was mine, it was my money,\" Mitya kept repeating. \"Even if I had stolen it, I should have had the right.\"\nHe hardly contested the evidence against him, and if he tried to turn a fact to his advantage, it was in an absurd and incoherent way. He hardly seemed to wish to defend himself to Ivan or any one else. Quite the contrary, he was angry and proudly scornful of the charges against him; he was continually firing up and abusing every one. He only laughed contemptuously at Grigory's evidence about the open door, and declared that it was \"the devil that opened it.\" But he could not bring forward any coherent explanation of the fact. He even succeeded in insulting Ivan during their first interview, telling him sharply that it was not for people who declared that \"everything was lawful,\" to suspect and question him. Altogether he was anything but friendly with Ivan on that occasion. Immediately after that interview with Mitya, Ivan went for the first time to see Smerdyakov.\nIn the railway train on his way from Moscow, he kept thinking of Smerdyakov and of his last conversation with him on the evening before he went away. Many things seemed to him puzzling and suspicious. But when he gave his evidence to the investigating lawyer Ivan said nothing, for the time, of that conversation. He put that off till he had seen Smerdyakov, who was at that time in the hospital.\nDoctor Herzenstube and Varvinsky, the doctor he met in the hospital, confidently asserted in reply to Ivan's persistent questions, that Smerdyakov's epileptic attack was unmistakably genuine, and were surprised indeed at Ivan asking whether he might not have been shamming on the day of the catastrophe. They gave him to understand that the attack was an exceptional one, the fits persisting and recurring several times, so that the patient's life was positively in danger, and it was only now, after they had applied remedies, that they could assert with confidence that the patient would survive. \"Though it might well be,\" added Doctor Herzenstube, \"that his reason would be impaired for a considerable period, if not permanently.\" On Ivan's asking impatiently whether that meant that he was now mad, they told him that this was not yet the case, in the full sense of the word, but that certain abnormalities were perceptible. Ivan decided to find out for himself what those abnormalities were.\nAt the hospital he was at once allowed to see the patient. Smerdyakov was lying on a truckle-bed in a separate ward. There was only one other bed in the room, and in it lay a tradesman of the town, swollen with dropsy, who was obviously almost dying; he could be no hindrance to their conversation. Smerdyakov grinned uncertainly on seeing Ivan, and for the first instant seemed nervous. So at least Ivan fancied. But that was only momentary. For the rest of the time he was struck, on the contrary, by Smerdyakov's composure. From the first glance Ivan had no doubt that he was very ill. He was very weak; he spoke slowly, seeming to move his tongue with difficulty; he was much thinner and sallower. Throughout the interview, which lasted twenty minutes, he kept complaining of headache and of pain in all his limbs. His thin emasculate face seemed to have become so tiny; his hair was ruffled, and his crest of curls in front stood up in a thin tuft. But in the left eye, which was screwed up and seemed to be insinuating something, Smerdyakov showed himself unchanged. \"It's always worth while speaking to a clever man.\" Ivan was reminded of that at once. He sat down on the stool at his feet. Smerdyakov, with painful effort, shifted his position in bed, but he was not the first to speak. He remained dumb, and did not even look much interested.\n\"Can you talk to me?\" asked Ivan. \"I won't tire you much.\"\n\"Certainly I can,\" mumbled Smerdyakov, in a faint voice. \"Has your honor been back long?\" he added patronizingly, as though encouraging a nervous visitor.\n\"I only arrived to-day.... To see the mess you are in here.\"\nSmerdyakov sighed.\n\"Why do you sigh? You knew of it all along,\" Ivan blurted out.\nSmerdyakov was stolidly silent for a while.\n\"How could I help knowing? It was clear beforehand. But how could I tell it would turn out like that?\"\n\"What would turn out? Don't prevaricate! You've foretold you'd have a fit; on the way down to the cellar, you know. You mentioned the very spot.\"\n\"Have you said so at the examination yet?\" Smerdyakov queried with composure.\nIvan felt suddenly angry.\n\"No, I haven't yet, but I certainly shall. You must explain a great deal to me, my man; and let me tell you, I am not going to let you play with me!\"\n\"Why should I play with you, when I put my whole trust in you, as in God Almighty?\" said Smerdyakov, with the same composure, only for a moment closing his eyes.\n\"In the first place,\" began Ivan, \"I know that epileptic fits can't be told beforehand. I've inquired; don't try and take me in. You can't foretell the day and the hour. How was it you told me the day and the hour beforehand, and about the cellar, too? How could you tell that you would fall down the cellar stairs in a fit, if you didn't sham a fit on purpose?\"\n\"I had to go to the cellar anyway, several times a day, indeed,\" Smerdyakov drawled deliberately. \"I fell from the garret just in the same way a year ago. It's quite true you can't tell the day and hour of a fit beforehand, but you can always have a presentiment of it.\"\n\"But you did foretell the day and the hour!\"", "chosen": "hour", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nhour\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-073-00-a38adc1a", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nSvidrigaïlov struck the table with his fist impatiently. He was flushed. Raskolnikov saw clearly that the glass or glass and a half of champagne that he had sipped almost unconsciously was affecting him--and he resolved to take advantage of the opportunity. He felt very suspicious of Svidrigaïlov.\n\"Well, after what you have said, I am fully convinced that you have come to Petersburg with designs on my sister,\" he said directly to Svidrigaïlov, in order to irritate him further.\n\"Oh, nonsense,\" said Svidrigaïlov, seeming to rouse himself. \"Why, I told you... besides your sister can't endure me.\"\n\"Yes, I am certain that she can't, but that's not the point.\"\n\"Are you so sure that she can't?\" Svidrigaïlov screwed up his eyes and smiled mockingly. \"You are right, she doesn't love me, but you can never be sure of what has passed between husband and wife or lover and mistress. There's always a little corner which remains a secret to the world and is only known to those two. Will you answer for it that Avdotya Romanovna regarded me with aversion?\"\n\"From some words you've dropped, I notice that you still have designs--and of course evil ones--on Dounia and mean to carry them out promptly.\"\n\"What, have I dropped words like that?\" Svidrigaïlov asked in naïve dismay, taking not the slightest notice of the epithet bestowed on his designs.\n\"Why, you are dropping them even now. Why are you so frightened? What are you so afraid of now?\"\n\"Me--afraid? Afraid of you? You have rather to be afraid of me, cher ami. But what nonsense.... I've drunk too much though, I see that. I was almost saying too much again. Damn the wine! Hi! there, water!\"\nHe snatched up the champagne bottle and flung it without ceremony out of the window. Philip brought the water.\n\"That's all nonsense!\" said Svidrigaïlov, wetting a towel and putting it to his head. \"But I can answer you in one word and annihilate all your suspicions. Do you know that I am going to get married?\"\n\"You told me so before.\"\n\"Did I? I've forgotten. But I couldn't have told you so for certain for I had not even seen my betrothed; I only meant to. But now I really have a betrothed and it's a settled thing, and if it weren't that I have business that can't be put off, I would have taken you to see them at once, for I should like to ask your advice. Ach, hang it, only ten minutes left! See, look at the watch. But I must tell you, for it's an interesting story, my marriage, in its own way. Where are you off to? Going again?\"\n\"No, I'm not going away now.\"\n\"Not at all? We shall see. I'll take you there, I'll show you my betrothed, only not now. For you'll soon have to be off. You have to go to the right and I to the left. Do you know that Madame Resslich, the woman I am lodging with now, eh? I know what you're thinking, that she's the woman whose girl they say drowned herself in the winter. Come, are you listening? She arranged it all for me. You're bored, she said, you want something to fill up your time. For, you know, I am a gloomy, depressed person. Do you think I'm light-hearted? No, I'm gloomy. I do no harm, but sit in a corner without speaking a word for three days at a time. And that Resslich is a sly hussy, I tell you. I know what she has got in her mind; she thinks I shall get sick of it, abandon my wife and depart, and she'll get hold of her and make a profit out of her--in our class, of course, or higher. She told me the father was a broken-down retired official, who has been sitting in a chair for the last three years with his legs paralysed. The mamma, she said, was a sensible woman. There is a son serving in the provinces, but he doesn't help; there is a daughter, who is married, but she doesn't visit them. And they've two little nephews on their hands, as though their own children were not enough, and they've taken from school their youngest daughter, a girl who'll be sixteen in another month, so that then she can be married. She was for me. We went there. How funny it was! I present myself--a landowner, a widower, of a well-known name, with connections, with a fortune. What if I am fifty and she is not sixteen? Who thinks of that? But it's fascinating, isn't it? It is fascinating, ha-ha! You should have seen how I talked to the papa and mamma. It was worth paying to have seen me at that moment. She comes in, curtseys, you can fancy, still in a short frock--an unopened bud! Flushing like a sunset--she had been told, no doubt. I don't know how you feel about female faces, but to my mind these sixteen years, these childish eyes, shyness and tears of bashfulness are better than beauty; and she is a perfect little picture, too. Fair hair in little curls, like a lamb's, full little rosy lips, tiny feet, a charmer!... Well, we made friends. I told them I was in a hurry owing to domestic circumstances, and the next day, that is the day before yesterday, we were betrothed. When I go now I take her on my knee at once and keep her there.... Well, she flushes like a sunset and I kiss her every minute. Her mamma of course impresses on her that this is her husband and that this must be so. It's simply delicious! The present betrothed condition is perhaps better than marriage. Here you have what is called la nature et la vérité, ha-ha! I've talked to her twice, she is far from a fool. Sometimes she steals a look at me that positively scorches me. Her face is like Raphael's Madonna. You know, the Sistine Madonna's face has something fantastic in it, the face of mournful religious ecstasy. Haven't you noticed it? Well, she's something in that line. The day after we'd been betrothed, I bought her presents to the value of fifteen hundred roubles--a set of diamonds and another of pearls and a silver dressing-case as large as this, with all sorts of things in it, so that even my Madonna's face glowed. I sat her on my knee, yesterday, and I suppose rather too unceremoniously--she flushed crimson and the tears started, but she didn't want to show it. We were left alone, she suddenly flung herself on my neck (for the first time of her own accord), put her little arms round me, kissed me, and vowed that she would be an obedient, faithful, and good wife, would make me happy, would devote all her life, every minute of her life, would sacrifice everything, everything, and that all she asks in return is my respect, and that she wants 'nothing, nothing more from me, no presents.' You'll admit that to hear such a confession, alone, from an angel of sixteen in a muslin frock, with little curls, with a flush of maiden shyness in her cheeks and tears of enthusiasm in her eyes is rather fascinating! Isn't it fascinating? It's worth paying for, isn't it? Well... listen, we'll go to see my betrothed, only not just now!\"\n\"The fact is this monstrous difference in age and development excites your sensuality! Will you really make such a marriage?\"\n\"Why, of course. Everyone thinks of himself, and he lives most gaily who knows best how to deceive himself. Ha-ha! But why are you so keen about virtue? Have mercy on me, my good friend. I am a sinful man. Ha-ha-ha!\"\n\"But you have provided for the children of Katerina Ivanovna. Though... though you had your own reasons.... I understand it all now.\"", "chosen": "[\"Svidriga\", \"Petersburg\", \"Are\", \"Avdotya\", \"Romanovna\", \"From\", \"Dounia\", \"Did\", \"Not\", \"Madame\", \"Resslich\", \"Raphael\", \"Madonna\", \"Sistine\", \"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Svidriga\", \"Petersburg\", \"Are\", \"Avdotya\", \"Romanovna\", \"From\", \"Dounia\", \"Did\", \"Not\", \"Madame\", \"Resslich\", \"Raphael\", \"Madonna\", \"Sistine\", \"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2554-005-02-26319971", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"At another time, sir,\" he returned, evasively, \"the present time is ill-conwenient for explainin'. What I stand to, is, that he knows well wot that there Cly was never in that there coffin. Let him say he was, in so much as a word of one syllable, and I'll either catch hold of his throat and choke him for half a guinea;\" Mr. Cruncher dwelt upon this as quite a liberal offer; \"or I'll out and announce him.\"\n\"Humph! I see one thing,\" said Carton. \"I hold another card, Mr. Barsad. Impossible, here in raging Paris, with Suspicion filling the air, for you to outlive denunciation, when you are in communication with another aristocratic spy of the same antecedents as yourself, who, moreover, has the mystery about him of having feigned death and come to life again! A plot in the prisons, of the foreigner against the Republic. A strong card--a certain Guillotine card! Do you play?\"\n\"No!\" returned the spy. \"I throw up. I confess that we were so unpopular with the outrageous mob, that I only got away from England at the risk of being ducked to death, and that Cly was so ferreted up and down, that he never would have got away at all but for that sham. Though how this man knows it was a sham, is a wonder of wonders to me.\"\n\"Never you trouble your head about this man,\" retorted the contentious Mr. Cruncher; \"you'll have trouble enough with giving your attention to that gentleman. And look here! Once more!\"--Mr. Cruncher could not be restrained from making rather an ostentatious parade of his liberality--\"I'd catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea.\"\nThe Sheep of the prisons turned from him to Sydney Carton, and said, with more decision, \"It has come to a point. I go on duty soon, and can't overstay my time. You told me you had a proposal; what is it? Now, it is of no use asking too much of me. Ask me to do anything in my office, putting my head in great extra danger, and I had better trust my life to the chances of a refusal than the chances of consent. In short, I should make that choice. You talk of desperation. We are all desperate here. Remember! I may denounce you if I think proper, and I can swear my way through stone walls, and so can others. Now, what do you want with me?\"\n\"Not very much. You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?\"\n\"I tell you once for all, there is no such thing as an escape possible,\" said the spy, firmly.\n\"Why need you tell me what I have not asked? You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?\"\n\"I am sometimes.\"\n\"You can be when you choose?\"\n\"I can pass in and out when I choose.\"\nSydney Carton filled another glass with brandy, poured it slowly out upon the hearth, and watched it as it dropped. It being all spent, he said, rising:\n\"So far, we have spoken before these two, because it was as well that the merits of the cards should not rest solely between you and me. Come into the dark room here, and let us have one final word alone.\"", "chosen": "At, What, Let, Cruncher, I, I, Barsad., Impossible,, A, A, Do, I, I, Though, Cruncher;, And, Once, Cruncher, I, You, Now,, Ask, In, You, We, Remember!, I, Now,, You, Why, You, It, Come", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nAt, What, Let, Cruncher, I, I, Barsad., Impossible,, A, A, Do, I, I, Though, Cruncher;, And, Once, Cruncher, I, You, Now,, Ask, In, You, We, Remember!, I, Now,, You, Why, You, It, Come\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-038-03-96e8d0f9", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe evidence of the medical experts, too, was of little use to the prisoner. And it appeared later that Fetyukovitch had not reckoned much upon it. The medical line of defense had only been taken up through the insistence of Katerina Ivanovna, who had sent for a celebrated doctor from Moscow on purpose. The case for the defense could, of course, lose nothing by it and might, with luck, gain something from it. There was, however, an element of comedy about it, through the difference of opinion of the doctors. The medical experts were the famous doctor from Moscow, our doctor, Herzenstube, and the young doctor, Varvinsky. The two latter appeared also as witnesses for the prosecution.\nThe first to be called in the capacity of expert was Doctor Herzenstube. He was a gray and bald old man of seventy, of middle height and sturdy build. He was much esteemed and respected by every one in the town. He was a conscientious doctor and an excellent and pious man, a Hernguter or Moravian brother, I am not quite sure which. He had been living amongst us for many years and behaved with wonderful dignity. He was a kind-hearted and humane man. He treated the sick poor and peasants for nothing, visited them in their slums and huts, and left money for medicine, but he was as obstinate as a mule. If once he had taken an idea into his head, there was no shaking it. Almost every one in the town was aware, by the way, that the famous doctor had, within the first two or three days of his presence among us, uttered some extremely offensive allusions to Doctor Herzenstube's qualifications. Though the Moscow doctor asked twenty-five roubles for a visit, several people in the town were glad to take advantage of his arrival, and rushed to consult him regardless of expense. All these had, of course, been previously patients of Doctor Herzenstube, and the celebrated doctor had criticized his treatment with extreme harshness. Finally, he had asked the patients as soon as he saw them, \"Well, who has been cramming you with nostrums? Herzenstube? He, he!\" Doctor Herzenstube, of course, heard all this, and now all the three doctors made their appearance, one after another, to be examined.\nDoctor Herzenstube roundly declared that the abnormality of the prisoner's mental faculties was self-evident. Then giving his grounds for this opinion, which I omit here, he added that the abnormality was not only evident in many of the prisoner's actions in the past, but was apparent even now at this very moment. When he was asked to explain how it was apparent now at this moment, the old doctor, with simple-hearted directness, pointed out that the prisoner on entering the court had \"an extraordinary air, remarkable in the circumstances\"; that he had \"marched in like a soldier, looking straight before him, though it would have been more natural for him to look to the left where, among the public, the ladies were sitting, seeing that he was a great admirer of the fair sex and must be thinking much of what the ladies are saying of him now,\" the old man concluded in his peculiar language.\nI must add that he spoke Russian readily, but every phrase was formed in German style, which did not, however, trouble him, for it had always been a weakness of his to believe that he spoke Russian perfectly, better indeed than Russians. And he was very fond of using Russian proverbs, always declaring that the Russian proverbs were the best and most expressive sayings in the whole world. I may remark, too, that in conversation, through absent-mindedness he often forgot the most ordinary words, which sometimes went out of his head, though he knew them perfectly. The same thing happened, though, when he spoke German, and at such times he always waved his hand before his face as though trying to catch the lost word, and no one could induce him to go on speaking till he had found the missing word. His remark that the prisoner ought to have looked at the ladies on entering roused a whisper of amusement in the audience. All our ladies were very fond of our old doctor; they knew, too, that having been all his life a bachelor and a religious man of exemplary conduct, he looked upon women as lofty creatures. And so his unexpected observation struck every one as very queer.\nThe Moscow doctor, being questioned in his turn, definitely and emphatically repeated that he considered the prisoner's mental condition abnormal in the highest degree. He talked at length and with erudition of \"aberration\" and \"mania,\" and argued that, from all the facts collected, the prisoner had undoubtedly been in a condition of aberration for several days before his arrest, and, if the crime had been committed by him, it must, even if he were conscious of it, have been almost involuntary, as he had not the power to control the morbid impulse that possessed him.\nBut apart from temporary aberration, the doctor diagnosed mania, which premised, in his words, to lead to complete insanity in the future. (It must be noted that I report this in my own words, the doctor made use of very learned and professional language.) \"All his actions are in contravention of common sense and logic,\" he continued. \"Not to refer to what I have not seen, that is, the crime itself and the whole catastrophe, the day before yesterday, while he was talking to me, he had an unaccountably fixed look in his eye. He laughed unexpectedly when there was nothing to laugh at. He showed continual and inexplicable irritability, using strange words, 'Bernard!' 'Ethics!' and others equally inappropriate.\" But the doctor detected mania, above all, in the fact that the prisoner could not even speak of the three thousand roubles, of which he considered himself to have been cheated, without extraordinary irritation, though he could speak comparatively lightly of other misfortunes and grievances. According to all accounts, he had even in the past, whenever the subject of the three thousand roubles was touched on, flown into a perfect frenzy, and yet he was reported to be a disinterested and not grasping man.\n\"As to the opinion of my learned colleague,\" the Moscow doctor added ironically in conclusion, \"that the prisoner would, on entering the court, have naturally looked at the ladies and not straight before him, I will only say that, apart from the playfulness of this theory, it is radically unsound. For though I fully agree that the prisoner, on entering the court where his fate will be decided, would not naturally look straight before him in that fixed way, and that that may really be a sign of his abnormal mental condition, at the same time I maintain that he would naturally not look to the left at the ladies, but, on the contrary, to the right to find his legal adviser, on whose help all his hopes rest and on whose defense all his future depends.\" The doctor expressed his opinion positively and emphatically.\nBut the unexpected pronouncement of Doctor Varvinsky gave the last touch of comedy to the difference of opinion between the experts. In his opinion the prisoner was now, and had been all along, in a perfectly normal condition, and, although he certainly must have been in a nervous and exceedingly excited state before his arrest, this might have been due to several perfectly obvious causes, jealousy, anger, continual drunkenness, and so on. But this nervous condition would not involve the mental aberration of which mention had just been made. As to the question whether the prisoner should have looked to the left or to the right on entering the court, \"in his modest opinion,\" the prisoner would naturally look straight before him on entering the court, as he had in fact done, as that was where the judges, on whom his fate depended, were sitting. So that it was just by looking straight before him that he showed his perfectly normal state of mind at the present. The young doctor concluded his \"modest\" testimony with some heat.\n\"Bravo, doctor!\" cried Mitya, from his seat, \"just so!\"", "chosen": "48", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n48\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-28054-080-00-08b95952", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nThe immediate effect upon St. Cleeve of the receipt of her well-reasoned argument for retrocession was, naturally, a bitter attack upon himself for having been guilty of such cruel carelessness as to leave in her way the lawyer's letter that had first made her aware of his uncle's provision for him. Immature as he was, he could realize Viviette's position sufficiently well to perceive what the poor lady must suffer at having suddenly thrust upon her the responsibility of repairing her own situation as a wife by ruining his as a legatee. True, it was by the purest inadvertence that his pending sacrifice of means had been discovered; but he should have taken special pains to render such a mishap impossible. If on the first occasion, when a revelation might have been made with impunity, he would not put it in the power of her good nature to relieve his position by refusing him, he should have shown double care not to do so now, when she could not exercise that benevolence without the loss of honour.\nWith a young man's inattention to issues he had not considered how sharp her feelings as a woman must be in this contingency. It had seemed the easiest thing in the world to remedy the defect in their marriage, and therefore nothing to be anxious about. And in his innocence of any thought of appropriating the bequest by taking advantage of the loophole in his matrimonial bond, he undervalued the importance of concealing the existence of that bequest.\nThe looming fear of unhappiness between them revived in Swithin the warm emotions of their earlier acquaintance. Almost before the sun had set he hastened to Welland House in search of her. The air was disturbed by stiff summer blasts, productive of windfalls and premature descents of leafage. It was an hour when unripe apples shower down in orchards, and unbrowned chestnuts descend in their husks upon the park glades. There was no help for it this afternoon but to call upon her in a direct manner, regardless of suspicions. He was thunderstruck when, while waiting in the full expectation of being admitted to her presence, the answer brought back to him was that she was unable to see him.\nThis had never happened before in the whole course of their acquaintance. But he knew what it meant, and turned away with a vague disquietude. He did not know that Lady Constantine was just above his head, listening to his movements with the liveliest emotions, and, while praying for him to go, longing for him to insist on seeing her and spoil all. But the faintest symptom being always sufficient to convince him of having blundered, he unwittingly took her at her word, and went rapidly away.\nHowever, he called again the next day, and she, having gained strength by one victory over herself, was enabled to repeat her refusal with greater ease. Knowing this to be the only course by which her point could be maintained, she clung to it with strenuous and religious pertinacity.\nThus immured and self-controlling she passed a week. Her brother, though he did not live in the house (preferring the nearest watering-place at this time of the year), was continually coming there; and one day he happened to be present when she denied herself to Swithin for the third time. Louis, who did not observe the tears in her eyes, was astonished and delighted: she was coming to her senses at last. Believing now that there had been nothing more between them than a too-plainly shown partiality on her part, he expressed his commendation of her conduct to her face. At this, instead of owning to its advantage also, her tears burst forth outright.\nNot knowing what to make of this, Louis said--\n'Well, I am simply upholding you in your course.'\n'Yes, yes; I know it!' she cried. 'And it is my deliberately chosen course. I wish he--Swithin St. Cleeve--would go on his travels at once, and leave the place! Six hundred a year has been left him for travel and study of the southern constellations; and I wish he would use it. You might represent the advantage to him of the course if you cared to.'\nLouis thought he could do no better than let Swithin know this as soon as possible. Accordingly when St. Cleeve was writing in the hut the next day he heard the crackle of footsteps over the fir-needles outside, and jumped up, supposing them to be hers; but, to his disappointment, it was her brother who appeared at the door.\n'Excuse my invading the hermitage, St. Cleeve,' he said in his careless way, 'but I have heard from my sister of your good fortune.'\n'My good fortune?'\n'Yes, in having an opportunity for roving; and with a traveller's conceit I couldn't help coming to give you the benefit of my experience. When do you start?'\n'I have not formed any plan as yet. Indeed, I had not quite been thinking of going.'\nLouis stared.\n'Not going? Then I may have been misinformed. What I have heard is that a good uncle has kindly bequeathed you a sufficient income to make a second Isaac Newton of you, if you only use it as he directs.'\nSwithin breathed quickly, but said nothing.\n'If you have not decided so to make use of it, let me implore you, as your friend, and one nearly old enough to be your father, to decide at once. Such a chance does not happen to a scientific youth once in a century.'\n'Thank you for your good advice--for it is good in itself, I know,' said Swithin, in a low voice. 'But has Lady Constantine spoken of it at all?'\n'She thinks as I do.'\n'She has spoken to you on the subject?'\n'Certainly. More than that; it is at her request--though I did not intend to say so--that I come to speak to you about it now.'\n'Frankly and plainly,' said Swithin, his voice trembling with a compound of scientific and amatory emotion that defies definition, 'does she say seriously that she wishes me to go?'\n'She does.'\n'Then go I will,' replied Swithin firmly. 'I have been fortunate enough to interest some leading astronomers, including the Astronomer Royal; and in a letter received this morning I learn that the use of the Cape Observatory has been offered me for any southern observations I may wish to make. This offer I will accept. Will you kindly let Lady Constantine know this, since she is interested in my welfare?'\nLouis promised, and when he was gone Swithin looked blankly at his own situation, as if he could scarcely believe in its reality. Her letter to him, then, had been deliberately written; she meant him to go.\nBut he was determined that none of those misunderstandings which ruin the happiness of lovers should be allowed to operate in the present case. He would see her, if he slept under her walls all night to do it, and would hear the order to depart from her own lips. This unexpected stand she was making for his interests was winning his admiration to such a degree as to be in danger of defeating the very cause it was meant to subserve. A woman like this was not to be forsaken in a hurry. He wrote two lines, and left the note at the house with his own hand.\n'THE CABIN, RINGS-HILL, July 7th.\n'DEAREST VIVIETTE,--If you insist, I will go. But letter-writing will not do. I must have the command from your own two lips, otherwise I shall not stir. I am here every evening at seven. Can you come?--S.'\nThis note, as fate would have it, reached her hands in the single hour of that week when she was in a mood to comply with his request, just when moved by a reactionary emotion after dismissing Swithin. She went upstairs to the window that had so long served purposes of this kind, and signalled 'Yes.'", "chosen": "More than that; it is at her request--though I did not intend to say so--that I come to speak to you about it now.'\n'Frankly and plainly,' said Swithin, his voice trembling with a compound of scientific and amatory emotion that defies definition, 'does she say seriously that she wishes me to go?'\n'She does.'\n'Then go I will,' replied Swithin firmly.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nMore than that; it is at her request--though I did not intend to say so--that I come to speak to you about it now.'\n'Frankly and plainly,' said Swithin, his voice trembling with a compound of scientific and amatory emotion that defies definition, 'does she say seriously that she wishes me to go?'\n'She does.'\n'Then go I will,' replied Swithin firmly.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-3146-035-00-a3bcba5d", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nSomething utterly unexpected and amazing to Mitya followed. He could never, even a minute before, have conceived that any one could behave like that to him, Mitya Karamazov. What was worst of all, there was something humiliating in it, and on their side something \"supercilious and scornful.\" It was nothing to take off his coat, but he was asked to undress further, or rather not asked but \"commanded,\" he quite understood that. From pride and contempt he submitted without a word. Several peasants accompanied the lawyers and remained on the same side of the curtain. \"To be ready if force is required,\" thought Mitya, \"and perhaps for some other reason, too.\"\n\"Well, must I take off my shirt, too?\" he asked sharply, but Nikolay Parfenovitch did not answer. He was busily engaged with the prosecutor in examining the coat, the trousers, the waistcoat and the cap; and it was evident that they were both much interested in the scrutiny. \"They make no bones about it,\" thought Mitya, \"they don't keep up the most elementary politeness.\"\n\"I ask you for the second time—need I take off my shirt or not?\" he said, still more sharply and irritably.\n\"Don't trouble yourself. We will tell you what to do,\" Nikolay Parfenovitch said, and his voice was positively peremptory, or so it seemed to Mitya.\nMeantime a consultation was going on in undertones between the lawyers. There turned out to be on the coat, especially on the left side at the back, a huge patch of blood, dry, and still stiff. There were bloodstains on the trousers, too. Nikolay Parfenovitch, moreover, in the presence of the peasant witnesses, passed his fingers along the collar, the cuffs, and all the seams of the coat and trousers, obviously looking for something—money, of course. He didn't even hide from Mitya his suspicion that he was capable of sewing money up in his clothes.\n\"He treats me not as an officer but as a thief,\" Mitya muttered to himself. They communicated their ideas to one another with amazing frankness. The secretary, for instance, who was also behind the curtain, fussing about and listening, called Nikolay Parfenovitch's attention to the cap, which they were also fingering.\n\"You remember Gridyenko, the copying-clerk,\" observed the secretary. \"Last summer he received the wages of the whole office, and pretended to have lost the money when he was drunk. And where was it found? Why, in just such pipings in his cap. The hundred-rouble notes were screwed up in little rolls and sewed in the piping.\"\nBoth the lawyers remembered Gridyenko's case perfectly, and so laid aside Mitya's cap, and decided that all his clothes must be more thoroughly examined later.\n\"Excuse me,\" cried Nikolay Parfenovitch, suddenly, noticing that the right cuff of Mitya's shirt was turned in, and covered with blood, \"excuse me, what's that, blood?\"\n\"Yes,\" Mitya jerked out.\n\"That is, what blood? ... and why is the cuff turned in?\"\nMitya told him how he had got the sleeve stained with blood looking after Grigory, and had turned it inside when he was washing his hands at Perhotin's.\n\"You must take off your shirt, too. That's very important as material evidence.\"\nMitya flushed red and flew into a rage.\n\"What, am I to stay naked?\" he shouted.\n\"Don't disturb yourself. We will arrange something. And meanwhile take off your socks.\"\n\"You're not joking? Is that really necessary?\" Mitya's eyes flashed.\n\"We are in no mood for joking,\" answered Nikolay Parfenovitch sternly.\n\"Well, if I must—\" muttered Mitya, and sitting down on the bed, he took off his socks. He felt unbearably awkward. All were clothed, while he was naked, and strange to say, when he was undressed he felt somehow guilty in their presence, and was almost ready to believe himself that he was inferior to them, and that now they had a perfect right to despise him.\n\"When all are undressed, one is somehow not ashamed, but when one's the only one undressed and everybody is looking, it's degrading,\" he kept repeating to himself, again and again. \"It's like a dream, I've sometimes dreamed of being in such degrading positions.\" It was a misery to him to take off his socks. They were very dirty, and so were his underclothes, and now every one could see it. And what was worse, he disliked his feet. All his life he had thought both his big toes hideous. He particularly loathed the coarse, flat, crooked nail on the right one, and now they would all see it. Feeling intolerably ashamed made him, at once and intentionally, rougher. He pulled off his shirt, himself.\n\"Would you like to look anywhere else if you're not ashamed to?\"\n\"No, there's no need to, at present.\"\n\"Well, am I to stay naked like this?\" he added savagely.\n\"Yes, that can't be helped for the time.... Kindly sit down here for a while. You can wrap yourself in a quilt from the bed, and I ... I'll see to all this.\"\nAll the things were shown to the witnesses. The report of the search was drawn up, and at last Nikolay Parfenovitch went out, and the clothes were carried out after him. Ippolit Kirillovitch went out, too. Mitya was left alone with the peasants, who stood in silence, never taking their eyes off him. Mitya wrapped himself up in the quilt. He felt cold. His bare feet stuck out, and he couldn't pull the quilt over so as to cover them. Nikolay Parfenovitch seemed to be gone a long time, \"an insufferable time.\" \"He thinks of me as a puppy,\" thought Mitya, gnashing his teeth. \"That rotten prosecutor has gone, too, contemptuous no doubt, it disgusts him to see me naked!\"\nMitya imagined, however, that his clothes would be examined and returned to him. But what was his indignation when Nikolay Parfenovitch came back with quite different clothes, brought in behind him by a peasant.\n\"Here are clothes for you,\" he observed airily, seeming well satisfied with the success of his mission. \"Mr. Kalganov has kindly provided these for this unusual emergency, as well as a clean shirt. Luckily he had them all in his trunk. You can keep your own socks and underclothes.\"\nMitya flew into a passion.\n\"I won't have other people's clothes!\" he shouted menacingly, \"give me my own!\"\n\"It's impossible!\"\n\"Give me my own. Damn Kalganov and his clothes, too!\"\nIt was a long time before they could persuade him. But they succeeded somehow in quieting him down. They impressed upon him that his clothes, being stained with blood, must be \"included with the other material evidence,\" and that they \"had not even the right to let him have them now ... taking into consideration the possible outcome of the case.\" Mitya at last understood this. He subsided into gloomy silence and hurriedly dressed himself. He merely observed, as he put them on, that the clothes were much better than his old ones, and that he disliked \"gaining by the change.\" The coat was, besides, \"ridiculously tight. Am I to be dressed up like a fool ... for your amusement?\"\nThey urged upon him again that he was exaggerating, that Kalganov was only a little taller, so that only the trousers might be a little too long. But the coat turned out to be really tight in the shoulders.\n\"Damn it all! I can hardly button it,\" Mitya grumbled. \"Be so good as to tell Mr. Kalganov from me that I didn't ask for his clothes, and it's not my doing that they've dressed me up like a clown.\"\n\"He understands that, and is sorry ... I mean, not sorry to lend you his clothes, but sorry about all this business,\" mumbled Nikolay Parfenovitch.\n\"Confound his sorrow! Well, where now? Am I to go on sitting here?\"\nHe was asked to go back to the \"other room.\" Mitya went in, scowling with anger, and trying to avoid looking at any one. Dressed in another man's clothes he felt himself disgraced, even in the eyes of the peasants, and of Trifon Borissovitch, whose face appeared, for some reason, in the doorway, and vanished immediately. \"He's come to look at me dressed up,\" thought Mitya. He sat down on the same chair as before. He had an absurd nightmarish feeling, as though he were out of his mind.", "chosen": "mind", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nmind\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-057-00-c83c08c6", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nBut irrational reproaches were easier to bear than the sense of being instructed, or rather the sense that a younger man, like Lydgate, inwardly considered him in need of instruction, for \"in point of fact,\" Mr. Wrench afterwards said, Lydgate paraded flighty, foreign notions, which would not wear. He swallowed his ire for the moment, but he afterwards wrote to decline further attendance in the case. The house might be a good one, but Mr. Wrench was not going to truckle to anybody on a professional matter. He reflected, with much probability on his side, that Lydgate would by-and-by be caught tripping too, and that his ungentlemanly attempts to discredit the sale of drugs by his professional brethren, would by-and-by recoil on himself. He threw out biting remarks on Lydgate's tricks, worthy only of a quack, to get himself a factitious reputation with credulous people. That cant about cures was never got up by sound practitioners.\nThis was a point on which Lydgate smarted as much as Wrench could desire. To be puffed by ignorance was not only humiliating, but perilous, and not more enviable than the reputation of the weather-prophet. He was impatient of the foolish expectations amidst which all work must be carried on, and likely enough to damage himself as much as Mr. Wrench could wish, by an unprofessional openness.\nHowever, Lydgate was installed as medical attendant on the Vincys, and the event was a subject of general conversation in Middlemarch. Some said, that the Vincys had behaved scandalously, that Mr. Vincy had threatened Wrench, and that Mrs. Vincy had accused him of poisoning her son. Others were of opinion that Mr. Lydgate's passing by was providential, that he was wonderfully clever in fevers, and that Bulstrode was in the right to bring him forward. Many people believed that Lydgate's coming to the town at all was really due to Bulstrode; and Mrs. Taft, who was always counting stitches and gathered her information in misleading fragments caught between the rows of her knitting, had got it into her head that Mr. Lydgate was a natural son of Bulstrode's, a fact which seemed to justify her suspicions of evangelical laymen.\nShe one day communicated this piece of knowledge to Mrs. Farebrother, who did not fail to tell her son of it, observing—\n\"I should not be surprised at anything in Bulstrode, but I should be sorry to think it of Mr. Lydgate.\"\n\"Why, mother,\" said Mr. Farebrother, after an explosive laugh, \"you know very well that Lydgate is of a good family in the North. He never heard of Bulstrode before he came here.\"\n\"That is satisfactory so far as Mr. Lydgate is concerned, Camden,\" said the old lady, with an air of precision.—\"But as to Bulstrode—the report may be true of some other son.\"", "chosen": "[\"Lydgate\", \"Wrench\", \"Vincys\", \"Middlemarch\", \"Bulstrode\", \"North\", \"Camden\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Lydgate\", \"Wrench\", \"Vincys\", \"Middlemarch\", \"Bulstrode\", \"North\", \"Camden\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-145-027-01-eac9d42c", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nMy lady's tongue is like the meadow blades, That cut you stroking them with idle hand. Nice cutting is her function: she divides With spiritual edge the millet-seed, And makes intangible savings.\nAs Mr. Casaubon's carriage was passing out of the gateway, it arrested the entrance of a pony phaeton driven by a lady with a servant seated behind. It was doubtful whether the recognition had been mutual, for Mr. Casaubon was looking absently before him; but the lady was quick-eyed, and threw a nod and a \"How do you do?\" in the nick of time. In spite of her shabby bonnet and very old Indian shawl, it was plain that the lodge-keeper regarded her as an important personage, from the low curtsy which was dropped on the entrance of the small phaeton.\n\"Well, Mrs. Fitchett, how are your fowls laying now?\" said the high-colored, dark-eyed lady, with the clearest chiselled utterance.\n\"Pretty well for laying, madam, but they've ta'en to eating their eggs: I've no peace o' mind with 'em at all.\"\n\"Oh, the cannibals! Better sell them cheap at once. What will you sell them a couple? One can't eat fowls of a bad character at a high price.\"\n\"Well, madam, half-a-crown: I couldn't let 'em go, not under.\"\n\"Half-a-crown, these times! Come now—for the Rector's chicken-broth on a Sunday. He has consumed all ours that I can spare. You are half paid with the sermon, Mrs. Fitchett, remember that. Take a pair of tumbler-pigeons for them—little beauties. You must come and see them. You have no tumblers among your pigeons.\"\n\"Well, madam, Master Fitchett shall go and see 'em after work. He's very hot on new sorts; to oblige you.\"\n\"Oblige me! It will be the best bargain he ever made. A pair of church pigeons for a couple of wicked Spanish fowls that eat their own eggs! Don't you and Fitchett boast too much, that is all!\"\nThe phaeton was driven onwards with the last words, leaving Mrs. Fitchett laughing and shaking her head slowly, with an interjectional \"Surely, surely!\"—from which it might be inferred that she would have found the country-side somewhat duller if the Rector's lady had been less free-spoken and less of a skinflint. Indeed, both the farmers and laborers in the parishes of Freshitt and Tipton would have felt a sad lack of conversation but for the stories about what Mrs. Cadwallader said and did: a lady of immeasurably high birth, descended, as it were, from unknown earls, dim as the crowd of heroic shades—who pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and cut jokes in the most companionable manner, though with a turn of tongue that let you know who she was. Such a lady gave a neighborliness to both rank and religion, and mitigated the bitterness of uncommuted tithe. A much more exemplary character with an infusion of sour dignity would not have furthered their comprehension of the Thirty-nine Articles, and would have been less socially uniting.\nMr. Brooke, seeing Mrs. Cadwallader's merits from a different point of view, winced a little when her name was announced in the library, where he was sitting alone.\n\"I see you have had our Lowick Cicero here,\" she said, seating herself comfortably, throwing back her wraps, and showing a thin but well-built figure. \"I suspect you and he are brewing some bad polities, else you would not be seeing so much of the lively man. I shall inform against you: remember you are both suspicious characters since you took Peel's side about the Catholic Bill. I shall tell everybody that you are going to put up for Middlemarch on the Whig side when old Pinkerton resigns, and that Casaubon is going to help you in an underhand manner: going to bribe the voters with pamphlets, and throw open the public-houses to distribute them. Come, confess!\"\n\"Nothing of the sort,\" said Mr. Brooke, smiling and rubbing his eye-glasses, but really blushing a little at the impeachment. \"Casaubon and I don't talk politics much. He doesn't care much about the philanthropic side of things; punishments, and that kind of thing. He only cares about Church questions. That is not my line of action, you know.\"\n\"Ra-a-ther too much, my friend. I have heard of your doings. Who was it that sold his bit of land to the Papists at Middlemarch? I believe you bought it on purpose. You are a perfect Guy Faux. See if you are not burnt in effigy this 5th of November coming. Humphrey would not come to quarrel with you about it, so I am come.\"\n\"Very good. I was prepared to be persecuted for not persecuting—not persecuting, you know.\"\n\"There you go! That is a piece of clap-trap you have got ready for the hustings. Now, do not let them lure you to the hustings, my dear Mr. Brooke. A man always makes a fool of himself, speechifying: there's no excuse but being on the right side, so that you can ask a blessing on your humming and hawing. You will lose yourself, I forewarn you. You will make a Saturday pie of all parties' opinions, and be pelted by everybody.\"\n\"That is what I expect, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke, not wishing to betray how little he enjoyed this prophetic sketch—\"what I expect as an independent man. As to the Whigs, a man who goes with the thinkers is not likely to be hooked on by any party. He may go with them up to a certain point—up to a certain point, you know. But that is what you ladies never understand.\"\n\"Where your certain point is? No. I should like to be told how a man can have any certain point when he belongs to no party—leading a roving life, and never letting his friends know his address. 'Nobody knows where Brooke will be—there's no counting on Brooke'—that is what people say of you, to be quite frank. Now, do turn respectable. How will you like going to Sessions with everybody looking shy on you, and you with a bad conscience and an empty pocket?\"\n\"I don't pretend to argue with a lady on politics,\" said Mr. Brooke, with an air of smiling indifference, but feeling rather unpleasantly conscious that this attack of Mrs. Cadwallader's had opened the defensive campaign to which certain rash steps had exposed him. \"Your sex are not thinkers, you know—varium et mutabile semper—that kind of thing. You don't know Virgil. I knew\"—Mr. Brooke reflected in time that he had not had the personal acquaintance of the Augustan poet—\"I was going to say, poor Stoddart, you know. That was what he said. You ladies are always against an independent attitude—a man's caring for nothing but truth, and that sort of thing. And there is no part of the county where opinion is narrower than it is here—I don't mean to throw stones, you know, but somebody is wanted to take the independent line; and if I don't take it, who will?\"\n\"Who? Why, any upstart who has got neither blood nor position. People of standing should consume their independent nonsense at home, not hawk it about. And you! who are going to marry your niece, as good as your daughter, to one of our best men. Sir James would be cruelly annoyed: it will be too hard on him if you turn round now and make yourself a Whig sign-board.\"\nMr. Brooke again winced inwardly, for Dorothea's engagement had no sooner been decided, than he had thought of Mrs. Cadwallader's prospective taunts. It might have been easy for ignorant observers to say, \"Quarrel with Mrs. Cadwallader;\" but where is a country gentleman to go who quarrels with his oldest neighbors? Who could taste the fine flavor in the name of Brooke if it were delivered casually, like wine without a seal? Certainly a man can only be cosmopolitan up to a certain point.\n\"I hope Chettam and I shall always be good friends; but I am sorry to say there is no prospect of his marrying my niece,\" said Mr. Brooke, much relieved to see through the window that Celia was coming in.\n\"Why not?\" said Mrs. Cadwallader, with a sharp note of surprise. \"It is hardly a fortnight since you and I were talking about it.\"", "chosen": "My, Nice, As, Casaubon's, It, Casaubon, In, Well,, Fitchett,, Pretty, Better, What, One, Come, He, You, Fitchett,, Take, You, You, He's, It, A, Don't, Fitchett, Indeed,, Cadwallader, Such, A, Mr., Brooke,, Cadwallader's, I, I, I, I, Come,, Brooke,, Casaubon, He, He, That, I, Who, I, You, See, Humphrey, I, That, Now,, Brooke., A, You, You, Brooke,, As, He, But, No., I, Nobody, Now,, How, Brooke,, Cadwallader's, Your, You, I, Brooke, That, You, And, Why,, People, And, who, Sir, Brooke, Cadwallader's, It, Cadwallader;\", Who, Certainly, I, Brooke,, Why, Cadwallader,, It", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nMy, Nice, As, Casaubon's, It, Casaubon, In, Well,, Fitchett,, Pretty, Better, What, One, Come, He, You, Fitchett,, Take, You, You, He's, It, A, Don't, Fitchett, Indeed,, Cadwallader, Such, A, Mr., Brooke,, Cadwallader's, I, I, I, I, Come,, Brooke,, Casaubon, He, He, That, I, Who, I, You, See, Humphrey, I, That, Now,, Brooke., A, You, You, Brooke,, As, He, But, No., I, Nobody, Now,, How, Brooke,, Cadwallader's, Your, You, I, Brooke, That, You, And, Why,, People, And, who, Sir, Brooke, Cadwallader's, It, Cadwallader;\", Who, Certainly, I, Brooke,, Why, Cadwallader,, It\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-007-00-d63057e0", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Starbuck, of late I've felt strangely moved to thee; ever since that hour we both saw—thou know'st what, in one another's eyes. But in this matter of the whale, be the front of thy face to me as the palm of this hand—a lipless, unfeatured blank. Ahab is for ever Ahab, man. This whole act's immutably decreed. 'Twas rehearsed by thee and me a billion years before this ocean rolled. Fool! I am the Fates' lieutenant; I act under orders. Look thou, underling! that thou obeyest mine.—Stand round me, men. Ye see an old man cut down to the stump; leaning on a shivered lance; propped up on a lonely foot. 'Tis Ahab—his body's part; but Ahab's soul's a centipede, that moves upon a hundred legs. I feel strained, half stranded, as ropes that tow dismasted frigates in a gale; and I may look so. But ere I break, ye'll hear me crack; and till ye hear that, know that Ahab's hawser tows his purpose yet. Believe ye, men, in the things called omens? Then laugh aloud, and cry encore! For ere they drown, drowning things will twice rise to the surface; then rise again, to sink for evermore. So with Moby Dick—two days he's floated—tomorrow will be the third. Aye, men, he'll rise once more,—but only to spout his last! D'ye feel brave men, brave?\"\n\"As fearless fire,\" cried Stubb.\n\"And as mechanical,\" muttered Ahab. Then as the men went forward, he muttered on: \"The things called omens! And yesterday I talked the same to Starbuck there, concerning my broken boat. Oh! how valiantly I seek to drive out of others' hearts what's clinched so fast in mine!—The Parsee—the Parsee!—gone, gone? and he was to go before:—but still was to be seen again ere I could perish—How's that?—There's a riddle now might baffle all the lawyers backed by the ghosts of the whole line of judges:—like a hawk's beak it pecks my brain. I'll, I'll solve it, though!\"\nWhen dusk descended, the whale was still in sight to leeward.\nSo once more the sail was shortened, and everything passed nearly as on the previous night; only, the sound of hammers, and the hum of the grindstone was heard till nearly daylight, as the men toiled by lanterns in the complete and careful rigging of the spare boats and sharpening their fresh weapons for the morrow. Meantime, of the broken keel of Ahab's wrecked craft the carpenter made him another leg; while still as on the night before, slouched Ahab stood fixed within his scuttle; his hid, heliotrope glance anticipatingly gone backward on its dial; sat due eastward for the earliest sun.", "chosen": "28", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n28\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-116-02-522debe8", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nOn a January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York.\nThough there was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitan distances \"above the Forties,\" of a new Opera House which should compete in costliness and splendour with those of the great European capitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassemble every winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy. Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thus keeping out the \"new people\" whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historic associations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always so problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music.\nIt was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as \"an exceptionally brilliant audience\" had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient \"Brown coupe.\" To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy. It was one of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.\nWhen Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box the curtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason why the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and finial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs. Archer allowed smoking. But, in the first place, New York was a metropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was \"not the thing\" to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not \"the thing\" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago.\nThe second reason for his delay was a personal one. He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation. This was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion the moment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in quality that--well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima donna's stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more significant moment than just as she was singing: \"He loves me--he loves me not--he loves me!--\" and sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as dew.\nShe sang, of course, \"M'ama!\" and not \"he loves me,\" since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.\n\"M'ama ... non m'ama ...\" the prima donna sang, and \"M'ama!\", with a final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless victim.\nNewland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box, turned his eyes from the stage and scanned the opposite side of the house. Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to attend the Opera, but who was always represented on fashionable nights by some of the younger members of the family. On this occasion, the front of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawn behind these brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically fixed on the stage-lovers. As Madame Nilsson's \"M'ama!\" thrilled out above the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking during the Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl's cheek, mantled her brow to the roots of her fair braids, and suffused the young slope of her breast to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened with a single gardenia. She dropped her eyes to the immense bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her knee, and Newland Archer saw her white-gloved finger-tips touch the flowers softly. He drew a breath of satisfied vanity and his eyes returned to the stage.\nNo expense had been spared on the setting, which was acknowledged to be very beautiful even by people who shared his acquaintance with the Opera houses of Paris and Vienna. The foreground, to the footlights, was covered with emerald green cloth. In the middle distance symmetrical mounds of woolly green moss bounded by croquet hoops formed the base of shrubs shaped like orange-trees but studded with large pink and red roses. Gigantic pansies, considerably larger than the roses, and closely resembling the floral pen-wipers made by female parishioners for fashionable clergymen, sprang from the moss beneath the rose-trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-branch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr. Luther Burbank's far-off prodigies.\nIn the centre of this enchanted garden Madame Nilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin, a reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow braids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul's impassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension of his designs whenever, by word or glance, he persuasively indicated the ground floor window of the neat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing.\n\"The darling!\" thought Newland Archer, his glance flitting back to the young girl with the lilies-of-the-valley. \"She doesn't even guess what it's all about.\" And he contemplated her absorbed young face with a thrill of possessorship in which pride in his own masculine initiation was mingled with a tender reverence for her abysmal purity. \"We'll read Faust together ... by the Italian lakes ...\" he thought, somewhat hazily confusing the scene of his projected honey-moon with the masterpieces of literature which it would be his manly privilege to reveal to his bride. It was only that afternoon that May Welland had let him guess that she \"cared\" (New York's consecrated phrase of maiden avowal), and already his imagination, leaping ahead of the engagement ring, the betrothal kiss and the march from Lohengrin, pictured her at his side in some scene of old European witchery.", "chosen": "It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as \"an exceptionally brilliant audience\" had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient \"Brown coupe.\" To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nIt was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as \"an exceptionally brilliant audience\" had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient \"Brown coupe.\" To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-541-001-00-0e2476d6", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nReference was made to the historical story of Jonah and the whale in the preceding chapter. Now some Nantucketers rather distrust this historical story of Jonah and the whale. But then there were some sceptical Greeks and Romans, who, standing out from the orthodox pagans of their times, equally doubted the story of Hercules and the whale, and Arion and the dolphin; and yet their doubting those traditions did not make those traditions one whit the less facts, for all that.\nOne old Sag-Harbor whaleman's chief reason for questioning the Hebrew story was this:—He had one of those quaint old-fashioned Bibles, embellished with curious, unscientific plates; one of which represented Jonah's whale with two spouts in his head—a peculiarity only true with respect to a species of the Leviathan (the Right Whale, and the varieties of that order), concerning which the fishermen have this saying, \"A penny roll would choke him\"; his swallow is so very small. But, to this, Bishop Jebb's anticipative answer is ready. It is not necessary, hints the Bishop, that we consider Jonah as tombed in the whale's belly, but as temporarily lodged in some part of his mouth. And this seems reasonable enough in the good Bishop. For truly, the Right Whale's mouth would accommodate a couple of whist-tables, and comfortably seat all the players. Possibly, too, Jonah might have ensconced himself in a hollow tooth; but, on second thoughts, the Right Whale is toothless.\nAnother reason which Sag-Harbor (he went by that name) urged for his want of faith in this matter of the prophet, was something obscurely in reference to his incarcerated body and the whale's gastric juices. But this objection likewise falls to the ground, because a German exegetist supposes that Jonah must have taken refuge in the floating body of a dead whale—even as the French soldiers in the Russian campaign turned their dead horses into tents, and crawled into them. Besides, it has been divined by other continental commentators, that when Jonah was thrown overboard from the Joppa ship, he straightway effected his escape to another vessel near by, some vessel with a whale for a figure-head; and, I would add, possibly called \"The Whale,\" as some craft are nowadays christened the \"Shark,\" the \"Gull,\" the \"Eagle.\" Nor have there been wanting learned exegetists who have opined that the whale mentioned in the book of Jonah merely meant a life-preserver—an inflated bag of wind—which the endangered prophet swam to, and so was saved from a watery doom. Poor Sag-Harbor, therefore, seems worsted all round. But he had still another reason for his want of faith. It was this, if I remember right: Jonah was swallowed by the whale in the Mediterranean Sea, and after three days he was vomited up somewhere within three days' journey of Nineveh, a city on the Tigris, very much more than three days' journey across from the nearest point of the Mediterranean coast. How is that?\nBut was there no other way for the whale to land the prophet within that short distance of Nineveh? Yes. He might have carried him round by the way of the Cape of Good Hope. But not to speak of the passage through the whole length of the Mediterranean, and another passage up the Persian Gulf and Red Sea, such a supposition would involve the complete circumnavigation of all Africa in three days, not to speak of the Tigris waters, near the site of Nineveh, being too shallow for any whale to swim in. Besides, this idea of Jonah's weathering the Cape of Good Hope at so early a day would wrest the honor of the discovery of that great headland from Bartholomew Diaz, its reputed discoverer, and so make modern history a liar.\nBut all these foolish arguments of old Sag-Harbor only evinced his foolish pride of reason—a thing still more reprehensible in him, seeing that he had but little learning except what he had picked up from the sun and the sea. I say it only shows his foolish, impious pride, and abominable, devilish rebellion against the reverend clergy. For by a Portuguese Catholic priest, this very idea of Jonah's going to Nineveh via the Cape of Good Hope was advanced as a signal magnification of the general miracle. And so it was. Besides, to this day, the highly enlightened Turks devoutly believe in the historical story of Jonah. And some three centuries ago, an English traveller in old Harris's Voyages, speaks of a Turkish Mosque built in honor of Jonah, in which Mosque was a miraculous lamp that burnt without any oil.", "chosen": "[\"A penny roll would choke him\", \"The Whale,\", \"Shark,\", \"Gull,\", \"Eagle.\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"A penny roll would choke him\", \"The Whale,\", \"Shark,\", \"Gull,\", \"Eagle.\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-2701-072-00-9c8cfddf", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nMiss Blenker took this with a cheerful incredulity. \"Oh, I don't believe so. She didn't tell us what was in the telegram. I think she didn't want the Marchioness to know. She's so romantic-looking, isn't she? Doesn't she remind you of Mrs. Scott-Siddons when she reads 'Lady Geraldine's Courtship'? Did you never hear her?\"\nArcher was dealing hurriedly with crowding thoughts. His whole future seemed suddenly to be unrolled before him; and passing down its endless emptiness he saw the dwindling figure of a man to whom nothing was ever to happen. He glanced about him at the unpruned garden, the tumble-down house, and the oak-grove under which the dusk was gathering. It had seemed so exactly the place in which he ought to have found Madame Olenska; and she was far away, and even the pink sunshade was not hers ...\nHe frowned and hesitated. \"You don't know, I suppose--I shall be in Boston tomorrow. If I could manage to see her--\"\nHe felt that Miss Blenker was losing interest in him, though her smile persisted. \"Oh, of course; how lovely of you! She's staying at the Parker House; it must be horrible there in this weather.\"\nAfter that Archer was but intermittently aware of the remarks they exchanged. He could only remember stoutly resisting her entreaty that he should await the returning family and have high tea with them before he drove home. At length, with his hostess still at his side, he passed out of range of the wooden Cupid, unfastened his horses and drove off. At the turn of the lane he saw Miss Blenker standing at the gate and waving the pink parasol.", "chosen": "parasol", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nparasol\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-541-010-05-52451425", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nMr. Tartar's chambers were the neatest, the cleanest, and the best-ordered chambers ever seen under the sun, moon, and stars. The floors were scrubbed to that extent, that you might have supposed the London blacks emancipated for ever, and gone out of the land for good. Every inch of brass-work in Mr. Tartar's possession was polished and burnished, till it shone like a brazen mirror. No speck, nor spot, nor spatter soiled the purity of any of Mr. Tartar's household gods, large, small, or middle-sized. His sitting-room was like the admiral's cabin, his bath-room was like a dairy, his sleeping-chamber, fitted all about with lockers and drawers, was like a seedsman's shop; and his nicely-balanced cot just stirred in the midst, as if it breathed. Everything belonging to Mr. Tartar had quarters of its own assigned to it: his maps and charts had their quarters; his books had theirs; his brushes had theirs; his boots had theirs; his clothes had theirs; his case-bottles had theirs; his telescopes and other instruments had theirs. Everything was readily accessible. Shelf, bracket, locker, hook, and drawer were equally within reach, and were equally contrived with a view to avoiding waste of room, and providing some snug inches of stowage for something that would have exactly fitted nowhere else. His gleaming little service of plate was so arranged upon his sideboard as that a slack salt-spoon would have instantly betrayed itself; his toilet implements were so arranged upon his dressing-table as that a toothpick of slovenly deportment could have been reported at a glance. So with the curiosities he had brought home from various voyages. Stuffed, dried, repolished, or otherwise preserved, according to their kind; birds, fishes, reptiles, arms, articles of dress, shells, seaweeds, grasses, or memorials of coral reef; each was displayed in its especial place, and each could have been displayed in no better place. Paint and varnish seemed to be kept somewhere out of sight, in constant readiness to obliterate stray finger-marks wherever any might become perceptible in Mr. Tartar's chambers. No man-of-war was ever kept more spick and span from careless touch. On this bright summer day, a neat awning was rigged over Mr. Tartar's flower-garden as only a sailor can rig it, and there was a sea-going air upon the whole effect, so delightfully complete, that the flower-garden might have appertained to stern-windows afloat, and the whole concern might have bowled away gallantly with all on board, if Mr. Tartar had only clapped to his lips the speaking-trumpet that was slung in a corner, and given hoarse orders to heave the anchor up, look alive there, men, and get all sail upon her!\nMr. Tartar doing the honours of this gallant craft was of a piece with the rest. When a man rides an amiable hobby that shies at nothing and kicks nobody, it is only agreeable to find him riding it with a humorous sense of the droll side of the creature. When the man is a cordial and an earnest man by nature, and withal is perfectly fresh and genuine, it may be doubted whether he is ever seen to greater advantage than at such a time. So Rosa would have naturally thought (even if she hadn't been conducted over the ship with all the homage due to the First Lady of the Admiralty, or First Fairy of the Sea), that it was charming to see and hear Mr. Tartar half laughing at, and half rejoicing in, his various contrivances. So Rosa would have naturally thought, anyhow, that the sunburnt sailor showed to great advantage when, the inspection finished, he delicately withdrew out of his admiral's cabin, beseeching her to consider herself its Queen, and waving her free of his flower-garden with the hand that had had Mr. Crisparkle's life in it.\n\"Helena! Helena Landless! Are you there?\"\n\"Who speaks to me? Not Rosa?\" Then a second handsome face appearing.\n\"Yes, my darling!\"\n\"Why, how did you come here, dearest?\"\n\"I—I don't quite know,\" said Rosa with a blush; \"unless I am dreaming!\"\nWhy with a blush? For their two faces were alone with the other flowers. Are blushes among the fruits of the country of the magic bean-stalk?\n\"I am not dreaming,\" said Helena, smiling. \"I should take more for granted if I were. How do we come together—or so near together—so very unexpectedly?\"\nUnexpectedly indeed, among the dingy gables and chimneypots of P. J. T.'s connection, and the flowers that had sprung from the salt sea. But Rosa, waking, told in a hurry how they came to be together, and all the why and wherefore of that matter.\n\"And Mr. Crisparkle is here,\" said Rosa, in rapid conclusion; \"and, could you believe it? long ago he saved his life!\"\n\"I could believe any such thing of Mr. Crisparkle,\" returned Helena, with a mantling face.\n(More blushes in the bean-stalk country!)\n\"Yes, but it wasn't Crisparkle,\" said Rosa, quickly putting in the correction.\n\"I don't understand, love.\"\n\"It was very nice of Mr. Crisparkle to be saved,\" said Rosa, \"and he couldn't have shown his high opinion of Mr. Tartar more expressively. But it was Mr. Tartar who saved him.\"\nHelena's dark eyes looked very earnestly at the bright face among the leaves, and she asked, in a slower and more thoughtful tone:\n\"Is Mr. Tartar with you now, dear?\"\n\"No; because he has given up his rooms to me—to us, I mean. It is such a beautiful place!\"\n\"Is it?\"\n\"It is like the inside of the most exquisite ship that ever sailed. It is like—it is like—\"\n\"Like a dream?\" suggested Helena.\nRosa answered with a little nod, and smelled the flowers.\nHelena resumed, after a short pause of silence, during which she seemed (or it was Rosa's fancy) to compassionate somebody: \"My poor Neville is reading in his own room, the sun being so very bright on this side just now. I think he had better not know that you are so near.\"\n\"O, I think so too!\" cried Rosa very readily.\n\"I suppose,\" pursued Helena, doubtfully, \"that he must know by-and-by all you have told me; but I am not sure. Ask Mr. Crisparkle's advice, my darling. Ask him whether I may tell Neville as much or as little of what you have told me as I think best.\"\nRosa subsided into her state-cabin, and propounded the question. The Minor Canon was for the free exercise of Helena's judgment.\n\"I thank him very much,\" said Helena, when Rosa emerged again with her report. \"Ask him whether it would be best to wait until any more maligning and pursuing of Neville on the part of this wretch shall disclose itself, or to try to anticipate it: I mean, so far as to find out whether any such goes on darkly about us?\"\nThe Minor Canon found this point so difficult to give a confident opinion on, that, after two or three attempts and failures, he suggested a reference to Mr. Grewgious. Helena acquiescing, he betook himself (with a most unsuccessful assumption of lounging indifference) across the quadrangle to P. J. T.'s, and stated it. Mr. Grewgious held decidedly to the general principle, that if you could steal a march upon a brigand or a wild beast, you had better do it; and he also held decidedly to the special case, that John Jasper was a brigand and a wild beast in combination.\nThus advised, Mr. Crisparkle came back again and reported to Rosa, who in her turn reported to Helena. She now steadily pursuing her train of thought at her window, considered thereupon.\n\"We may count on Mr. Tartar's readiness to help us, Rosa?\" she inquired.\nO yes! Rosa shyly thought so. O yes, Rosa shyly believed she could almost answer for it. But should she ask Mr. Crisparkle? \"I think your authority on the point as good as his, my dear,\" said Helena, sedately, \"and you needn't disappear again for that.\" Odd of Helena!\n\"You see, Neville,\" Helena pursued after more reflection, \"knows no one else here: he has not so much as exchanged a word with any one else here. If Mr. Tartar would call to see him openly and often; if he would spare a minute for the purpose, frequently; if he would even do so, almost daily; something might come of it.\"", "chosen": "[\"London\", \"Rosa\", \"First\", \"Admiralty\", \"Fairy\", \"Sea\", \"Queen\", \"Helena\", \"Landless\", \"More\", \"Crisparkle\", \"Like\", \"Neville\", \"Minor\", \"Canon\", \"Ask\", \"John\", \"Jasper\", \"Odd\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"London\", \"Rosa\", \"First\", \"Admiralty\", \"Fairy\", \"Sea\", \"Queen\", \"Helena\", \"Landless\", \"More\", \"Crisparkle\", \"Like\", \"Neville\", \"Minor\", \"Canon\", \"Ask\", \"John\", \"Jasper\", \"Odd\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-564-022-00-ad3440fb", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIt was a crowded night at Wallack's theatre.\nThe play was \"The Shaughraun,\" with Dion Boucicault in the title role and Harry Montague and Ada Dyas as the lovers. The popularity of the admirable English company was at its height, and the Shaughraun always packed the house. In the galleries the enthusiasm was unreserved; in the stalls and boxes, people smiled a little at the hackneyed sentiments and clap-trap situations, and enjoyed the play as much as the galleries did.\nThere was one episode, in particular, that held the house from floor to ceiling. It was that in which Harry Montague, after a sad, almost monosyllabic scene of parting with Miss Dyas, bade her good-bye, and turned to go. The actress, who was standing near the mantelpiece and looking down into the fire, wore a gray cashmere dress without fashionable loopings or trimmings, moulded to her tall figure and flowing in long lines about her feet. Around her neck was a narrow black velvet ribbon with the ends falling down her back.\nWhen her wooer turned from her she rested her arms against the mantel-shelf and bowed her face in her hands. On the threshold he paused to look at her; then he stole back, lifted one of the ends of velvet ribbon, kissed it, and left the room without her hearing him or changing her attitude. And on this silent parting the curtain fell.\nIt was always for the sake of that particular scene that Newland Archer went to see \"The Shaughraun.\" He thought the adieux of Montague and Ada Dyas as fine as anything he had ever seen Croisette and Bressant do in Paris, or Madge Robertson and Kendal in London; in its reticence, its dumb sorrow, it moved him more than the most famous histrionic outpourings.\nOn the evening in question the little scene acquired an added poignancy by reminding him--he could not have said why--of his leave-taking from Madame Olenska after their confidential talk a week or ten days earlier.\nIt would have been as difficult to discover any resemblance between the two situations as between the appearance of the persons concerned. Newland Archer could not pretend to anything approaching the young English actor's romantic good looks, and Miss Dyas was a tall red-haired woman of monumental build whose pale and pleasantly ugly face was utterly unlike Ellen Olenska's vivid countenance. Nor were Archer and Madame Olenska two lovers parting in heart-broken silence; they were client and lawyer separating after a talk which had given the lawyer the worst possible impression of the client's case. Wherein, then, lay the resemblance that made the young man's heart beat with a kind of retrospective excitement? It seemed to be in Madame Olenska's mysterious faculty of suggesting tragic and moving possibilities outside the daily run of experience. She had hardly ever said a word to him to produce this impression, but it was a part of her, either a projection of her mysterious and outlandish background or of something inherently dramatic, passionate and unusual in herself. Archer had always been inclined to think that chance and circumstance played a small part in shaping people's lots compared with their innate tendency to have things happen to them. This tendency he had felt from the first in Madame Olenska. The quiet, almost passive young woman struck him as exactly the kind of person to whom things were bound to happen, no matter how much she shrank from them and went out of her way to avoid them. The exciting fact was her having lived in an atmosphere so thick with drama that her own tendency to provoke it had apparently passed unperceived. It was precisely the odd absence of surprise in her that gave him the sense of her having been plucked out of a very maelstrom: the things she took for granted gave the measure of those she had rebelled against.\nArcher had left her with the conviction that Count Olenski's accusation was not unfounded. The mysterious person who figured in his wife's past as \"the secretary\" had probably not been unrewarded for his share in her escape. The conditions from which she had fled were intolerable, past speaking of, past believing: she was young, she was frightened, she was desperate--what more natural than that she should be grateful to her rescuer? The pity was that her gratitude put her, in the law's eyes and the world's, on a par with her abominable husband. Archer had made her understand this, as he was bound to do; he had also made her understand that simple-hearted kindly New York, on whose larger charity she had apparently counted, was precisely the place where she could least hope for indulgence.\nTo have to make this fact plain to her--and to witness her resigned acceptance of it--had been intolerably painful to him. He felt himself drawn to her by obscure feelings of jealousy and pity, as if her dumbly-confessed error had put her at his mercy, humbling yet endearing her. He was glad it was to him she had revealed her secret, rather than to the cold scrutiny of Mr. Letterblair, or the embarrassed gaze of her family. He immediately took it upon himself to assure them both that she had given up her idea of seeking a divorce, basing her decision on the fact that she had understood the uselessness of the proceeding; and with infinite relief they had all turned their eyes from the \"unpleasantness\" she had spared them.\n\"I was sure Newland would manage it,\" Mrs. Welland had said proudly of her future son-in-law; and old Mrs. Mingott, who had summoned him for a confidential interview, had congratulated him on his cleverness, and added impatiently: \"Silly goose! I told her myself what nonsense it was. Wanting to pass herself off as Ellen Mingott and an old maid, when she has the luck to be a married woman and a Countess!\"\nThese incidents had made the memory of his last talk with Madame Olenska so vivid to the young man that as the curtain fell on the parting of the two actors his eyes filled with tears, and he stood up to leave the theatre.\nIn doing so, he turned to the side of the house behind him, and saw the lady of whom he was thinking seated in a box with the Beauforts, Lawrence Lefferts and one or two other men. He had not spoken with her alone since their evening together, and had tried to avoid being with her in company; but now their eyes met, and as Mrs. Beaufort recognised him at the same time, and made her languid little gesture of invitation, it was impossible not to go into the box.\nBeaufort and Lefferts made way for him, and after a few words with Mrs. Beaufort, who always preferred to look beautiful and not have to talk, Archer seated himself behind Madame Olenska. There was no one else in the box but Mr. Sillerton Jackson, who was telling Mrs. Beaufort in a confidential undertone about Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's last Sunday reception (where some people reported that there had been dancing). Under cover of this circumstantial narrative, to which Mrs. Beaufort listened with her perfect smile, and her head at just the right angle to be seen in profile from the stalls, Madame Olenska turned and spoke in a low voice.\n\"Do you think,\" she asked, glancing toward the stage, \"he will send her a bunch of yellow roses tomorrow morning?\"\nArcher reddened, and his heart gave a leap of surprise. He had called only twice on Madame Olenska, and each time he had sent her a box of yellow roses, and each time without a card. She had never before made any allusion to the flowers, and he supposed she had never thought of him as the sender. Now her sudden recognition of the gift, and her associating it with the tender leave-taking on the stage, filled him with an agitated pleasure.\n\"I was thinking of that too--I was going to leave the theatre in order to take the picture away with me,\" he said.\nTo his surprise her colour rose, reluctantly and duskily. She looked down at the mother-of-pearl opera-glass in her smoothly gloved hands, and said, after a pause: \"What do you do while May is away?\"", "chosen": "It, The, The, In, There, It, The, Around, When, On, And, It, On, It, Newland, Nor, Wherein,, It, She, Archer, This, The, The, It, Archer, The, The, The, Archer, To, He, He, Letterblair,, He, I, Welland, Mingott,, I, Wanting, In, He, Beaufort, Beaufort, Beaufort,, There, Sillerton, Beaufort, Lemuel, Under, Beaufort, Do, He, She, Now, I, To, She", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nIt, The, The, In, There, It, The, Around, When, On, And, It, On, It, Newland, Nor, Wherein,, It, She, Archer, This, The, The, It, Archer, The, The, The, Archer, To, He, He, Letterblair,, He, I, Welland, Mingott,, I, Wanting, In, He, Beaufort, Beaufort, Beaufort,, There, Sillerton, Beaufort, Lemuel, Under, Beaufort, Do, He, She, Now, I, To, She\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-541-006-00-53ef80ed", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe central body of it is hidden in the snowy sparkling mist enveloping it; and how can you certainly tell whether any water falls from it, when, always, when you are close enough to a whale to get a close view of his spout, he is in a prodigious commotion, the water cascading all around him. And if at such times you should think that you really perceived drops of moisture in the spout, how do you know that they are not merely condensed from its vapor; or how do you know that they are not those identical drops superficially lodged in the spout-hole fissure, which is countersunk into the summit of the whale's head? For even when tranquilly swimming through the mid-day sea in a calm, with his elevated hump sun-dried as a dromedary's in the desert; even then, the whale always carries a small basin of water on his head, as under a blazing sun you will sometimes see a cavity in a rock filled up with rain.\nNor is it at all prudent for the hunter to be over curious touching the precise nature of the whale spout. It will not do for him to be peering into it, and putting his face in it. You cannot go with your pitcher to this fountain and fill it, and bring it away. For even when coming into slight contact with the outer, vapory shreds of the jet, which will often happen, your skin will feverishly smart, from the acridness of the thing so touching it. And I know one, who coming into still closer contact with the spout, whether with some scientific object in view, or otherwise, I cannot say, the skin peeled off from his cheek and arm. Wherefore, among whalemen, the spout is deemed poisonous; they try to evade it. Another thing; I have heard it said, and I do not much doubt it, that if the jet is fairly spouted into your eyes, it will blind you. The wisest thing the investigator can do then, it seems to me, is to let this deadly spout alone.\nStill, we can hypothesize, even if we cannot prove and establish. My hypothesis is this: that the spout is nothing but mist. And besides other reasons, to this conclusion I am impelled, by considerations touching the great inherent dignity and sublimity of the Sperm Whale; I account him no common, shallow being, inasmuch as it is an undisputed fact that he is never found on soundings, or near shores; all other whales sometimes are. He is both ponderous and profound. And I am convinced that from the heads of all ponderous profound beings, such as Plato, Pyrrho, the Devil, Jupiter, Dante, and so on, there always goes up a certain semi-visible steam, while in the act of thinking deep thoughts. While composing a little treatise on Eternity, I had the curiosity to place a mirror before me; and ere long saw reflected there, a curious involved worming and undulation in the atmosphere over my head. The invariable moisture of my hair, while plunged in deep thought, after six cups of hot tea in my thin shingled attic, of an August noon; this seems an additional argument for the above supposition.\nAnd how nobly it raises our conceit of the mighty, misty monster, to behold him solemnly sailing through a calm tropical sea; his vast, mild head overhung by a canopy of vapor, engendered by his incommunicable contemplations, and that vapor—as you will sometimes see it—glorified by a rainbow, as if Heaven itself had put its seal upon his thoughts. For, d'ye see, rainbows do not visit the clear air; they only irradiate vapor. And so, through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog with a heavenly ray. And for this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny; but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions. Doubts of all things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this combination makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who regards them both with equal eye.", "chosen": "23", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n23\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-074-01-c85f6f69", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nAt seven o'clock Ivan got into the train and set off to Moscow \"Away with the past. I've done with the old world for ever, and may I have no news, no echo, from it. To a new life, new places and no looking back!\" But instead of delight his soul was filled with such gloom, and his heart ached with such anguish, as he had never known in his life before. He was thinking all the night. The train flew on, and only at daybreak, when he was approaching Moscow, he suddenly roused himself from his meditation.\n\"I am a scoundrel,\" he whispered to himself.\nFyodor Pavlovitch remained well satisfied at having seen his son off. For two hours afterwards he felt almost happy, and sat drinking brandy. But suddenly something happened which was very annoying and unpleasant for every one in the house, and completely upset Fyodor Pavlovitch's equanimity at once. Smerdyakov went to the cellar for something and fell down from the top of the steps. Fortunately, Marfa Ignatyevna was in the yard and heard him in time. She did not see the fall, but heard his scream—the strange, peculiar scream, long familiar to her—the scream of the epileptic falling in a fit. They could not tell whether the fit had come on him at the moment he was descending the steps, so that he must have fallen unconscious, or whether it was the fall and the shock that had caused the fit in Smerdyakov, who was known to be liable to them. They found him at the bottom of the cellar steps, writhing in convulsions and foaming at the mouth. It was thought at first that he must have broken something—an arm or a leg—and hurt himself, but \"God had preserved him,\" as Marfa Ignatyevna expressed it—nothing of the kind had happened. But it was difficult to get him out of the cellar. They asked the neighbors to help and managed it somehow. Fyodor Pavlovitch himself was present at the whole ceremony. He helped, evidently alarmed and upset. The sick man did not regain consciousness; the convulsions ceased for a time, but then began again, and every one concluded that the same thing would happen, as had happened a year before, when he accidentally fell from the garret. They remembered that ice had been put on his head then. There was still ice in the cellar, and Marfa Ignatyevna had some brought up. In the evening, Fyodor Pavlovitch sent for Doctor Herzenstube, who arrived at once. He was a most estimable old man, and the most careful and conscientious doctor in the province. After careful examination, he concluded that the fit was a very violent one and might have serious consequences; that meanwhile he, Herzenstube, did not fully understand it, but that by to-morrow morning, if the present remedies were unavailing, he would venture to try something else. The invalid was taken to the lodge, to a room next to Grigory's and Marfa Ignatyevna's.\nThen Fyodor Pavlovitch had one misfortune after another to put up with that day. Marfa Ignatyevna cooked the dinner, and the soup, compared with Smerdyakov's, was \"no better than dish-water,\" and the fowl was so dried up that it was impossible to masticate it. To her master's bitter, though deserved, reproaches, Marfa Ignatyevna replied that the fowl was a very old one to begin with, and that she had never been trained as a cook. In the evening there was another trouble in store for Fyodor Pavlovitch; he was informed that Grigory, who had not been well for the last three days, was completely laid up by his lumbago. Fyodor Pavlovitch finished his tea as early as possible and locked himself up alone in the house. He was in terrible excitement and suspense. That evening he reckoned on Grushenka's coming almost as a certainty. He had received from Smerdyakov that morning an assurance \"that she had promised to come without fail.\" The incorrigible old man's heart throbbed with excitement; he paced up and down his empty rooms listening. He had to be on the alert. Dmitri might be on the watch for her somewhere, and when she knocked on the window (Smerdyakov had informed him two days before that he had told her where and how to knock) the door must be opened at once. She must not be a second in the passage, for fear—which God forbid!—that she should be frightened and run away. Fyodor Pavlovitch had much to think of, but never had his heart been steeped in such voluptuous hopes. This time he could say almost certainly that she would come!", "chosen": "They could not tell whether the fit had come on him at the moment he was descending the steps, so that he must have fallen unconscious, or whether it was the fall and the shock that had caused the fit in Smerdyakov, who was known to be liable to them.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nThey could not tell whether the fit had come on him at the moment he was descending the steps, so that he must have fallen unconscious, or whether it was the fall and the shock that had caused the fit in Smerdyakov, who was known to be liable to them.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-037-02-222140bf", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nWith these discoveries he returned to Cloisterham, and, taking Neville Landless with him, went straight to the Mayor. Mr. Jasper was sent for, the watch and shirt-pin were identified, Neville was detained, and the wildest frenzy and fatuity of evil report rose against him. He was of that vindictive and violent nature, that but for his poor sister, who alone had influence over him, and out of whose sight he was never to be trusted, he would be in the daily commission of murder. Before coming to England he had caused to be whipped to death sundry \"Natives\"—nomadic persons, encamping now in Asia, now in Africa, now in the West Indies, and now at the North Pole—vaguely supposed in Cloisterham to be always black, always of great virtue, always calling themselves Me, and everybody else Massa or Missie (according to sex), and always reading tracts of the obscurest meaning, in broken English, but always accurately understanding them in the purest mother tongue. He had nearly brought Mrs. Crisparkle's grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. (Those original expressions were Mr. Sapsea's.) He had repeatedly said he would have Mr. Crisparkle's life. He had repeatedly said he would have everybody's life, and become in effect the last man. He had been brought down to Cloisterham, from London, by an eminent Philanthropist, and why? Because that Philanthropist had expressly declared: \"I owe it to my fellow-creatures that he should be, in the words of BENTHAM, where he is the cause of the greatest danger to the smallest number.\"\nThese dropping shots from the blunderbusses of blunderheadedness might not have hit him in a vital place. But he had to stand against a trained and well-directed fire of arms of precision too. He had notoriously threatened the lost young man, and had, according to the showing of his own faithful friend and tutor who strove so hard for him, a cause of bitter animosity (created by himself, and stated by himself), against that ill-starred fellow. He had armed himself with an offensive weapon for the fatal night, and he had gone off early in the morning, after making preparations for departure. He had been found with traces of blood on him; truly, they might have been wholly caused as he represented, but they might not, also. On a search-warrant being issued for the examination of his room, clothes, and so forth, it was discovered that he had destroyed all his papers, and rearranged all his possessions, on the very afternoon of the disappearance. The watch found at the Weir was challenged by the jeweller as one he had wound and set for Edwin Drood, at twenty minutes past two on that same afternoon; and it had run down, before being cast into the water; and it was the jeweller's positive opinion that it had never been re-wound. This would justify the hypothesis that the watch was taken from him not long after he left Mr. Jasper's house at midnight, in company with the last person seen with him, and that it had been thrown away after being retained some hours. Why thrown away? If he had been murdered, and so artfully disfigured, or concealed, or both, as that the murderer hoped identification to be impossible, except from something that he wore, assuredly the murderer would seek to remove from the body the most lasting, the best known, and the most easily recognisable, things upon it. Those things would be the watch and shirt-pin. As to his opportunities of casting them into the river; if he were the object of these suspicions, they were easy. For, he had been seen by many persons, wandering about on that side of the city—indeed on all sides of it—in a miserable and seemingly half-distracted manner. As to the choice of the spot, obviously such criminating evidence had better take its chance of being found anywhere, rather than upon himself, or in his possession. Concerning the reconciliatory nature of the appointed meeting between the two young men, very little could be made of that in young Landless's favour; for it distinctly appeared that the meeting originated, not with him, but with Mr. Crisparkle, and that it had been urged on by Mr. Crisparkle; and who could say how unwillingly, or in what ill-conditioned mood, his enforced pupil had gone to it? The more his case was looked into, the weaker it became in every point. Even the broad suggestion that the lost young man had absconded, was rendered additionally improbable on the showing of the young lady from whom he had so lately parted; for; what did she say, with great earnestness and sorrow, when interrogated? That he had, expressly and enthusiastically, planned with her, that he would await the arrival of her guardian, Mr. Grewgious. And yet, be it observed, he disappeared before that gentleman appeared.\nOn the suspicions thus urged and supported, Neville was detained, and re-detained, and the search was pressed on every hand, and Jasper laboured night and day. But nothing more was found. No discovery being made, which proved the lost man to be dead, it at length became necessary to release the person suspected of having made away with him. Neville was set at large. Then, a consequence ensued which Mr. Crisparkle had too well foreseen. Neville must leave the place, for the place shunned him and cast him out. Even had it not been so, the dear old china shepherdess would have worried herself to death with fears for her son, and with general trepidation occasioned by their having such an inmate. Even had that not been so, the authority to which the Minor Canon deferred officially, would have settled the point.\n\"Mr. Crisparkle,\" quoth the Dean, \"human justice may err, but it must act according to its lights. The days of taking sanctuary are past. This young man must not take sanctuary with us.\"\n\"You mean that he must leave my house, sir?\"\n\"Mr. Crisparkle,\" returned the prudent Dean, \"I claim no authority in your house. I merely confer with you, on the painful necessity you find yourself under, of depriving this young man of the great advantages of your counsel and instruction.\"\n\"It is very lamentable, sir,\" Mr. Crisparkle represented.\n\"Very much so,\" the Dean assented.\n\"And if it be a necessity—\" Mr. Crisparkle faltered.\n\"As you unfortunately find it to be,\" returned the Dean.\nMr. Crisparkle bowed submissively: \"It is hard to prejudge his case, sir, but I am sensible that—\"\n\"Just so. Perfectly. As you say, Mr. Crisparkle,\" interposed the Dean, nodding his head smoothly, \"there is nothing else to be done. No doubt, no doubt. There is no alternative, as your good sense has discovered.\"\n\"I am entirely satisfied of his perfect innocence, sir, nevertheless.\"\n\"We-e-ell!\" said the Dean, in a more confidential tone, and slightly glancing around him, \"I would not say so, generally. Not generally. Enough of suspicion attaches to him to—no, I think I would not say so, generally.\"\nMr. Crisparkle bowed again.\n\"It does not become us, perhaps,\" pursued the Dean, \"to be partisans. Not partisans. We clergy keep our hearts warm and our heads cool, and we hold a judicious middle course.\"\n\"I hope you do not object, sir, to my having stated in public, emphatically, that he will reappear here, whenever any new suspicion may be awakened, or any new circumstance may come to light in this extraordinary matter?\"\n\"Not at all,\" returned the Dean. \"And yet, do you know, I don't think,\" with a very nice and neat emphasis on those two words: \"I don't think I would state it emphatically. State it? Ye-e-es! But emphatically? No-o-o. I think not. In point of fact, Mr. Crisparkle, keeping our hearts warm and our heads cool, we clergy need do nothing emphatically.\"\nSo Minor Canon Row knew Neville Landless no more; and he went whithersoever he would, or could, with a blight upon his name and fame.", "chosen": "[\"Natives\", \"I owe it to my fellow-creatures that he should be, in the words of BENTHAM, where he is the cause of the greatest danger to the smallest number.\", \"Mr. Crisparkle,\", \"human justice may err, but it must act according to its lights. The days of taking sanctuary are past. This young man must not take sanctuary with us.\", \"You mean that he must leave my house, sir?\", \"Mr. Crisparkle,\", \"I claim no authority in your house. I merely confer with you, on the painful necessity you find yourself under, of depriving this young man of the great advantages of your counsel and instruction.\", \"It is very lamentable, sir,\", \"Very much so,\", \"And if it be a necessity\\u2014\", \"As you unfortunately find it to be,\", \"It is hard to prejudge his case, sir, but I am sensible that\\u2014\", \"Just so. Perfectly. As you say, Mr. Crisparkle,\", \"there is nothing else to be done. No doubt, no doubt. There is no alternative, as your good sense has discovered.\", \"I am entirely satisfied of his perfect innocence, sir, nevertheless.\", \"We-e-ell!\", \"I would not say so, generally. Not generally. Enough of suspicion attaches to him to\\u2014no, I think I would not say so, generally.\", \"It does not become us, perhaps,\", \"to be partisans. Not partisans. We clergy keep our hearts warm and our heads cool, and we hold a judicious middle course.\", \"Not at all,\", \"And yet, do you know, I don't think,\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Natives\", \"I owe it to my fellow-creatures that he should be, in the words of BENTHAM, where he is the cause of the greatest danger to the smallest number.\", \"Mr. Crisparkle,\", \"human justice may err, but it must act according to its lights. The days of taking sanctuary are past. This young man must not take sanctuary with us.\", \"You mean that he must leave my house, sir?\", \"Mr. Crisparkle,\", \"I claim no authority in your house. I merely confer with you, on the painful necessity you find yourself under, of depriving this young man of the great advantages of your counsel and instruction.\", \"It is very lamentable, sir,\", \"Very much so,\", \"And if it be a necessity\\u2014\", \"As you unfortunately find it to be,\", \"It is hard to prejudge his case, sir, but I am sensible that\\u2014\", \"Just so. Perfectly. As you say, Mr. Crisparkle,\", \"there is nothing else to be done. No doubt, no doubt. There is no alternative, as your good sense has discovered.\", \"I am entirely satisfied of his perfect innocence, sir, nevertheless.\", \"We-e-ell!\", \"I would not say so, generally. Not generally. Enough of suspicion attaches to him to\\u2014no, I think I would not say so, generally.\", \"It does not become us, perhaps,\", \"to be partisans. Not partisans. We clergy keep our hearts warm and our heads cool, and we hold a judicious middle course.\", \"Not at all,\", \"And yet, do you know, I don't think,\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-564-016-02-bcc1d8a0", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nI found that no genius in another could please me. My unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source of comfort.—GOLDSMITH.\nOne morning, some weeks after her arrival at Lowick, Dorothea—but why always Dorothea? Was her point of view the only possible one with regard to this marriage? I protest against all our interest, all our effort at understanding being given to the young skins that look blooming in spite of trouble; for these too will get faded, and will know the older and more eating griefs which we are helping to neglect. In spite of the blinking eyes and white moles objectionable to Celia, and the want of muscular curve which was morally painful to Sir James, Mr. Casaubon had an intense consciousness within him, and was spiritually a-hungered like the rest of us. He had done nothing exceptional in marrying—nothing but what society sanctions, and considers an occasion for wreaths and bouquets. It had occurred to him that he must not any longer defer his intention of matrimony, and he had reflected that in taking a wife, a man of good position should expect and carefully choose a blooming young lady—the younger the better, because more educable and submissive—of a rank equal to his own, of religious principles, virtuous disposition, and good understanding. On such a young lady he would make handsome settlements, and he would neglect no arrangement for her happiness: in return, he should receive family pleasures and leave behind him that copy of himself which seemed so urgently required of a man—to the sonneteers of the sixteenth century. Times had altered since then, and no sonneteer had insisted on Mr. Casaubon's leaving a copy of himself; moreover, he had not yet succeeded in issuing copies of his mythological key; but he had always intended to acquit himself by marriage, and the sense that he was fast leaving the years behind him, that the world was getting dimmer and that he felt lonely, was a reason to him for losing no more time in overtaking domestic delights before they too were left behind by the years.\nAnd when he had seen Dorothea he believed that he had found even more than he demanded: she might really be such a helpmate to him as would enable him to dispense with a hired secretary, an aid which Mr. Casaubon had never yet employed and had a suspicious dread of. (Mr. Casaubon was nervously conscious that he was expected to manifest a powerful mind.) Providence, in its kindness, had supplied him with the wife he needed. A wife, a modest young lady, with the purely appreciative, unambitious abilities of her sex, is sure to think her husband's mind powerful. Whether Providence had taken equal care of Miss Brooke in presenting her with Mr. Casaubon was an idea which could hardly occur to him. Society never made the preposterous demand that a man should think as much about his own qualifications for making a charming girl happy as he thinks of hers for making himself happy. As if a man could choose not only his wife but his wife's husband! Or as if he were bound to provide charms for his posterity in his own person!— When Dorothea accepted him with effusion, that was only natural; and Mr. Casaubon believed that his happiness was going to begin.\nHe had not had much foretaste of happiness in his previous life. To know intense joy without a strong bodily frame, one must have an enthusiastic soul. Mr. Casaubon had never had a strong bodily frame, and his soul was sensitive without being enthusiastic: it was too languid to thrill out of self-consciousness into passionate delight; it went on fluttering in the swampy ground where it was hatched, thinking of its wings and never flying. His experience was of that pitiable kind which shrinks from pity, and fears most of all that it should be known: it was that proud narrow sensitiveness which has not mass enough to spare for transformation into sympathy, and quivers thread-like in small currents of self-preoccupation or at best of an egoistic scrupulosity. And Mr. Casaubon had many scruples: he was capable of a severe self-restraint; he was resolute in being a man of honor according to the code; he would be unimpeachable by any recognized opinion. In conduct these ends had been attained; but the difficulty of making his Key to all Mythologies unimpeachable weighed like lead upon his mind; and the pamphlets—or \"Parerga\" as he called them—by which he tested his public and deposited small monumental records of his march, were far from having been seen in all their significance. He suspected the Archdeacon of not having read them; he was in painful doubt as to what was really thought of them by the leading minds of Brasenose, and bitterly convinced that his old acquaintance Carp had been the writer of that depreciatory recension which was kept locked in a small drawer of Mr. Casaubon's desk, and also in a dark closet of his verbal memory. These were heavy impressions to struggle against, and brought that melancholy embitterment which is the consequence of all excessive claim: even his religious faith wavered with his wavering trust in his own authorship, and the consolations of the Christian hope in immortality seemed to lean on the immortality of the still unwritten Key to all Mythologies. For my part I am very sorry for him. It is an uneasy lot at best, to be what we call highly taught and yet not to enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never to be liberated from a small hungry shivering self—never to be fully possessed by the glory we behold, never to have our consciousness rapturously transformed into the vividness of a thought, the ardor of a passion, the energy of an action, but always to be scholarly and uninspired, ambitious and timid, scrupulous and dim-sighted. Becoming a dean or even a bishop would make little difference, I fear, to Mr. Casaubon's uneasiness. Doubtless some ancient Greek has observed that behind the big mask and the speaking-trumpet, there must always be our poor little eyes peeping as usual and our timorous lips more or less under anxious control.", "chosen": "control", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\ncontrol\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-030-00-889ee1fd", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nSlowly wading through the meadows of brit, the Pequod still held on her way north-eastward towards the island of Java; a gentle air impelling her keel, so that in the surrounding serenity her three tall tapering masts mildly waved to that languid breeze, as three mild palms on a plain. And still, at wide intervals in the silvery night, the lonely, alluring jet would be seen.\nBut one transparent blue morning, when a stillness almost preternatural spread over the sea, however unattended with any stagnant calm; when the long burnished sun-glade on the waters seemed a golden finger laid across them, enjoining some secrecy; when the slippered waves whispered together as they softly ran on; in this profound hush of the visible sphere a strange spectre was seen by Daggoo from the main-mast-head.\nIn the distance, a great white mass lazily rose, and rising higher and higher, and disentangling itself from the azure, at last gleamed before our prow like a snow-slide, new slid from the hills. Thus glistening for a moment, as slowly it subsided, and sank. Then once more arose, and silently gleamed. It seemed not a whale; and yet is this Moby Dick? thought Daggoo. Again the phantom went down, but on re-appearing once more, with a stiletto-like cry that startled every man from his nod, the negro yelled out—\"There! there again! there she breaches! right ahead! The White Whale, the White Whale!\"\nUpon this, the seamen rushed to the yard-arms, as in swarming-time the bees rush to the boughs. Bare-headed in the sultry sun, Ahab stood on the bowsprit, and with one hand pushed far behind in readiness to wave his orders to the helmsman, cast his eager glance in the direction indicated aloft by the outstretched motionless arm of Daggoo.\nWhether the flitting attendance of the one still and solitary jet had gradually worked upon Ahab, so that he was now prepared to connect the ideas of mildness and repose with the first sight of the particular whale he pursued; however this was, or whether his eagerness betrayed him; whichever way it might have been, no sooner did he distinctly perceive the white mass, than with a quick intensity he instantly gave orders for lowering.\nThe four boats were soon on the water; Ahab's in advance, and all swiftly pulling towards their prey. Soon it went down, and while, with oars suspended, we were awaiting its reappearance, lo! in the same spot where it sank, once more it slowly rose. Almost forgetting for the moment all thoughts of Moby Dick, we now gazed at the most wondrous phenomenon which the secret seas have hitherto revealed to mankind. A vast pulpy mass, furlongs in length and breadth, of a glancing cream-colour, lay floating on the water, innumerable long arms radiating from its centre, and curling and twisting like a nest of anacondas, as if blindly to clutch at any hapless object within reach. No perceptible face or front did it have; no conceivable token of either sensation or instinct; but undulated there on the billows, an unearthly, formless, chance-like apparition of life.\nAs with a low sucking sound it slowly disappeared again, Starbuck still gazing at the agitated waters where it had sunk, with a wild voice exclaimed—\"Almost rather had I seen Moby Dick and fought him, than to have seen thee, thou white ghost!\"\n\"What was it, Sir?\" said Flask.\n\"The great live squid, which, they say, few whale-ships ever beheld, and returned to their ports to tell of it.\"\nBut Ahab said nothing; turning his boat, he sailed back to the vessel; the rest as silently following.\nWhatever superstitions the sperm whalemen in general have connected with the sight of this object, certain it is, that a glimpse of it being so very unusual, that circumstance has gone far to invest it with portentousness. So rarely is it beheld, that though one and all of them declare it to be the largest animated thing in the ocean, yet very few of them have any but the most vague ideas concerning its true nature and form; notwithstanding, they believe it to furnish to the sperm whale his only food. For though other species of whales find their food above water, and may be seen by man in the act of feeding, the spermaceti whale obtains his whole food in unknown zones below the surface; and only by inference is it that any one can tell of what, precisely, that food consists. At times, when closely pursued, he will disgorge what are supposed to be the detached arms of the squid; some of them thus exhibited exceeding twenty and thirty feet in length. They fancy that the monster to which these arms belonged ordinarily clings by them to the bed of the ocean; and that the sperm whale, unlike other species, is supplied with teeth in order to attack and tear it.\nThere seems some ground to imagine that the great Kraken of Bishop Pontoppodan may ultimately resolve itself into Squid. The manner in which the Bishop describes it, as alternately rising and sinking, with some other particulars he narrates, in all this the two correspond. But much abatement is necessary with respect to the incredible bulk he assigns it.\nBy some naturalists who have vaguely heard rumors of the mysterious creature, here spoken of, it is included among the class of cuttle-fish, to which, indeed, in certain external respects it would seem to belong, but only as the Anak of the tribe.", "chosen": "[\"Pequod\", \"Java\", \"Daggoo\", \"Moby\", \"Dick\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Ahab\", \"Starbuck\", \"Almost\", \"Flask\", \"Kraken\", \"Bishop\", \"Pontoppodan\", \"Squid\", \"Anak\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Pequod\", \"Java\", \"Daggoo\", \"Moby\", \"Dick\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Ahab\", \"Starbuck\", \"Almost\", \"Flask\", \"Kraken\", \"Bishop\", \"Pontoppodan\", \"Squid\", \"Anak\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-050-00-e6c29299", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nMarianne would have thought herself very inexcusable had she been able to sleep at all the first night after parting from Willoughby. She would have been ashamed to look her family in the face the next morning, had she not risen from her bed in more need of repose than when she lay down in it. But the feelings which made such composure a disgrace, left her in no danger of incurring it. She was awake the whole night, and she wept the greatest part of it. She got up with a headache, was unable to talk, and unwilling to take any nourishment; giving pain every moment to her mother and sisters, and forbidding all attempt at consolation from either. Her sensibility was potent enough!\nWhen breakfast was over she walked out by herself, and wandered about the village of Allenham, indulging the recollection of past enjoyment and crying over the present reverse for the chief of the morning.\nThe evening passed off in the equal indulgence of feeling. She played over every favourite song that she had been used to play to Willoughby, every air in which their voices had been oftenest joined, and sat at the instrument gazing on every line of music that he had written out for her, till her heart was so heavy that no farther sadness could be gained; and this nourishment of grief was every day applied. She spent whole hours at the pianoforte alternately singing and crying; her voice often totally suspended by her tears. In books too, as well as in music, she courted the misery which a contrast between the past and present was certain of giving. She read nothing but what they had been used to read together.\nSuch violence of affliction indeed could not be supported for ever; it sunk within a few days into a calmer melancholy; but these employments, to which she daily recurred, her solitary walks and silent meditations, still produced occasional effusions of sorrow as lively as ever.\nNo letter from Willoughby came; and none seemed expected by Marianne. Her mother was surprised, and Elinor again became uneasy. But Mrs. Dashwood could find explanations whenever she wanted them, which at least satisfied herself.\n\"Remember, Elinor,\" said she, \"how very often Sir John fetches our letters himself from the post, and carries them to it. We have already agreed that secrecy may be necessary, and we must acknowledge that it could not be maintained if their correspondence were to pass through Sir John's hands.\"\nElinor could not deny the truth of this, and she tried to find in it a motive sufficient for their silence. But there was one method so direct, so simple, and in her opinion so eligible of knowing the real state of the affair, and of instantly removing all mystery, that she could not help suggesting it to her mother.\n\"Why do you not ask Marianne at once,\" said she, \"whether she is or she is not engaged to Willoughby? From you, her mother, and so kind, so indulgent a mother, the question could not give offence. It would be the natural result of your affection for her. She used to be all unreserve, and to you more especially.\"\n\"I would not ask such a question for the world. Supposing it possible that they are not engaged, what distress would not such an enquiry inflict! At any rate it would be most ungenerous. I should never deserve her confidence again, after forcing from her a confession of what is meant at present to be unacknowledged to any one. I know Marianne's heart: I know that she dearly loves me, and that I shall not be the last to whom the affair is made known, when circumstances make the revealment of it eligible. I would not attempt to force the confidence of any one; of a child much less; because a sense of duty would prevent the denial which her wishes might direct.\"\nElinor thought this generosity overstrained, considering her sister's youth, and urged the matter farther, but in vain; common sense, common care, common prudence, were all sunk in Mrs. Dashwood's romantic delicacy.\nIt was several days before Willoughby's name was mentioned before Marianne by any of her family; Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, indeed, were not so nice; their witticisms added pain to many a painful hour; but one evening, Mrs. Dashwood, accidentally taking up a volume of Shakespeare, exclaimed--\n\"We have never finished Hamlet, Marianne; our dear Willoughby went away before we could get through it. We will put it by, that when he comes again--; But it may be months, perhaps, before that happens.\"\n\"Months!\" cried Marianne, with strong surprise. \"No--nor many weeks.\"\nMrs. Dashwood was sorry for what she had said; but it gave Elinor pleasure, as it produced a reply from Marianne so expressive of confidence in Willoughby and knowledge of his intentions.\nOne morning, about a week after his leaving the country, Marianne was prevailed on to join her sisters in their usual walk, instead of wandering away by herself. Hitherto she had carefully avoided every companion in her rambles. If her sisters intended to walk on the downs, she directly stole away towards the lanes; if they talked of the valley, she was as speedy in climbing the hills, and could never be found when the others set off. But at length she was secured by the exertions of Elinor, who greatly disapproved such continual seclusion. They walked along the road through the valley, and chiefly in silence, for Marianne's mind could not be controlled, and Elinor, satisfied with gaining one point, would not then attempt more. Beyond the entrance of the valley, where the country, though still rich, was less wild and more open, a long stretch of the road which they had travelled on first coming to Barton, lay before them; and on reaching that point, they stopped to look around them, and examine a prospect which formed the distance of their view from the cottage, from a spot which they had never happened to reach in any of their walks before.\nAmongst the objects in the scene, they soon discovered an animated one; it was a man on horseback riding towards them. In a few minutes they could distinguish him to be a gentleman; and in a moment afterwards Marianne rapturously exclaimed--\n\"It is he; it is indeed--I know it is!\" and was hastening to meet him, when Elinor cried out--\n\"Indeed, Marianne, I think you are mistaken. It is not Willoughby. The person is not tall enough for him, and has not his air.\"\n\"He has, he has,\" cried Marianne, \"I am sure he has. His air, his coat, his horse. I knew how soon he would come.\"\nShe walked eagerly on as she spoke; and Elinor, to screen Marianne from particularity, as she felt almost certain of its not being Willoughby, quickened her pace and kept up with her. They were soon within thirty yards of the gentleman. Marianne looked again; her heart sunk within her; and abruptly turning round, she was hurrying back, when the voices of both her sisters were raised to detain her; a third, almost as well known as Willoughby's, joined them in begging her to stop, and she turned round with surprise to see and welcome Edward Ferrars.\nHe was the only person in the world who could at that moment be forgiven for not being Willoughby; the only one who could have gained a smile from her; but she dispersed her tears to smile on him, and in her sister's happiness forgot for a time her own disappointment.\nHe dismounted, and giving his horse to his servant, walked back with them to Barton, whither he was purposely coming to visit them.", "chosen": "Marianne, She, But, She, She, Her, When, The, She, She, In, She, Such, No, Her, But, Dashwood, Remember,, We, But, Why, From, It, She, Supposing, At, I, I, I, Dashwood's, It, Jennings,, Dashwood,, We, No--nor, Dashwood, One, Hitherto, If, But, They, Beyond, Amongst, In, It, The, His, I, They, Marianne, He, He", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nMarianne, She, But, She, She, Her, When, The, She, She, In, She, Such, No, Her, But, Dashwood, Remember,, We, But, Why, From, It, She, Supposing, At, I, I, I, Dashwood's, It, Jennings,, Dashwood,, We, No--nor, Dashwood, One, Hitherto, If, But, They, Beyond, Amongst, In, It, The, His, I, They, Marianne, He, He\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-016-00-8b27b9a3", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nSyme looked left and right upon the patch of green field in which he found himself. The hedges were ordinary hedges, the trees seemed ordinary trees; yet he felt like a man entrapped in fairyland.\nHe looked the mysterious ambassador up and down, but he could discover nothing except that the man's coat was the exact colour of the purple shadows, and that the man's face was the exact colour of the red and brown and golden sky.\n\"Show us the place,\" Syme said briefly, and without a word the man in the violet coat turned his back and walked towards a gap in the hedge, which let in suddenly the light of a white road.\nAs the six wanderers broke out upon this thoroughfare, they saw the white road blocked by what looked like a long row of carriages, such a row of carriages as might close the approach to some house in Park Lane. Along the side of these carriages stood a rank of splendid servants, all dressed in the grey-blue uniform, and all having a certain quality of stateliness and freedom which would not commonly belong to the servants of a gentleman, but rather to the officials and ambassadors of a great king. There were no less than six carriages waiting, one for each of the tattered and miserable band. All the attendants (as if in court-dress) wore swords, and as each man crawled into his carriage they drew them, and saluted with a sudden blaze of steel.\n\"What can it all mean?\" asked Bull of Syme as they separated. \"Is this another joke of Sunday's?\"\n\"I don't know,\" said Syme as he sank wearily back in the cushions of his carriage; \"but if it is, it's one of the jokes you talk about. It's a good-natured one.\"\nThe six adventurers had passed through many adventures, but not one had carried them so utterly off their feet as this last adventure of comfort. They had all become inured to things going roughly; but things suddenly going smoothly swamped them. They could not even feebly imagine what the carriages were; it was enough for them to know that they were carriages, and carriages with cushions. They could not conceive who the old man was who had led them; but it was quite enough that he had certainly led them to the carriages.\nSyme drove through a drifting darkness of trees in utter abandonment. It was typical of him that while he had carried his bearded chin forward fiercely so long as anything could be done, when the whole business was taken out of his hands he fell back on the cushions in a frank collapse.\nVery gradually and very vaguely he realised into what rich roads the carriage was carrying him. He saw that they passed the stone gates of what might have been a park, that they began gradually to climb a hill which, while wooded on both sides, was somewhat more orderly than a forest. Then there began to grow upon him, as upon a man slowly waking from a healthy sleep, a pleasure in everything. He felt that the hedges were what hedges should be, living walls; that a hedge is like a human army, disciplined, but all the more alive. He saw high elms behind the hedges, and vaguely thought how happy boys would be climbing there. Then his carriage took a turn of the path, and he saw suddenly and quietly, like a long, low, sunset cloud, a long, low house, mellow in the mild light of sunset. All the six friends compared notes afterwards and quarrelled; but they all agreed that in some unaccountable way the place reminded them of their boyhood. It was either this elm-top or that crooked path, it was either this scrap of orchard or that shape of a window; but each man of them declared that he could remember this place before he could remember his mother.\nWhen the carriages eventually rolled up to a large, low, cavernous gateway, another man in the same uniform, but wearing a silver star on the grey breast of his coat, came out to meet them. This impressive person said to the bewildered Syme—\n\"Refreshments are provided for you in your room.\"\nSyme, under the influence of the same mesmeric sleep of amazement, went up the large oaken stairs after the respectful attendant. He entered a splendid suite of apartments that seemed to be designed specially for him. He walked up to a long mirror with the ordinary instinct of his class, to pull his tie straight or to smooth his hair; and there he saw the frightful figure that he was—blood running down his face from where the bough had struck him, his hair standing out like yellow rags of rank grass, his clothes torn into long, wavering tatters. At once the whole enigma sprang up, simply as the question of how he had got there, and how he was to get out again. Exactly at the same moment a man in blue, who had been appointed as his valet, said very solemnly—\n\"I have put out your clothes, sir.\"\n\"Clothes!\" said Syme sardonically. \"I have no clothes except these,\" and he lifted two long strips of his frock-coat in fascinating festoons, and made a movement as if to twirl like a ballet girl.\n\"My master asks me to say,\" said the attendant, \"that there is a fancy dress ball tonight, and that he desires you to put on the costume that I have laid out. Meanwhile, sir, there is a bottle of Burgundy and some cold pheasant, which he hopes you will not refuse, as it is some hours before supper.\"\n\"Cold pheasant is a good thing,\" said Syme reflectively, \"and Burgundy is a spanking good thing. But really I do not want either of them so much as I want to know what the devil all this means, and what sort of costume you have got laid out for me. Where is it?\"\nThe servant lifted off a kind of ottoman a long peacock-blue drapery, rather of the nature of a domino, on the front of which was emblazoned a large golden sun, and which was splashed here and there with flaming stars and crescents.\n\"You're to be dressed as Thursday, sir,\" said the valet somewhat affably.\n\"Dressed as Thursday!\" said Syme in meditation. \"It doesn't sound a warm costume.\"\n\"Oh, yes, sir,\" said the other eagerly, \"the Thursday costume is quite warm, sir. It fastens up to the chin.\"\n\"Well, I don't understand anything,\" said Syme, sighing. \"I have been used so long to uncomfortable adventures that comfortable adventures knock me out. Still, I may be allowed to ask why I should be particularly like Thursday in a green frock spotted all over with the sun and moon. Those orbs, I think, shine on other days. I once saw the moon on Tuesday, I remember.\"\n\"Beg pardon, sir,\" said the valet, \"Bible also provided for you,\" and with a respectful and rigid finger he pointed out a passage in the first chapter of Genesis. Syme read it wondering. It was that in which the fourth day of the week is associated with the creation of the sun and moon. Here, however, they reckoned from a Christian Sunday.\n\"This is getting wilder and wilder,\" said Syme, as he sat down in a chair. \"Who are these people who provide cold pheasant and Burgundy, and green clothes and Bibles? Do they provide everything?\"\n\"Yes, sir, everything,\" said the attendant gravely. \"Shall I help you on with your costume?\"\n\"Oh, hitch the bally thing on!\" said Syme impatiently.\nBut though he affected to despise the mummery, he felt a curious freedom and naturalness in his movements as the blue and gold garment fell about him; and when he found that he had to wear a sword, it stirred a boyish dream. As he passed out of the room he flung the folds across his shoulder with a gesture, his sword stood out at an angle, and he had all the swagger of a troubadour. For these disguises did not disguise, but reveal.", "chosen": "53", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n53\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-1695-014-02-839115e6", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nTo mercy, pity, peace, and love All pray in their distress, And to these virtues of delight, Return their thankfulness. . . . . . . For Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face; And Love, the human form divine; And Peace, the human dress. —WILLIAM BLAKE: Songs of Innocence.\nSome days later, Lydgate was riding to Lowick Manor, in consequence of a summons from Dorothea. The summons had not been unexpected, since it had followed a letter from Mr. Bulstrode, in which he stated that he had resumed his arrangements for quitting Middlemarch, and must remind Lydgate of his previous communications about the Hospital, to the purport of which he still adhered. It had been his duty, before taking further steps, to reopen the subject with Mrs. Casaubon, who now wished, as before, to discuss the question with Lydgate. \"Your views may possibly have undergone some change,\" wrote Mr. Bulstrode; \"but, in that case also, it is desirable that you should lay them before her.\"\nDorothea awaited his arrival with eager interest. Though, in deference to her masculine advisers, she had refrained from what Sir James had called \"interfering in this Bulstrode business,\" the hardship of Lydgate's position was continually in her mind, and when Bulstrode applied to her again about the hospital, she felt that the opportunity was come to her which she had been hindered from hastening. In her luxurious home, wandering under the boughs of her own great trees, her thought was going out over the lot of others, and her emotions were imprisoned. The idea of some active good within her reach, \"haunted her like a passion,\" and another's need having once come to her as a distinct image, preoccupied her desire with the yearning to give relief, and made her own ease tasteless. She was full of confident hope about this interview with Lydgate, never heeding what was said of his personal reserve; never heeding that she was a very young woman. Nothing could have seemed more irrelevant to Dorothea than insistence on her youth and sex when she was moved to show her human fellowship.\nAs she sat waiting in the library, she could do nothing but live through again all the past scenes which had brought Lydgate into her memories. They all owed their significance to her marriage and its troubles—but no; there were two occasions in which the image of Lydgate had come painfully in connection with his wife and some one else. The pain had been allayed for Dorothea, but it had left in her an awakened conjecture as to what Lydgate's marriage might be to him, a susceptibility to the slightest hint about Mrs. Lydgate. These thoughts were like a drama to her, and made her eyes bright, and gave an attitude of suspense to her whole frame, though she was only looking out from the brown library on to the turf and the bright green buds which stood in relief against the dark evergreens.\nWhen Lydgate came in, she was almost shocked at the change in his face, which was strikingly perceptible to her who had not seen him for two months. It was not the change of emaciation, but that effect which even young faces will very soon show from the persistent presence of resentment and despondency. Her cordial look, when she put out her hand to him, softened his expression, but only with melancholy.\n\"I have wished very much to see you for a long while, Mr. Lydgate,\" said Dorothea when they were seated opposite each other; \"but I put off asking you to come until Mr. Bulstrode applied to me again about the Hospital. I know that the advantage of keeping the management of it separate from that of the Infirmary depends on you, or, at least, on the good which you are encouraged to hope for from having it under your control. And I am sure you will not refuse to tell me exactly what you think.\"\n\"You want to decide whether you should give a generous support to the Hospital,\" said Lydgate. \"I cannot conscientiously advise you to do it in dependence on any activity of mine. I may be obliged to leave the town.\"\nHe spoke curtly, feeling the ache of despair as to his being able to carry out any purpose that Rosamond had set her mind against.\n\"Not because there is no one to believe in you?\" said Dorothea, pouring out her words in clearness from a full heart. \"I know the unhappy mistakes about you. I knew them from the first moment to be mistakes. You have never done anything vile. You would not do anything dishonorable.\"\nIt was the first assurance of belief in him that had fallen on Lydgate's ears. He drew a deep breath, and said, \"Thank you.\" He could say no more: it was something very new and strange in his life that these few words of trust from a woman should be so much to him.\n\"I beseech you to tell me how everything was,\" said Dorothea, fearlessly. \"I am sure that the truth would clear you.\"\nLydgate started up from his chair and went towards the window, forgetting where he was. He had so often gone over in his mind the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would tell, perhaps unfairly, against Bulstrode, and had so often decided against it—he had so often said to himself that his assertions would not change people's impressions—that Dorothea's words sounded like a temptation to do something which in his soberness he had pronounced to be unreasonable.\n\"Tell me, pray,\" said Dorothea, with simple earnestness; \"then we can consult together. It is wicked to let people think evil of any one falsely, when it can be hindered.\"\nLydgate turned, remembering where he was, and saw Dorothea's face looking up at him with a sweet trustful gravity. The presence of a noble nature, generous in its wishes, ardent in its charity, changes the lights for us: we begin to see things again in their larger, quieter masses, and to believe that we too can be seen and judged in the wholeness of our character. That influence was beginning to act on Lydgate, who had for many days been seeing all life as one who is dragged and struggling amid the throng. He sat down again, and felt that he was recovering his old self in the consciousness that he was with one who believed in it.\n\"I don't want,\" he said, \"to bear hard on Bulstrode, who has lent me money of which I was in need—though I would rather have gone without it now. He is hunted down and miserable, and has only a poor thread of life in him. But I should like to tell you everything. It will be a comfort to me to speak where belief has gone beforehand, and where I shall not seem to be offering assertions of my own honesty. You will feel what is fair to another, as you feel what is fair to me.\"\n\"Do trust me,\" said Dorothea; \"I will not repeat anything without your leave. But at the very least, I could say that you have made all the circumstances clear to me, and that I know you are not in any way guilty. Mr. Farebrother would believe me, and my uncle, and Sir James Chettam. Nay, there are persons in Middlemarch to whom I could go; although they don't know much of me, they would believe me. They would know that I could have no other motive than truth and justice. I would take any pains to clear you. I have very little to do. There is nothing better that I can do in the world.\"", "chosen": "He had so often gone over in his mind the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would tell, perhaps unfairly, against Bulstrode, and had so often decided against it—he had so often said to himself that his assertions would not change people's impressions—that Dorothea's words sounded like a temptation to do something which in his soberness he had pronounced to be unreasonable.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nHe had so often gone over in his mind the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would tell, perhaps unfairly, against Bulstrode, and had so often decided against it—he had so often said to himself that his assertions would not change people's impressions—that Dorothea's words sounded like a temptation to do something which in his soberness he had pronounced to be unreasonable.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-076-00-a23b2130", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe next morning at breakfast Jotham Powell was between them, and Ethan tried to hide his joy under an air of exaggerated indifference, lounging back in his chair to throw scraps to the cat, growling at the weather, and not so much as offering to help Mattie when she rose to clear away the dishes.\nHe did not know why he was so irrationally happy, for nothing was changed in his life or hers. He had not even touched the tip of her fingers or looked her full in the eyes. But their evening together had given him a vision of what life at her side might be, and he was glad now that he had done nothing to trouble the sweetness of the picture. He had a fancy that she knew what had restrained him....\nThere was a last load of lumber to be hauled to the village, and Jotham Powell—who did not work regularly for Ethan in winter—had \"come round\" to help with the job. But a wet snow, melting to sleet, had fallen in the night and turned the roads to glass. There was more wet in the air and it seemed likely to both men that the weather would \"milden\" toward afternoon and make the going safer. Ethan therefore proposed to his assistant that they should load the sledge at the wood-lot, as they had done on the previous morning, and put off the \"teaming\" to Starkfield till later in the day. This plan had the advantage of enabling him to send Jotham to the Flats after dinner to meet Zenobia, while he himself took the lumber down to the village.\nHe told Jotham to go out and harness up the greys, and for a moment he and Mattie had the kitchen to themselves. She had plunged the breakfast dishes into a tin dish-pan and was bending above it with her slim arms bared to the elbow, the steam from the hot water beading her forehead and tightening her rough hair into little brown rings like the tendrils on the traveller's joy.\nEthan stood looking at her, his heart in his throat. He wanted to say: \"We shall never be alone again like this.\" Instead, he reached down his tobacco-pouch from a shelf of the dresser, put it into his pocket and said: \"I guess I can make out to be home for dinner.\"\nShe answered \"All right, Ethan,\" and he heard her singing over the dishes as he went.\nAs soon as the sledge was loaded he meant to send Jotham back to the farm and hurry on foot into the village to buy the glue for the pickle-dish. With ordinary luck he should have had time to carry out this plan; but everything went wrong from the start. On the way over to the wood-lot one of the greys slipped on a glare of ice and cut his knee; and when they got him up again Jotham had to go back to the barn for a strip of rag to bind the cut. Then, when the loading finally began, a sleety rain was coming down once more, and the tree trunks were so slippery that it took twice as long as usual to lift them and get them in place on the sledge. It was what Jotham called a sour morning for work, and the horses, shivering and stamping under their wet blankets, seemed to like it as little as the men. It was long past the dinner-hour when the job was done, and Ethan had to give up going to the village because he wanted to lead the injured horse home and wash the cut himself.\nHe thought that by starting out again with the lumber as soon as he had finished his dinner he might get back to the farm with the glue before Jotham and the old sorrel had had time to fetch Zenobia from the Flats; but he knew the chance was a slight one. It turned on the state of the roads and on the possible lateness of the Bettsbridge train. He remembered afterward, with a grim flash of self-derision, what importance he had attached to the weighing of these probabilities....\nAs soon as dinner was over he set out again for the wood-lot, not daring to linger till Jotham Powell left. The hired man was still drying his wet feet at the stove, and Ethan could only give Mattie a quick look as he said beneath his breath: \"I'll be back early.\"\nHe fancied that she nodded her comprehension; and with that scant solace he had to trudge off through the rain.\nHe had driven his load half-way to the village when Jotham Powell overtook him, urging the reluctant sorrel toward the Flats. \"I'll have to hurry up to do it,\" Ethan mused, as the sleigh dropped down ahead of him over the dip of the school-house hill. He worked like ten at the unloading, and when it was over hastened on to Michael Eady's for the glue. Eady and his assistant were both \"down street,\" and young Denis, who seldom deigned to take their place, was lounging by the stove with a knot of the golden youth of Starkfield. They hailed Ethan with ironic compliment and offers of conviviality; but no one knew where to find the glue. Ethan, consumed with the longing for a last moment alone with Mattie, hung about impatiently while Denis made an ineffectual search in the obscurer corners of the store.\n\"Looks as if we were all sold out. But if you'll wait around till the old man comes along maybe he can put his hand on it.\"\n\"I'm obliged to you, but I'll try if I can get it down at Mrs. Homan's,\" Ethan answered, burning to be gone.\nDenis's commercial instinct compelled him to aver on oath that what Eady's store could not produce would never be found at the widow Homan's; but Ethan, heedless of this boast, had already climbed to the sledge and was driving on to the rival establishment. Here, after considerable search, and sympathetic questions as to what he wanted it for, and whether ordinary flour paste wouldn't do as well if she couldn't find it, the widow Homan finally hunted down her solitary bottle of glue to its hiding-place in a medley of cough-lozenges and corset-laces.\n\"I hope Zeena ain't broken anything she sets store by,\" she called after him as he turned the greys toward home.\nThe fitful bursts of sleet had changed into a steady rain and the horses had heavy work even without a load behind them. Once or twice, hearing sleigh-bells, Ethan turned his head, fancying that Zeena and Jotham might overtake him; but the old sorrel was not in sight, and he set his face against the rain and urged on his ponderous pair.\nThe barn was empty when the horses turned into it and, after giving them the most perfunctory ministrations they had ever received from him, he strode up to the house and pushed open the kitchen door.\nMattie was there alone, as he had pictured her. She was bending over a pan on the stove; but at the sound of his step she turned with a start and sprang to him.\n\"See, here, Matt, I've got some stuff to mend the dish with! Let me get at it quick,\" he cried, waving the bottle in one hand while he put her lightly aside; but she did not seem to hear him.\n\"Oh, Ethan—Zeena's come,\" she said in a whisper, clutching his sleeve.\nThey stood and stared at each other, pale as culprits.\n\"But the sorrel's not in the barn!\" Ethan stammered.\n\"Jotham Powell brought some goods over from the Flats for his wife, and he drove right on home with them,\" she explained.\nHe gazed blankly about the kitchen, which looked cold and squalid in the rainy winter twilight.\n\"How is she?\" he asked, dropping his voice to Mattie's whisper.\nShe looked away from him uncertainly. \"I don't know. She went right up to her room.\"\n\"She didn't say anything?\"\n\"No.\"", "chosen": "[\"come round\", \"milden\", \"teaming\", \"We shall never be alone again like this.\", \"I guess I can make out to be home for dinner.\", \"All right, Ethan,\", \"I'll be back early.\", \"I'll have to hurry up to do it,\", \"down street,\", \"Looks as if we were all sold out. But if you'll wait around till the old man comes along maybe he can put his hand on it.\", \"I'm obliged to you, but I'll try if I can get it down at Mrs. Homan's,\", \"I hope Zeena ain't broken anything she sets store by,\", \"See, here, Matt, I've got some stuff to mend the dish with! Let me get at it quick,\", \"Oh, Ethan\\u2014Zeena's come,\", \"But the sorrel's not in the barn!\", \"Jotham Powell brought some goods over from the Flats for his wife, and he drove right on home with them,\", \"How is she?\", \"I don't know. She went right up to her room.\", \"She didn't say anything?\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"come round\", \"milden\", \"teaming\", \"We shall never be alone again like this.\", \"I guess I can make out to be home for dinner.\", \"All right, Ethan,\", \"I'll be back early.\", \"I'll have to hurry up to do it,\", \"down street,\", \"Looks as if we were all sold out. But if you'll wait around till the old man comes along maybe he can put his hand on it.\", \"I'm obliged to you, but I'll try if I can get it down at Mrs. Homan's,\", \"I hope Zeena ain't broken anything she sets store by,\", \"See, here, Matt, I've got some stuff to mend the dish with! Let me get at it quick,\", \"Oh, Ethan\\u2014Zeena's come,\", \"But the sorrel's not in the barn!\", \"Jotham Powell brought some goods over from the Flats for his wife, and he drove right on home with them,\", \"How is she?\", \"I don't know. She went right up to her room.\", \"She didn't say anything?\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-4517-007-00-de0731aa", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n'Well, don't let us think of that,' he said. 'I offer myself and all my energies, frankly and entirely, to you, my dear, dear lady, whose I shall be always! But my words in telling you this will only injure my meaning instead of emphasize it. In expressing, even to myself, my thoughts of you, I find that I fall into phrases which, as a critic, I should hitherto have heartily despised for their commonness. What's the use of saying, for instance, as I have just said, that I give myself entirely to you, and shall be yours always,--that you have my devotion, my highest homage? Those words have been used so frequently in a flippant manner that honest use of them is not distinguishable from the unreal.' He turned to her, and added, smiling, 'Your eyes are to be my stars for the future.'\n'Yes, I know it,--I know it, and all you would say! I dreaded even while I hoped for this, my dear young friend,' she replied, her eyes being full of tears. 'I am injuring you; who knows that I am not ruining your future,--I who ought to know better? Nothing can come of this, nothing must,--and I am only wasting your time. Why have I drawn you off from a grand celestial study to study poor lonely me? Say you will never despise me, when you get older, for this episode in our lives. But you will,--I know you will! All men do, when they have been attracted in their unsuspecting youth, as I have attracted you. I ought to have kept my resolve.'\n'What was that?'\n'To bear anything rather than draw you from your high purpose; to be like the noble citizen of old Greece, who, attending a sacrifice, let himself be burnt to the bone by a coal that jumped into his sleeve rather than disturb the sacred ceremony.'\n'But can I not study and love both?'\n'I hope so,--I earnestly hope so. But you'll be the first if you do, and I am the responsible one if you do not.'\n'You speak as if I were quite a child, and you immensely older. Why, how old do you think I am? I am twenty.'\n'You seem younger. Well, that's so much the better. Twenty sounds strong and firm. How old do you think I am?'\n'I have never thought of considering.' He innocently turned to scrutinize her face. She winced a little. But the instinct was premature. Time had taken no liberties with her features as yet; nor had trouble very roughly handled her.\n'I will tell you,' she replied, speaking almost with physical pain, yet as if determination should carry her through. 'I am eight-and-twenty--nearly--I mean a little more, a few months more. Am I not a fearful deal older than you?'\n'At first it seems a great deal,' he answered, musing. 'But it doesn't seem much when one gets used to it.'\n'Nonsense!' she exclaimed. 'It is a good deal.'\n'Very well, then, sweetest Lady Constantine, let it be,' he said gently.\n'You should not let it be! A polite man would have flatly contradicted me. . . . O I am ashamed of this!' she added a moment after, with a subdued, sad look upon the ground. 'I am speaking by the card of the outer world, which I have left behind utterly; no such lip service is known in your sphere. I care nothing for those things, really; but that which is called the Eve in us will out sometimes. Well, we will forget that now, as we must, at no very distant date, forget all the rest of this.'\nHe walked beside her thoughtfully awhile, with his eyes also bent on the road. 'Why must we forget it all?' he inquired.\n'It is only an interlude.'\n'An interlude! It is no interlude to me. O how can you talk so lightly of this, Lady Constantine? And yet, if I were to go away from here, I might, perhaps, soon reduce it to an interlude! Yes,' he resumed impulsively, 'I will go away. Love dies, and it is just as well to strangle it in its birth; it can only die once! I'll go.'\n'No, no!' she said, looking up apprehensively. 'I misled you. It is no interlude to me,--it is tragical. I only meant that from a worldly point of view it is an interlude, which we should try to forget. But the world is not all. You will not go away?'\nBut he continued drearily, 'Yes, yes, I see it all; you have enlightened me. It will be hurting your prospects even more than mine, if I stay. Now Sir Blount is dead, you are free again,--may marry where you will, but for this fancy of ours. I'll leave Welland before harm comes of my staying.'\n'Don't decide to do a thing so rash!' she begged, seizing his hand, and looking miserable at the effect of her words. 'I shall have nobody left in the world to care for! And now I have given you the great telescope, and lent you the column, it would be ungrateful to go away! I was wrong; believe me that I did not mean that it was a mere interlude to me. O if you only knew how very, very far it is from that! It is my doubt of the result to you that makes me speak so slightingly.'\nThey were now approaching cross-roads, and casually looking up they beheld, thirty or forty yards beyond the crossing, Mr. Torkingham, who was leaning over a gate, his back being towards them. As yet he had not recognized their approach.\nThe master-passion had already supplanted St. Cleeve's natural ingenuousness by subtlety.\n'Would it be well for us to meet Mr. Torkingham just now?' he began.\n'Certainly not,' she said hastily, and pulling the rein she instantly drove down the right-hand road. 'I cannot meet anybody!' she murmured. 'Would it not be better that you leave me now?--not for my pleasure, but that there may arise no distressing tales about us before we know--how to act in this--this'--(she smiled faintly at him) 'heartaching extremity!'\nThey were passing under a huge oak-tree, whose limbs, irregular with shoulders, knuckles, and elbows, stretched horizontally over the lane in a manner recalling Absalom's death. A slight rustling was perceptible amid the leafage as they drew out from beneath it, and turning up his eyes Swithin saw that very buttoned page whose advent they had dreaded, looking down with interest at them from a perch not much higher than a yard above their heads. He had a bunch of oak-apples in one hand, plainly the object of his climb, and was furtively watching Lady Constantine with the hope that she might not see him. But that she had already done, though she did not reveal it, and, fearing that the latter words of their conversation had been overheard, they spoke not till they had passed the next turning.\nShe stretched out her hand to his. 'This must not go on,' she said imploringly. 'My anxiety as to what may be said of such methods of meeting makes me too unhappy. See what has happened!' She could not help smiling. 'Out of the frying-pan into the fire! After meanly turning to avoid the parson we have rushed into a worse publicity. It is too humiliating to have to avoid people, and lowers both you and me. The only remedy is not to meet.'\n'Very well,' said Swithin, with a sigh. 'So it shall be.'\nAnd with smiles that might more truly have been tears they parted there and then.", "chosen": "then", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nthen\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-3146-014-01-76c99d03", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAt the moment when Krassotkin opened the door and came into the room, the captain and all the boys were round Ilusha's bed, looking at a tiny mastiff pup, which had only been born the day before, though the captain had bespoken it a week ago to comfort and amuse Ilusha, who was still fretting over the lost and probably dead Zhutchka. Ilusha, who had heard three days before that he was to be presented with a puppy, not an ordinary puppy, but a pedigree mastiff (a very important point, of course), tried from delicacy of feeling to pretend that he was pleased. But his father and the boys could not help seeing that the puppy only served to recall to his little heart the thought of the unhappy dog he had killed. The puppy lay beside him feebly moving and he, smiling sadly, stroked it with his thin, pale, wasted hand. Clearly he liked the puppy, but ... it wasn't Zhutchka; if he could have had Zhutchka and the puppy, too, then he would have been completely happy.\n\"Krassotkin!\" cried one of the boys suddenly. He was the first to see him come in.\nKrassotkin's entrance made a general sensation; the boys moved away and stood on each side of the bed, so that he could get a full view of Ilusha. The captain ran eagerly to meet Kolya.\n\"Please come in ... you are welcome!\" he said hurriedly. \"Ilusha, Mr. Krassotkin has come to see you!\"\nBut Krassotkin, shaking hands with him hurriedly, instantly showed his complete knowledge of the manners of good society. He turned first to the captain's wife sitting in her arm-chair, who was very ill-humored at the moment, and was grumbling that the boys stood between her and Ilusha's bed and did not let her see the new puppy. With the greatest courtesy he made her a bow, scraping his foot, and turning to Nina, he made her, as the only other lady present, a similar bow. This polite behavior made an extremely favorable impression on the deranged lady.\n\"There, you can see at once he is a young man that has been well brought up,\" she commented aloud, throwing up her hands; \"but as for our other visitors they come in one on the top of another.\"\n\"How do you mean, mamma, one on the top of another, how is that?\" muttered the captain affectionately, though a little anxious on her account.\n\"That's how they ride in. They get on each other's shoulders in the passage and prance in like that on a respectable family. Strange sort of visitors!\"\n\"But who's come in like that, mamma?\"\n\"Why, that boy came in riding on that one's back and this one on that one's.\"\nKolya was already by Ilusha's bedside. The sick boy turned visibly paler. He raised himself in the bed and looked intently at Kolya. Kolya had not seen his little friend for two months, and he was overwhelmed at the sight of him. He had never imagined that he would see such a wasted, yellow face, such enormous, feverishly glowing eyes and such thin little hands. He saw, with grieved surprise, Ilusha's rapid, hard breathing and dry lips. He stepped close to him, held out his hand, and almost overwhelmed, he said:\n\"Well, old man ... how are you?\" But his voice failed him, he couldn't achieve an appearance of ease; his face suddenly twitched and the corners of his mouth quivered. Ilusha smiled a pitiful little smile, still unable to utter a word. Something moved Kolya to raise his hand and pass it over Ilusha's hair.\n\"Never mind!\" he murmured softly to him to cheer him up, or perhaps not knowing why he said it. For a minute they were silent again.\n\"Hallo, so you've got a new puppy?\" Kolya said suddenly, in a most callous voice.\n\"Ye—es,\" answered Ilusha in a long whisper, gasping for breath.\n\"A black nose, that means he'll be fierce, a good house-dog,\" Kolya observed gravely and stolidly, as if the only thing he cared about was the puppy and its black nose. But in reality he still had to do his utmost to control his feelings not to burst out crying like a child, and do what he would he could not control it. \"When it grows up, you'll have to keep it on the chain, I'm sure.\"\n\"He'll be a huge dog!\" cried one of the boys.\n\"Of course he will,\" \"a mastiff,\" \"large,\" \"like this,\" \"as big as a calf,\" shouted several voices.\n\"As big as a calf, as a real calf,\" chimed in the captain. \"I got one like that on purpose, one of the fiercest breed, and his parents are huge and very fierce, they stand as high as this from the floor.... Sit down here, on Ilusha's bed, or here on the bench. You are welcome, we've been hoping to see you a long time.... You were so kind as to come with Alexey Fyodorovitch?\"\nKrassotkin sat on the edge of the bed, at Ilusha's feet. Though he had perhaps prepared a free-and-easy opening for the conversation on his way, now he completely lost the thread of it.\n\"No ... I came with Perezvon. I've got a dog now, called Perezvon. A Slavonic name. He's out there ... if I whistle, he'll run in. I've brought a dog, too,\" he said, addressing Ilusha all at once. \"Do you remember Zhutchka, old man?\" he suddenly fired the question at him.\nIlusha's little face quivered. He looked with an agonized expression at Kolya. Alyosha, standing at the door, frowned and signed to Kolya not to speak of Zhutchka, but he did not or would not notice.\n\"Where ... is Zhutchka?\" Ilusha asked in a broken voice.\n\"Oh, well, my boy, your Zhutchka's lost and done for!\"\nIlusha did not speak, but he fixed an intent gaze once more on Kolya. Alyosha, catching Kolya's eye, signed to him vigorously again, but he turned away his eyes pretending not to have noticed.\n\"It must have run away and died somewhere. It must have died after a meal like that,\" Kolya pronounced pitilessly, though he seemed a little breathless. \"But I've got a dog, Perezvon ... A Slavonic name.... I've brought him to show you.\"\n\"I don't want him!\" said Ilusha suddenly.\n\"No, no, you really must see him ... it will amuse you. I brought him on purpose.... He's the same sort of shaggy dog.... You allow me to call in my dog, madam?\" He suddenly addressed Madame Snegiryov, with inexplicable excitement in his manner.\n\"I don't want him, I don't want him!\" cried Ilusha, with a mournful break in his voice. There was a reproachful light in his eyes.\n\"You'd better,\" the captain started up from the chest by the wall on which he had just sat down, \"you'd better ... another time,\" he muttered, but Kolya could not be restrained. He hurriedly shouted to Smurov, \"Open the door,\" and as soon as it was open, he blew his whistle. Perezvon dashed headlong into the room.\n\"Jump, Perezvon, beg! Beg!\" shouted Kolya, jumping up, and the dog stood erect on its hind-legs by Ilusha's bedside. What followed was a surprise to every one: Ilusha started, lurched violently forward, bent over Perezvon and gazed at him, faint with suspense.\n\"It's ... Zhutchka!\" he cried suddenly, in a voice breaking with joy and suffering.\n\"And who did you think it was?\" Krassotkin shouted with all his might, in a ringing, happy voice, and bending down he seized the dog and lifted him up to Ilusha.", "chosen": "[\"Krassotkin\", \"Ilusha\", \"Zhutchka\", \"Kolya\", \"Please\", \"Nina\", \"Never\", \"Hallo\", \"Alexey\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Perezvon\", \"Slavonic\", \"Where\", \"Madame\", \"Snegiryov\", \"Smurov\", \"Open\", \"Jump\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Krassotkin\", \"Ilusha\", \"Zhutchka\", \"Kolya\", \"Please\", \"Nina\", \"Never\", \"Hallo\", \"Alexey\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Perezvon\", \"Slavonic\", \"Where\", \"Madame\", \"Snegiryov\", \"Smurov\", \"Open\", \"Jump\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-065-01-cb843c0c", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"I know,\" continued Knight, with an indescribable drag of manner and intonation,—\"I know I am absurdly scrupulous about you—that I want you too exclusively mine. In your past before you knew me—from your very cradle—I wanted to think you had been mine. I would make you mine by main force. Elfride,\" he went on vehemently, \"I can't help this jealousy over you! It is my nature, and must be so, and I HATE the fact that you have been caressed before: yes hate it!\"\nShe drew a long deep breath, which was half a sob. Knight's face was hard, and he never looked at her at all, still fixing his gaze far out to sea, which the sun had now resigned to the shade. In high places it is not long from sunset to night, dusk being in a measure banished, and though only evening where they sat, it had been twilight in the valleys for half an hour. Upon the dull expanse of sea there gradually intensified itself into existence the gleam of a distant light-ship.\n\"When that lover first kissed you, Elfride was it in such a place as this?\"\n\"Yes, it was.\"\n\"You don't tell me anything but what I wring out of you. Why is that? Why have you suppressed all mention of this when casual confidences of mine should have suggested confidence in return? On board the Juliet, why were you so secret? It seems like being made a fool of, Elfride, to think that, when I was teaching you how desirable it was that we should have no secrets from each other, you were assenting in words, but in act contradicting me. Confidence would have been so much more promising for our happiness. If you had had confidence in me, and told me willingly, I should—be different. But you suppress everything, and I shall question you. Did you live at Endelstow at that time?\"\n\"Yes,\" she said faintly.\n\"Where were you when he first kissed you?\"\n\"Sitting in this seat.\"\n\"Ah, I thought so!\" said Knight, rising and facing her.\n\"And that accounts for everything—the exclamation which you explained deceitfully, and all! Forgive the harsh word, Elfride—forgive it.\" He smiled a surface smile as he continued: \"What a poor mortal I am to play second fiddle in everything and to be deluded by fibs!\"\n\"Oh, don't say it; don't, Harry!\"\n\"Where did he kiss you besides here?\"\n\"Sitting on—a tomb in the—churchyard—and other places,\" she answered with slow recklessness.\n\"Never mind, never mind,\" he exclaimed, on seeing her tears and perturbation. \"I don't want to grieve you. I don't care.\"\nBut Knight did care.\n\"It makes no difference, you know,\" he continued, seeing she did not reply.\n\"I feel cold,\" said Elfride. \"Shall we go home?\"\n\"Yes; it is late in the year to sit long out of doors: we ought to be off this ledge before it gets too dark to let us see our footing. I daresay the horse is impatient.\"\nKnight spoke the merest commonplace to her now. He had hoped to the last moment that she would have volunteered the whole story of her first attachment. It grew more and more distasteful to him that she should have a secret of this nature. Such entire confidence as he had pictured as about to exist between himself and the innocent young wife who had known no lover's tones save his—was this its beginning? He lifted her upon the horse, and they went along constrainedly. The poison of suspicion was doing its work well.\nAn incident occurred on this homeward journey which was long remembered by both, as adding shade to shadow. Knight could not keep from his mind the words of Adam's reproach to Eve in PARADISE LOST, and at last whispered them to himself—\n\"Fool'd and beguiled: by him thou, I by thee!\"\n\"What did you say?\" Elfride inquired timorously.\n\"It was only a quotation.\"\nThey had now dropped into a hollow, and the church tower made its appearance against the pale evening sky, its lower part being hidden by some intervening trees. Elfride, being denied an answer, was looking at the tower and trying to think of some contrasting quotation she might use to regain his tenderness. After a little thought she said in winning tones—\n'Thou hast been my hope, and a strong tower for me against the enemy.'\"\nThey passed on. A few minutes later three or four birds were seen to fly out of the tower.\n\"The strong tower moves,\" said Knight, with surprise.\nA corner of the square mass swayed forward, sank, and vanished. A loud rumble followed, and a cloud of dust arose where all had previously been so clear.\n\"The church restorers have done it!\" said Elfride.\nAt this minute Mr. Swancourt was seen approaching them. He came up with a bustling demeanour, apparently much engrossed by some business in hand.\n\"We have got the tower down!\" he exclaimed. \"It came rather quicker than we intended it should. The first idea was to take it down stone by stone, you know. In doing this the crack widened considerably, and it was not believed safe for the men to stand upon the walls any longer. Then we decided to undermine it, and three men set to work at the weakest corner this afternoon. They had left off for the evening, intending to give the final blow to-morrow morning, and had been home about half an hour, when down it came. A very successful job—a very fine job indeed. But he was a tough old fellow in spite of the crack.\" Here Mr. Swancourt wiped from his face the perspiration his excitement had caused him.\n\"Poor old tower!\" said Elfride.\n\"Yes, I am sorry for it,\" said Knight. \"It was an interesting piece of antiquity—a local record of local art.\"\n\"Ah, but my dear sir, we shall have a new one, expostulated Mr. Swancourt; \"a splendid tower—designed by a first-rate London man—in the newest style of Gothic art, and full of Christian feeling.\"\n\"Indeed!\" said Knight.\n\"Oh yes. Not in the barbarous clumsy architecture of this neighbourhood; you see nothing so rough and pagan anywhere else in England. When the men are gone, I would advise you to go and see the church before anything further is done to it. You can now sit in the chancel, and look down the nave through the west arch, and through that far out to sea. In fact,\" said Mr. Swancourt significantly, \"if a wedding were performed at the altar to-morrow morning, it might be witnessed from the deck of a ship on a voyage to the South Seas, with a good glass. However, after dinner, when the moon has risen, go up and see for yourselves.\"\nKnight assented with feverish readiness. He had decided within the last few minutes that he could not rest another night without further talk with Elfride upon the subject which now divided them: he was determined to know all, and relieve his disquiet in some way. Elfride would gladly have escaped further converse alone with him that night, but it seemed inevitable.\nJust after moonrise they left the house. How little any expectation of the moonlight prospect—which was the ostensible reason of their pilgrimage—had to do with Knight's real motive in getting the gentle girl again upon his arm, Elfride no less than himself well knew.", "chosen": "I, In, I, Elfride,\", It, Knight's, In, Upon, When, Why, Why, On, It, Confidence, If, But, Did, Where, And, Forgive, Never, I, I, It, I, Shall, I, He, It, Such, He, The, An, Knight, It, Elfride,, After, A, The, A, A, The, At, Swancourt, He, We, It, The, In, Then, They, A, But, Swancourt, Poor, Yes,, It, Swancourt;, Oh, Not, When, You, In, Swancourt, However,, He, Elfride, Just, How", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nI, In, I, Elfride,\", It, Knight's, In, Upon, When, Why, Why, On, It, Confidence, If, But, Did, Where, And, Forgive, Never, I, I, It, I, Shall, I, He, It, Such, He, The, An, Knight, It, Elfride,, After, A, The, A, A, The, At, Swancourt, He, We, It, The, In, Then, They, A, But, Swancourt, Poor, Yes,, It, Swancourt;, Oh, Not, When, You, In, Swancourt, However,, He, Elfride, Just, How\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-030-01-bbef1843", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"To that last nothing under earth.\"\nAll eyes were turned to the entrance as Stephen spoke, and the ancient-mannered conclave scrutinized him inquiringly.\n\"Why, 'tis our Stephen!\" said his father, rising from his seat; and, still retaining the frothy mug in his left hand, he swung forward his right for a grasp. \"Your mother is expecting ye—thought you would have come afore dark. But you'll wait and go home with me? I have all but done for the day, and was going directly.\"\n\"Yes, 'tis Master Stephy, sure enough. Glad to see you so soon again, Master Smith,\" said Martin Cannister, chastening the gladness expressed in his words by a strict neutrality of countenance, in order to harmonize the feeling as much as possible with the solemnity of a family vault.\n\"The same to you, Martin; and you, William,\" said Stephen, nodding around to the rest, who, having their mouths full of bread and cheese, were of necessity compelled to reply merely by compressing their eyes to friendly lines and wrinkles.\n\"And who is dead?\" Stephen repeated.\n\"Lady Luxellian, poor gentlewoman, as we all shall, said the under-mason. \"Ay, and we be going to enlarge the vault to make room for her.\"\n\"When did she die?\"\n\"Early this morning,\" his father replied, with an appearance of recurring to a chronic thought. \"Yes, this morning. Martin hev been tolling ever since, almost. There, 'twas expected. She was very limber.\"\n\"Ay, poor soul, this morning,\" resumed the under-mason, a marvellously old man, whose skin seemed so much too large for his body that it would not stay in position. \"She must know by this time whether she's to go up or down, poor woman.\"\n\"What was her age?\"\n\"Not more than seven or eight and twenty by candlelight. But, Lord! by day 'a was forty if 'a were an hour.\"\n\"Ay, night-time or day-time makes a difference of twenty years to rich feymels,\" observed Martin.\n\"She was one and thirty really,\" said John Smith. \"I had it from them that know.\"\n\"Not more than that!\"\n\"'A looked very bad, poor lady. In faith, ye might say she was dead for years afore 'a would own it.\"\n\"As my old father used to say, 'dead, but wouldn't drop down.'\"\n\"I seed her, poor soul,\" said a labourer from behind some removed coffins, \"only but last Valentine's-day of all the world. 'A was arm in crook wi' my lord. I says to myself, 'You be ticketed Churchyard, my noble lady, although you don't dream on't.'\"\n\"I suppose my lord will write to all the other lords anointed in the nation, to let 'em know that she that was is now no more?\"\n\"'Tis done and past. I see a bundle of letters go off an hour after the death. Sich wonderful black rims as they letters had—half-an-inch wide, at the very least.\"\n\"Too much,\" observed Martin. \"In short, 'tis out of the question that a human being can be so mournful as black edges half-an-inch wide. I'm sure people don't feel more than a very narrow border when they feels most of all.\"\n\"And there are two little girls, are there not?\" said Stephen.\n\"Nice clane little faces!—left motherless now.\"\n\"They used to come to Parson Swancourt's to play with Miss Elfride when I were there,\" said William Worm. \"Ah, they did so's!\" The latter sentence was introduced to add the necessary melancholy to a remark which, intrinsically, could hardly be made to possess enough for the occasion. \"Yes,\" continued Worm, \"they'd run upstairs, they'd run down; flitting about with her everywhere. Very fond of her, they were. Ah, well!\"\n\"Fonder than ever they were of their mother, so 'tis said here and there,\" added a labourer.\n\"Well, you see, 'tis natural. Lady Luxellian stood aloof from 'em so—was so drowsy-like, that they couldn't love her in the jolly-companion way children want to like folks. Only last winter I seed Miss Elfride talking to my lady and the two children, and Miss Elfride wiped their noses for em' SO careful—my lady never once seeing that it wanted doing; and, naturally, children take to people that's their best friend.\"\n\"Be as 'twill, the woman is dead and gone, and we must make a place for her,\" said John. \"Come, lads, drink up your ale, and we'll just rid this corner, so as to have all clear for beginning at the wall, as soon as 'tis light to-morrow.\"\nStephen then asked where Lady Luxellian was to lie.\n\"Here,\" said his father. \"We are going to set back this wall and make a recess; and 'tis enough for us to do before the funeral. When my lord's mother died, she said, 'John, the place must be enlarged before another can be put in.' But 'a never expected 'twould be wanted so soon. Better move Lord George first, I suppose, Simeon?\"\nHe pointed with his foot to a heavy coffin, covered with what had originally been red velvet, the colour of which could only just be distinguished now.\n\"Just as ye think best, Master John,\" replied the shrivelled mason. \"Ah, poor Lord George!\" he continued, looking contemplatively at the huge coffin; \"he and I were as bitter enemies once as any could be when one is a lord and t'other only a mortal man. Poor fellow! He'd clap his hand upon my shoulder and cuss me as familial and neighbourly as if he'd been a common chap. Ay, 'a cussed me up hill and 'a cussed me down; and then 'a would rave out again, and the goold clamps of his fine new teeth would glisten in the sun like fetters of brass, while I, being a small man and poor, was fain to say nothing at all. Such a strappen fine gentleman as he was too! Yes, I rather liked en sometimes. But once now and then, when I looked at his towering height, I'd think in my inside, 'What a weight you'll be, my lord, for our arms to lower under the aisle of Endelstow Church some day!'\"\n\"And was he?\" inquired a young labourer.\n\"He was. He was five hundredweight if 'a were a pound. What with his lead, and his oak, and his handles, and his one thing and t'other\"—here the ancient man slapped his hand upon the cover with a force that caused a rattle among the bones inside—\"he half broke my back when I took his feet to lower en down the steps there. 'Ah,' saith I to John there—didn't I, John?—'that ever one man's glory should be such a weight upon another man!' But there, I liked my lord George sometimes.\"\n\"'Tis a strange thought,\" said another, \"that while they be all here under one roof, a snug united family o' Luxellians, they be really scattered miles away from one another in the form of good sheep and wicked goats, isn't it?\"\n\"True; 'tis a thought to look at.\"\n\"And that one, if he's gone upward, don't know what his wife is doing no more than the man in the moon if she's gone downward. And that some unfortunate one in the hot place is a-hollering across to a lucky one up in the clouds, and quite forgetting their bodies be boxed close together all the time.\"\n\"Ay, 'tis a thought to look at, too, that I can say 'Hullo!' close to fiery Lord George, and 'a can't hear me.\"\n\"And that I be eating my onion close to dainty Lady Jane's nose, and she can't smell me.\"\n\"What do 'em put all their heads one way for?\" inquired a young man.\n\"Because 'tis churchyard law, you simple. The law of the living is, that a man shall be upright and down-right, and the law of the dead is, that a man shall be east and west. Every state of society have its laws.\"\n\"We must break the law wi' a few of the poor souls, however. Come, buckle to,\" said the master-mason.\nAnd they set to work anew.", "chosen": "57", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n57\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-224-025-00-d9c0afbc", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nBut ere this was done, Pip, who had been slily hovering near by all this while, drew nigh to him where he lay, and with soft sobbings, took him by the hand; in the other, holding his tambourine.\n\"Poor rover! will ye never have done with all this weary roving? where go ye now? But if the currents carry ye to those sweet Antilles where the beaches are only beat with water-lilies, will ye do one little errand for me? Seek out one Pip, who's now been missing long: I think he's in those far Antilles. If ye find him, then comfort him; for he must be very sad; for look! he's left his tambourine behind;—I found it. Rig-a-dig, dig, dig! Now, Queequeg, die; and I'll beat ye your dying march.\"\n\"I have heard,\" murmured Starbuck, gazing down the scuttle, \"that in violent fevers, men, all ignorance, have talked in ancient tongues; and that when the mystery is probed, it turns out always that in their wholly forgotten childhood those ancient tongues had been really spoken in their hearing by some lofty scholars. So, to my fond faith, poor Pip, in this strange sweetness of his lunacy, brings heavenly vouchers of all our heavenly homes. Where learned he that, but there?—Hark! he speaks again: but more wildly now.\"\n\"Form two and two! Let's make a General of him! Ho, where's his harpoon? Lay it across here.—Rig-a-dig, dig, dig! huzza! Oh for a game cock now to sit upon his head and crow! Queequeg dies game!—mind ye that; Queequeg dies game!—take ye good heed of that; Queequeg dies game! I say; game, game, game! but base little Pip, he died a coward; died all a'shiver;—out upon Pip! Hark ye; if ye find Pip, tell all the Antilles he's a runaway; a coward, a coward, a coward! Tell them he jumped from a whale-boat! I'd never beat my tambourine over base Pip, and hail him General, if he were once more dying here. No, no! shame upon all cowards—shame upon them! Let 'em go drown like Pip, that jumped from a whale-boat. Shame! shame!\"\nDuring all this, Queequeg lay with closed eyes, as if in a dream. Pip was led away, and the sick man was replaced in his hammock.\nBut now that he had apparently made every preparation for death; now that his coffin was proved a good fit, Queequeg suddenly rallied; soon there seemed no need of the carpenter's box: and thereupon, when some expressed their delighted surprise, he, in substance, said, that the cause of his sudden convalescence was this;—at a critical moment, he had just recalled a little duty ashore, which he was leaving undone; and therefore had changed his mind about dying: he could not die yet, he averred. They asked him, then, whether to live or die was a matter of his own sovereign will and pleasure. He answered, certainly. In a word, it was Queequeg's conceit, that if a man made up his mind to live, mere sickness could not kill him: nothing but a whale, or a gale, or some violent, ungovernable, unintelligent destroyer of that sort.\nNow, there is this noteworthy difference between savage and civilized; that while a sick, civilized man may be six months convalescing, generally speaking, a sick savage is almost half-well again in a day. So, in good time my Queequeg gained strength; and at length after sitting on the windlass for a few indolent days (but eating with a vigorous appetite) he suddenly leaped to his feet, threw out his arms and legs, gave himself a good stretching, yawned a little bit, and then springing into the head of his hoisted boat, and poising a harpoon, pronounced himself fit for a fight.\nWith a wild whimsiness, he now used his coffin for a sea-chest; and emptying into it his canvas bag of clothes, set them in order there. Many spare hours he spent, in carving the lid with all manner of grotesque figures and drawings; and it seemed that hereby he was striving, in his rude way, to copy parts of the twisted tattooing on his body. And this tattooing had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read, though his own live heart beat against them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last. And this thought it must have been which suggested to Ahab that wild exclamation of his, when one morning turning away from surveying poor Queequeg—\"Oh, devilish tantalization of the gods!\"", "chosen": "And this tattooing had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read, though his own live heart beat against them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nAnd this tattooing had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read, though his own live heart beat against them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2701-097-01-ced0165f", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"A fair vestal, throned in the west\"\nElfride Swancourt was a girl whose emotions lay very near the surface. Their nature more precisely, and as modified by the creeping hours of time, was known only to those who watched the circumstances of her history.\nPersonally, she was the combination of very interesting particulars, whose rarity, however, lay in the combination itself rather than in the individual elements combined. As a matter of fact, you did not see the form and substance of her features when conversing with her; and this charming power of preventing a material study of her lineaments by an interlocutor, originated not in the cloaking effect of a well-formed manner (for her manner was childish and scarcely formed), but in the attractive crudeness of the remarks themselves. She had lived all her life in retirement—the monstrari digito of idle men had not flattered her, and at the age of nineteen or twenty she was no further on in social consciousness than an urban young lady of fifteen.\nOne point in her, however, you did notice: that was her eyes. In them was seen a sublimation of all of her; it was not necessary to look further: there she lived.\nThese eyes were blue; blue as autumn distance—blue as the blue we see between the retreating mouldings of hills and woody slopes on a sunny September morning. A misty and shady blue, that had no beginning or surface, and was looked INTO rather than AT.\nAs to her presence, it was not powerful; it was weak. Some women can make their personality pervade the atmosphere of a whole banqueting hall; Elfride's was no more pervasive than that of a kitten.\nElfride had as her own the thoughtfulness which appears in the face of the Madonna della Sedia, without its rapture: the warmth and spirit of the type of woman's feature most common to the beauties—mortal and immortal—of Rubens, without their insistent fleshiness. The characteristic expression of the female faces of Correggio—that of the yearning human thoughts that lie too deep for tears—was hers sometimes, but seldom under ordinary conditions.\nThe point in Elfride Swancourt's life at which a deeper current may be said to have permanently set in, was one winter afternoon when she found herself standing, in the character of hostess, face to face with a man she had never seen before—moreover, looking at him with a Miranda-like curiosity and interest that she had never yet bestowed on a mortal.\nOn this particular day her father, the vicar of a parish on the sea-swept outskirts of Lower Wessex, and a widower, was suffering from an attack of gout. After finishing her household supervisions Elfride became restless, and several times left the room, ascended the staircase, and knocked at her father's chamber-door.\n\"Come in!\" was always answered in a hearty out-of-door voice from the inside.\n\"Papa,\" she said on one occasion to the fine, red-faced, handsome man of forty, who, puffing and fizzing like a bursting bottle, lay on the bed wrapped in a dressing-gown, and every now and then enunciating, in spite of himself, about one letter of some word or words that were almost oaths; \"papa, will you not come downstairs this evening?\" She spoke distinctly: he was rather deaf.\n\"Afraid not—eh-hh!—very much afraid I shall not, Elfride. Piph-ph-ph! I can't bear even a handkerchief upon this deuced toe of mine, much less a stocking or slipper—piph-ph-ph! There 'tis again! No, I shan't get up till to-morrow.\"\n\"Then I hope this London man won't come; for I don't know what I should do, papa.\"\n\"Well, it would be awkward, certainly.\"\n\"I should hardly think he would come to-day.\"\n\"Why?\"\n\"Because the wind blows so.\"\n\"Wind! What ideas you have, Elfride! Who ever heard of wind stopping a man from doing his business? The idea of this toe of mine coming on so suddenly!...If he should come, you must send him up to me, I suppose, and then give him some food and put him to bed in some way. Dear me, what a nuisance all this is!\"\n\"Must he have dinner?\"\n\"Too heavy for a tired man at the end of a tedious journey.\"\n\"Tea, then?\"\n\"Not substantial enough.\"\n\"High tea, then? There is cold fowl, rabbit-pie, some pasties, and things of that kind.\"\n\"Yes, high tea.\"\n\"Must I pour out his tea, papa?\"\n\"Of course; you are the mistress of the house.\"\n\"What! sit there all the time with a stranger, just as if I knew him, and not anybody to introduce us?\"\n\"Nonsense, child, about introducing; you know better than that. A practical professional man, tired and hungry, who has been travelling ever since daylight this morning, will hardly be inclined to talk and air courtesies to-night. He wants food and shelter, and you must see that he has it, simply because I am suddenly laid up and cannot. There is nothing so dreadful in that, I hope? You get all kinds of stuff into your head from reading so many of those novels.\"\n\"Oh no; there is nothing dreadful in it when it becomes plainly a case of necessity like this. But, you see, you are always there when people come to dinner, even if we know them; and this is some strange London man of the world, who will think it odd, perhaps.\"\n\"Very well; let him.\"\n\"Is he Mr. Hewby's partner?\"\n\"I should scarcely think so: he may be.\"\n\"How old is he, I wonder?\"\n\"That I cannot tell. You will find the copy of my letter to Mr. Hewby, and his answer, upon the table in the study. You may read them, and then you'll know as much as I do about our visitor.\"\n\"I have read them.\"\n\"Well, what's the use of asking questions, then? They contain all I know. Ugh-h-h!...Od plague you, you young scamp! don't put anything there! I can't bear the weight of a fly.\"\n\"Oh, I am sorry, papa. I forgot; I thought you might be cold,\" she said, hastily removing the rug she had thrown upon the feet of the sufferer; and waiting till she saw that consciousness of her offence had passed from his face, she withdrew from the room, and retired again downstairs.", "chosen": "[\"A fair vestal, throned in the west\", \"Come in!\", \"Papa,\", \"papa, will you not come downstairs this evening?\", \"Then I hope this London man won't come; for I don't know what I should do, papa.\", \"Well, it would be awkward, certainly.\", \"I should hardly think he would come to-day.\", \"Why?\", \"Because the wind blows so.\", \"Must he have dinner?\", \"Too heavy for a tired man at the end of a tedious journey.\", \"Tea, then?\", \"Not substantial enough.\", \"High tea, then? There is cold fowl, rabbit-pie, some pasties, and things of that kind.\", \"Yes, high tea.\", \"Must I pour out his tea, papa?\", \"Of course; you are the mistress of the house.\", \"What! sit there all the time with a stranger, just as if I knew him, and not anybody to introduce us?\", \"Very well; let him.\", \"Is he Mr. Hewby's partner?\", \"I should scarcely think so: he may be.\", \"How old is he, I wonder?\", \"That I cannot tell. You will find the copy of my letter to Mr. Hewby, and his answer, upon the table in the study. You may read them, and then you'll know as much as I do about our visitor.\", \"I have read them.\", \"Well, what's the use of asking questions, then? They contain all I know. Ugh-h-h!...Od plague you, you young scamp! don't put anything there! I can't bear the weight of a fly.\", \"Oh, I am sorry, papa. I forgot; I thought you might be cold,\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"A fair vestal, throned in the west\", \"Come in!\", \"Papa,\", \"papa, will you not come downstairs this evening?\", \"Then I hope this London man won't come; for I don't know what I should do, papa.\", \"Well, it would be awkward, certainly.\", \"I should hardly think he would come to-day.\", \"Why?\", \"Because the wind blows so.\", \"Must he have dinner?\", \"Too heavy for a tired man at the end of a tedious journey.\", \"Tea, then?\", \"Not substantial enough.\", \"High tea, then? There is cold fowl, rabbit-pie, some pasties, and things of that kind.\", \"Yes, high tea.\", \"Must I pour out his tea, papa?\", \"Of course; you are the mistress of the house.\", \"What! sit there all the time with a stranger, just as if I knew him, and not anybody to introduce us?\", \"Very well; let him.\", \"Is he Mr. Hewby's partner?\", \"I should scarcely think so: he may be.\", \"How old is he, I wonder?\", \"That I cannot tell. You will find the copy of my letter to Mr. Hewby, and his answer, upon the table in the study. You may read them, and then you'll know as much as I do about our visitor.\", \"I have read them.\", \"Well, what's the use of asking questions, then? They contain all I know. Ugh-h-h!...Od plague you, you young scamp! don't put anything there! I can't bear the weight of a fly.\", \"Oh, I am sorry, papa. I forgot; I thought you might be cold,\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-224-001-00-fad9f29d", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"I'm bound to admit the fact,\" Smerdyakov drawled with pedantic composure, \"that I have a secret with Fyodor Pavlovitch in this business. As you know yourself (if only you do know it) he has for several days past locked himself in as soon as night or even evening comes on. Of late you've been going upstairs to your room early every evening, and yesterday you did not come down at all, and so perhaps you don't know how carefully he has begun to lock himself in at night, and even if Grigory Vassilyevitch comes to the door he won't open to him till he hears his voice. But Grigory Vassilyevitch does not come, because I wait upon him alone in his room now. That's the arrangement he made himself ever since this to-do with Agrafena Alexandrovna began. But at night, by his orders, I go away to the lodge so that I don't get to sleep till midnight, but am on the watch, getting up and walking about the yard, waiting for Agrafena Alexandrovna to come. For the last few days he's been perfectly frantic expecting her. What he argues is, she is afraid of him, Dmitri Fyodorovitch (Mitya, as he calls him), 'and so,' says he, 'she'll come the back-way, late at night, to me. You look out for her,' says he, 'till midnight and later; and if she does come, you run up and knock at my door or at the window from the garden. Knock at first twice, rather gently, and then three times more quickly, then,' says he, 'I shall understand at once that she has come, and will open the door to you quietly.' Another signal he gave me in case anything unexpected happens. At first, two knocks, and then, after an interval, another much louder. Then he will understand that something has happened suddenly and that I must see him, and he will open to me so that I can go and speak to him. That's all in case Agrafena Alexandrovna can't come herself, but sends a message. Besides, Dmitri Fyodorovitch might come, too, so I must let him know he is near. His honor is awfully afraid of Dmitri Fyodorovitch, so that even if Agrafena Alexandrovna had come and were locked in with him, and Dmitri Fyodorovitch were to turn up anywhere near at the time, I should be bound to let him know at once, knocking three times. So that the first signal of five knocks means Agrafena Alexandrovna has come, while the second signal of three knocks means 'something important to tell you.' His honor has shown me them several times and explained them. And as in the whole universe no one knows of these signals but myself and his honor, so he'd open the door without the slightest hesitation and without calling out (he is awfully afraid of calling out aloud). Well, those signals are known to Dmitri Fyodorovitch too, now.\"\n\"How are they known? Did you tell him? How dared you tell him?\"\n\"It was through fright I did it. How could I dare to keep it back from him? Dmitri Fyodorovitch kept persisting every day, 'You are deceiving me, you are hiding something from me! I'll break both your legs for you.' So I told him those secret signals that he might see my slavish devotion, and might be satisfied that I was not deceiving him, but was telling him all I could.\"\n\"If you think that he'll make use of those signals and try to get in, don't let him in.\"\n\"But if I should be laid up with a fit, how can I prevent him coming in then, even if I dared prevent him, knowing how desperate he is?\"\n\"Hang it! How can you be so sure you are going to have a fit, confound you? Are you laughing at me?\"\n\"How could I dare laugh at you? I am in no laughing humor with this fear on me. I feel I am going to have a fit. I have a presentiment. Fright alone will bring it on.\"\n\"Confound it! If you are laid up, Grigory will be on the watch. Let Grigory know beforehand; he will be sure not to let him in.\"\n\"I should never dare to tell Grigory Vassilyevitch about the signals without orders from my master. And as for Grigory Vassilyevitch hearing him and not admitting him, he has been ill ever since yesterday, and Marfa Ignatyevna intends to give him medicine to-morrow. They've just arranged it. It's a very strange remedy of hers. Marfa Ignatyevna knows of a preparation and always keeps it. It's a strong thing made from some herb. She has the secret of it, and she always gives it to Grigory Vassilyevitch three times a year when his lumbago's so bad he is almost paralyzed by it. Then she takes a towel, wets it with the stuff, and rubs his whole back for half an hour till it's quite red and swollen, and what's left in the bottle she gives him to drink with a special prayer; but not quite all, for on such occasions she leaves some for herself, and drinks it herself. And as they never take strong drink, I assure you they both drop asleep at once and sleep sound a very long time. And when Grigory Vassilyevitch wakes up he is perfectly well after it, but Marfa Ignatyevna always has a headache from it. So, if Marfa Ignatyevna carries out her intention to-morrow, they won't hear anything and hinder Dmitri Fyodorovitch. They'll be asleep.\"\n\"What a rigmarole! And it all seems to happen at once, as though it were planned. You'll have a fit and they'll both be unconscious,\" cried Ivan. \"But aren't you trying to arrange it so?\" broke from him suddenly, and he frowned threateningly.\n\"How could I?... And why should I, when it all depends on Dmitri Fyodorovitch and his plans?... If he means to do anything, he'll do it; but if not, I shan't be thrusting him upon his father.\"\n\"And why should he go to father, especially on the sly, if, as you say yourself, Agrafena Alexandrovna won't come at all?\" Ivan went on, turning white with anger. \"You say that yourself, and all the while I've been here, I've felt sure it was all the old man's fancy, and the creature won't come to him. Why should Dmitri break in on him if she doesn't come? Speak, I want to know what you are thinking!\"\n\"You know yourself why he'll come. What's the use of what I think? His honor will come simply because he is in a rage or suspicious on account of my illness perhaps, and he'll dash in, as he did yesterday through impatience to search the rooms, to see whether she hasn't escaped him on the sly. He is perfectly well aware, too, that Fyodor Pavlovitch has a big envelope with three thousand roubles in it, tied up with ribbon and sealed with three seals. On it is written in his own hand, 'To my angel Grushenka, if she will come,' to which he added three days later, 'for my little chicken.' There's no knowing what that might do.\"\n\"Nonsense!\" cried Ivan, almost beside himself. \"Dmitri won't come to steal money and kill my father to do it. He might have killed him yesterday on account of Grushenka, like the frantic, savage fool he is, but he won't steal.\"", "chosen": "steal", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nsteal\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-036-02-eb5f5890", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nLionel, it seems, was on his way to \"John Ferdinando,\" as he calls the modern Juan Fernandes. \"In our way thither,\" he says, \"about four o'clock in the morning, when we were about one hundred and fifty leagues from the Main of America, our ship felt a terrible shock, which put our men in such consternation that they could hardly tell where they were or what to think; but every one began to prepare for death. And, indeed, the shock was so sudden and violent, that we took it for granted the ship had struck against a rock; but when the amazement was a little over, we cast the lead, and sounded, but found no ground. * * * * * The suddenness of the shock made the guns leap in their carriages, and several of the men were shaken out of their hammocks. Captain Davis, who lay with his head on a gun, was thrown out of his cabin!\" Lionel then goes on to impute the shock to an earthquake, and seems to substantiate the imputation by stating that a great earthquake, somewhere about that time, did actually do great mischief along the Spanish land. But I should not much wonder if, in the darkness of that early hour of the morning, the shock was after all caused by an unseen whale vertically bumping the hull from beneath.\nI might proceed with several more examples, one way or another known to me, of the great power and malice at times of the sperm whale. In more than one instance, he has been known, not only to chase the assailing boats back to their ships, but to pursue the ship itself, and long withstand all the lances hurled at him from its decks. The English ship Pusie Hall can tell a story on that head; and, as for his strength, let me say, that there have been examples where the lines attached to a running sperm whale have, in a calm, been transferred to the ship, and secured there; the whale towing her great hull through the water, as a horse walks off with a cart. Again, it is very often observed that, if the sperm whale, once struck, is allowed time to rally, he then acts, not so often with blind rage, as with wilful, deliberate designs of destruction to his pursuers; nor is it without conveying some eloquent indication of his character, that upon being attacked he will frequently open his mouth, and retain it in that dread expansion for several consecutive minutes. But I must be content with only one more and a concluding illustration; a remarkable and most significant one, by which you will not fail to see, that not only is the most marvellous event in this book corroborated by plain facts of the present day, but that these marvels (like all marvels) are mere repetitions of the ages; so that for the millionth time we say amen with Solomon—Verily there is nothing new under the sun.\nIn the sixth Christian century lived Procopius, a Christian magistrate of Constantinople, in the days when Justinian was Emperor and Belisarius general. As many know, he wrote the history of his own times, a work every way of uncommon value. By the best authorities, he has always been considered a most trustworthy and unexaggerating historian, except in some one or two particulars, not at all affecting the matter presently to be mentioned.\nNow, in this history of his, Procopius mentions that, during the term of his prefecture at Constantinople, a great sea-monster was captured in the neighboring Propontis, or Sea of Marmora, after having destroyed vessels at intervals in those waters for a period of more than fifty years. A fact thus set down in substantial history cannot easily be gainsaid. Nor is there any reason it should be. Of what precise species this sea-monster was, is not mentioned. But as he destroyed ships, as well as for other reasons, he must have been a whale; and I am strongly inclined to think a sperm whale. And I will tell you why. For a long time I fancied that the sperm whale had been always unknown in the Mediterranean and the deep waters connecting with it. Even now I am certain that those seas are not, and perhaps never can be, in the present constitution of things, a place for his habitual gregarious resort. But further investigations have recently proved to me, that in modern times there have been isolated instances of the presence of the sperm whale in the Mediterranean. I am told, on good authority, that on the Barbary coast, a Commodore Davis of the British navy found the skeleton of a sperm whale. Now, as a vessel of war readily passes through the Dardanelles, hence a sperm whale could, by the same route, pass out of the Mediterranean into the Propontis.\nIn the Propontis, as far as I can learn, none of that peculiar substance called brit is to be found, the aliment of the right whale. But I have every reason to believe that the food of the sperm whale—squid or cuttle-fish—lurks at the bottom of that sea, because large creatures, but by no means the largest of that sort, have been found at its surface. If, then, you properly put these statements together, and reason upon them a bit, you will clearly perceive that, according to all human reasoning, Procopius's sea-monster, that for half a century stove the ships of a Roman Emperor, must in all probability have been a sperm whale.", "chosen": "[\"John\", \"Ferdinando\", \"Juan\", \"Fernandes\", \"Main\", \"America\", \"Davis\", \"Lionel\", \"Spanish\", \"English\", \"Pusie\", \"Hall\", \"Solomon\", \"Christian\", \"Procopius\", \"Constantinople\", \"Justinian\", \"Emperor\", \"Belisarius\", \"Propontis\", \"Sea\", \"Marmora\", \"Mediterranean\", \"Barbary\", \"Commodore\", \"British\", \"Dardanelles\", \"Roman\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"John\", \"Ferdinando\", \"Juan\", \"Fernandes\", \"Main\", \"America\", \"Davis\", \"Lionel\", \"Spanish\", \"English\", \"Pusie\", \"Hall\", \"Solomon\", \"Christian\", \"Procopius\", \"Constantinople\", \"Justinian\", \"Emperor\", \"Belisarius\", \"Propontis\", \"Sea\", \"Marmora\", \"Mediterranean\", \"Barbary\", \"Commodore\", \"British\", \"Dardanelles\", \"Roman\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-038-02-9ba24e66", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Yarbs, yarbs; natur, natur; you foolish old file you! He diddled you with that hocus-pocus, did he? Yarbs and natur will cure your incurable cough, you think.\"\nIt was a rather eccentric-looking person who spoke; somewhat ursine in aspect; sporting a shaggy spencer of the cloth called bear's-skin; a high-peaked cap of raccoon-skin, the long bushy tail switching over behind; raw-hide leggings; grim stubble chin; and to end, a double-barreled gun in hand--a Missouri bachelor, a Hoosier gentleman, of Spartan leisure and fortune, and equally Spartan manners and sentiments; and, as the sequel may show, not less acquainted, in a Spartan way of his own, with philosophy and books, than with woodcraft and rifles.\nHe must have overheard some of the talk between the miser and the herb-doctor; for, just after the withdrawal of the one, he made up to the other--now at the foot of the stairs leaning against the baluster there--with the greeting above.\n\"Think it will cure me?\" coughed the miser in echo; \"why shouldn't it? The medicine is nat'ral yarbs, pure yarbs; yarbs must cure me.\"\n\"Because a thing is nat'ral, as you call it, you think it must be good. But who gave you that cough? Was it, or was it not, nature?\"\n\"Sure, you don't think that natur, Dame Natur, will hurt a body, do you?\"\n\"Natur is good Queen Bess; but who's responsible for the cholera?\"\n\"But yarbs, yarbs; yarbs are good?\"\n\"What's deadly-nightshade? Yarb, ain't it?\"\n\"Oh, that a Christian man should speak agin natur and yarbs--ugh, ugh, ugh!--ain't sick men sent out into the country; sent out to natur and grass?\"\n\"Aye, and poets send out the sick spirit to green pastures, like lame horses turned out unshod to the turf to renew their hoofs. A sort of yarb-doctors in their way, poets have it that for sore hearts, as for sore lungs, nature is the grand cure. But who froze to death my teamster on the prairie? And who made an idiot of Peter the Wild Boy?\"\n\"Then you don't believe in these 'ere yarb-doctors?\"\n\"Yarb-doctors? I remember the lank yarb-doctor I saw once on a hospital-cot in Mobile. One of the faculty passing round and seeing who lay there, said with professional triumph, 'Ah, Dr. Green, your yarbs don't help ye now, Dr. Green. Have to come to us and the mercury now, Dr. Green.--Natur! Y-a-r-b-s!'\"\n\"Did I hear something about herbs and herb-doctors?\" here said a flute-like voice, advancing.\nIt was the herb-doctor in person. Carpet-bag in hand, he happened to be strolling back that way.\n\"Pardon me,\" addressing the Missourian, \"but if I caught your words aright, you would seem to have little confidence in nature; which, really, in my way of thinking, looks like carrying the spirit of distrust pretty far.\"\n\"And who of my sublime species may you be?\" turning short round upon him, clicking his rifle-lock, with an air which would have seemed half cynic, half wild-cat, were it not for the grotesque excess of the expression, which made its sincerity appear more or less dubious.\n\"One who has confidence in nature, and confidence in man, with some little modest confidence in himself.\"\n\"That's your Confession of Faith, is it? Confidence in man, eh? Pray, which do you think are most, knaves or fools?\"\n\"Having met with few or none of either, I hardly think I am competent to answer.\"\n\"I will answer for you. Fools are most.\"\n\"Why do you think so?\"\n\"For the same reason that I think oats are numerically more than horses. Don't knaves munch up fools just as horses do oats?\"\n\"A droll, sir; you are a droll. I can appreciate drollery--ha, ha, ha!\"\n\"But I'm in earnest.\"\n\"That's the drollery, to deliver droll extravagance with an earnest air--knaves munching up fools as horses oats.--Faith, very droll, indeed, ha, ha, ha! Yes, I think I understand you now, sir. How silly I was to have taken you seriously, in your droll conceits, too, about having no confidence in nature. In reality you have just as much as I have.\"\n\"I have confidence in nature? I? I say again there is nothing I am more suspicious of. I once lost ten thousand dollars by nature. Nature embezzled that amount from me; absconded with ten thousand dollars' worth of my property; a plantation on this stream, swept clean away by one of those sudden shiftings of the banks in a freshet; ten thousand dollars' worth of alluvion thrown broad off upon the waters.\"\n\"But have you no confidence that by a reverse shifting that soil will come back after many days?--ah, here is my venerable friend,\" observing the old miser, \"not in your berth yet? Pray, if you will keep afoot, don't lean against that baluster; take my arm.\"\nIt was taken; and the two stood together; the old miser leaning against the herb-doctor with something of that air of trustful fraternity with which, when standing, the less strong of the Siamese twins habitually leans against the other.\nThe Missourian eyed them in silence, which was broken by the herb-doctor.\n\"You look surprised, sir. Is it because I publicly take under my protection a figure like this? But I am never ashamed of honesty, whatever his coat.\"\n\"Look you,\" said the Missourian, after a scrutinizing pause, \"you are a queer sort of chap. Don't know exactly what to make of you. Upon the whole though, you somewhat remind me of the last boy I had on my place.\"\n\"Good, trustworthy boy, I hope?\"\n\"Oh, very! I am now started to get me made some kind of machine to do the sort of work which boys are supposed to be fitted for.\"\n\"Then you have passed a veto upon boys?\"\n\"And men, too.\"\n\"But, my dear sir, does not that again imply more or less lack of confidence?--(Stand up a little, just a very little, my venerable friend; you lean rather hard.)--No confidence in boys, no confidence in men, no confidence in nature. Pray, sir, who or what may you have confidence in?\"\n\"I have confidence in distrust; more particularly as applied to you and your herbs.\"\n\"Well,\" with a forbearing smile, \"that is frank. But pray, don't forget that when you suspect my herbs you suspect nature.\"\n\"Didn't I say that before?\"\n\"Very good. For the argument's sake I will suppose you are in earnest. Now, can you, who suspect nature, deny, that this same nature not only kindly brought you into being, but has faithfully nursed you to your present vigorous and independent condition? Is it not to nature that you are indebted for that robustness of mind which you so unhandsomely use to her scandal? Pray, is it not to nature that you owe the very eyes by which you criticise her?\"\n\"No! for the privilege of vision I am indebted to an oculist, who in my tenth year operated upon me in Philadelphia. Nature made me blind and would have kept me so. My oculist counterplotted her.\"\n\"And yet, sir, by your complexion, I judge you live an out-of-door life; without knowing it, you are partial to nature; you fly to nature, the universal mother.\"\n\"Very motherly! Sir, in the passion-fits of nature, I've known birds fly from nature to me, rough as I look; yes, sir, in a tempest, refuge here,\" smiting the folds of his bearskin. \"Fact, sir, fact. Come, come, Mr. Palaverer, for all your palavering, did you yourself never shut out nature of a cold, wet night? Bar her out? Bolt her out? Lint her out?\"\n\"As to that,\" said the herb-doctor calmly, \"much may be said.\"\n\"Say it, then,\" ruffling all his hairs. \"You can't, sir, can't.\" Then, as in apostrophe: \"Look you, nature! I don't deny but your clover is sweet, and your dandelions don't roar; but whose hailstones smashed my windows?\"\n\"Sir,\" with unimpaired affability, producing one of his boxes, \"I am pained to meet with one who holds nature a dangerous character. Though your manner is refined your voice is rough; in short, you seem to have a sore throat. In the calumniated name of nature, I present you with this box; my venerable friend here has a similar one; but to you, a free gift, sir. Through her regularly-authorized agents, of whom I happen to be one, Nature delights in benefiting those who most abuse her. Pray, take it.\"", "chosen": "Yarbs,, He, Yarbs, He, Think, The, But, Was, Yarb,, A, But, And, I, One, Green,, Green., Have, Green.--Natur!, Y-a-r-b-s!'\", It, Carpet-bag, Pardon, One, Confidence, Pray,, Fools, Don't, I, Yes,, How, In, I?, I, I, Nature, Pray,, The, You, Is, But, Don't, Upon, I, Pray,, But, For, Now,, Is, Pray,, for, Nature, My, Sir,, Fact,, Come,, Palaverer,, Bar, Bolt, Lint, You, I, Though, In, Through, Pray,", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nYarbs,, He, Yarbs, He, Think, The, But, Was, Yarb,, A, But, And, I, One, Green,, Green., Have, Green.--Natur!, Y-a-r-b-s!'\", It, Carpet-bag, Pardon, One, Confidence, Pray,, Fools, Don't, I, Yes,, How, In, I?, I, I, Nature, Pray,, The, You, Is, But, Don't, Upon, I, Pray,, But, For, Now,, Is, Pray,, for, Nature, My, Sir,, Fact,, Come,, Palaverer,, Bar, Bolt, Lint, You, I, Though, In, Through, Pray,\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21816-021-00-2ef7a6af", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nHalf an hour before this time Swithin St. Cleeve had been sitting in his cabin at the base of the column, working out some figures from observations taken on preceding nights, with a view to a theory that he had in his head on the motions of certain so-called fixed stars.\nThe evening being a little chilly a small fire was burning in the stove, and this and the shaded lamp before him lent a remarkably cosy air to the chamber. He was awakened from his reveries by a scratching at the windowpane like that of the point of an ivy leaf, which he knew to be really caused by the tip of his sweetheart-wife's forefinger. He rose and opened the door to admit her, not without astonishment as to how she had been able to get away from her friends.\n'Dearest Viv, why, what's the matter?' he said, perceiving that her face, as the lamplight fell on it, was sad, and even stormy.\n'I thought I would run across to see you. I have heard something so--so--to your discredit, and I know it can't be true! I know you are constancy itself; but your constancy produces strange effects in people's eyes!'\n'Good heavens! Nobody has found us out--'\n'No, no--it is not that. You know, Swithin, that I am always sincere, and willing to own if I am to blame in anything. Now will you prove to me that you are the same by owning some fault to me?'\n'Yes, dear, indeed; directly I can think of one worth owning.'\n'I wonder one does not rush upon your tongue in a moment!'\n'I confess that I am sufficiently a Pharisee not to experience that spontaneity.'\n'Swithin, don't speak so affectedly, when you know so well what I mean! Is it nothing to you that, after all our vows for life, you have thought it right to--flirt with a village girl?'\n'O Viviette!' interrupted Swithin, taking her hand, which was hot and trembling. 'You who are full of noble and generous feelings, and regard me with devoted tenderness that has never been surpassed by woman,--how can you be so greatly at fault? I flirt, Viviette? By thinking that you injure yourself in my eyes. Why, I am so far from doing so that I continually pull myself up for watching you too jealously, as to-day, when I have been dreading the effect upon you of other company in my absence, and thinking that you rather shut the gates against me when you have big-wigs to entertain.'\n'Do you, Swithin?' she cried. It was evident that the honest tone of his words was having a great effect in clearing away the clouds. She added with an uncertain smile, 'But how can I believe that, after what was seen to-day? My brother, not knowing in the least that I had an iota of interest in you, told me that he witnessed the signs of an attachment between you and Tabitha Lark in church, this morning.'\n'Ah!' cried Swithin, with a burst of laughter. 'Now I know what you mean, and what has caused this misunderstanding! How good of you, Viviette, to come at once and have it out with me, instead of brooding over it with dark imaginings, and thinking bitter things of me, as many women would have done!' He succinctly told the whole story of his little adventure with Tabitha that morning; and the sky was clear on both sides. 'When shall I be able to claim you,' he added, 'and put an end to all such painful accidents as these?'\nShe partially sighed. Her perception of what the outside world was made of, latterly somewhat obscured by solitude and her lover's company, had been revived to-day by her entertainment of the Bishop, clergymen, and, more particularly, clergymen's wives; and it did not diminish her sense of the difficulties in Swithin's path to see anew how little was thought of the greatest gifts, mental and spiritual, if they were not backed up by substantial temporalities. However, the pair made the best of their future that circumstances permitted, and the interview was at length drawing to a close when there came, without the slightest forewarning, a smart rat-tat-tat upon the little door.\n'O I am lost!' said Viviette, seizing his arm. 'Why was I so incautious?'\n'It is nobody of consequence,' whispered Swithin assuringly. 'Somebody from my grandmother, probably, to know when I am coming home.'\nThey were unperceived so far, for the only window which gave light to the hut was screened by a curtain. At that moment they heard the sound of their visitors' voices, and, with a consternation as great as her own, Swithin discerned the tones of Mr. Torkingham and the Bishop of Melchester.\n'Where shall I get? What shall I do?' said the poor lady, clasping her hands.\nSwithin looked around the cabin, and a very little look was required to take in all its resources. At one end, as previously explained, were a table, stove, chair, cupboard, and so on; while the other was completely occupied by a diminutive Arabian bedstead, hung with curtains of pink-andwhite chintz. On the inside of the bed there was a narrow channel, about a foot wide, between it and the wall of the hut. Into this cramped retreat Viviette slid herself, and stood trembling behind the curtains.\nBy this time the knock had been repeated more loudly, the light through the window-blind unhappily revealing the presence of some inmate. Swithin threw open the door, and Mr. Torkingham introduced his visitors.\nThe Bishop shook hands with the young man, told him he had known his father, and at Swithin's invitation, weak as it was, entered the cabin, the vicar and Louis Glanville remaining on the threshold, not to inconveniently crowd the limited space within.\nBishop Helmsdale looked benignantly around the apartment, and said, 'Quite a settlement in the backwoods--quite: far enough from the world to afford the votary of science the seclusion he needs, and not so far as to limit his resources. A hermit might apparently live here in as much solitude as in a primeval forest.'\n'His lordship has been good enough to express an interest in your studies,' said Mr. Torkingham to St. Cleeve. 'And we have come to ask you to let us see the observatory.'\n'With great pleasure,' stammered Swithin.\n'Where is the observatory?' inquired the Bishop, peering round again.\n'The staircase is just outside this door,' Swithin answered. 'I am at your lordship's service, and will show you up at once.'\n'And this is your little bed, for use when you work late,' said the Bishop.\n'Yes; I am afraid it is rather untidy,' Swithin apologized.\n'And here are your books,' the Bishop continued, turning to the table and the shaded lamp. 'You take an observation at the top, I presume, and come down here to record your observations.'\nThe young man explained his precise processes as well as his state of mind would let him, and while he was doing so Mr. Torkingham and Louis waited patiently without, looking sometimes into the night, and sometimes through the door at the interlocutors, and listening to their scientific converse. When all had been exhibited here below, Swithin lit his lantern, and, inviting his visitors to follow, led the way up the column, experiencing no small sense of relief as soon as he heard the footsteps of all three tramping on the stairs behind him. He knew very well that, once they were inside the spiral, Viviette was out of danger, her knowledge of the locality enabling her to find her way with perfect safety through the plantation, and into the park home.", "chosen": "54", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n54\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-3146-025-00-549b3a39", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"A woman's way.\"\nHaggard cliffs, of every ugly altitude, are as common as sea-fowl along the line of coast between Exmoor and Land's End; but this outflanked and encompassed specimen was the ugliest of them all. Their summits are not safe places for scientific experiment on the principles of air-currents, as Knight had now found, to his dismay.\nHe still clutched the face of the escarpment—not with the frenzied hold of despair, but with a dogged determination to make the most of his every jot of endurance, and so give the longest possible scope to Elfride's intentions, whatever they might be.\nHe reclined hand in hand with the world in its infancy. Not a blade, not an insect, which spoke of the present, was between him and the past. The inveterate antagonism of these black precipices to all strugglers for life is in no way more forcibly suggested than by the paucity of tufts of grass, lichens, or confervae on their outermost ledges.\nKnight pondered on the meaning of Elfride's hasty disappearance, but could not avoid an instinctive conclusion that there existed but a doubtful hope for him. As far as he could judge, his sole chance of deliverance lay in the possibility of a rope or pole being brought; and this possibility was remote indeed. The soil upon these high downs was left so untended that they were unenclosed for miles, except by a casual bank or dry wall, and were rarely visited but for the purpose of collecting or counting the flock which found a scanty means of subsistence thereon.\nAt first, when death appeared improbable, because it had never visited him before, Knight could think of no future, nor of anything connected with his past. He could only look sternly at Nature's treacherous attempt to put an end to him, and strive to thwart her.\nFrom the fact that the cliff formed the inner face of the segment of a huge cylinder, having the sky for a top and the sea for a bottom, which enclosed the cove to the extent of more than a semicircle, he could see the vertical face curving round on each side of him. He looked far down the facade, and realized more thoroughly how it threatened him. Grimness was in every feature, and to its very bowels the inimical shape was desolation.\nBy one of those familiar conjunctions of things wherewith the inanimate world baits the mind of man when he pauses in moments of suspense, opposite Knight's eyes was an imbedded fossil, standing forth in low relief from the rock. It was a creature with eyes. The eyes, dead and turned to stone, were even now regarding him. It was one of the early crustaceans called Trilobites. Separated by millions of years in their lives, Knight and this underling seemed to have met in their death. It was the single instance within reach of his vision of anything that had ever been alive and had had a body to save, as he himself had now.\nThe creature represented but a low type of animal existence, for never in their vernal years had the plains indicated by those numberless slaty layers been traversed by an intelligence worthy of the name. Zoophytes, mollusca, shell-fish, were the highest developments of those ancient dates. The immense lapses of time each formation represented had known nothing of the dignity of man. They were grand times, but they were mean times too, and mean were their relics. He was to be with the small in his death.\nKnight was a geologist; and such is the supremacy of habit over occasion, as a pioneer of the thoughts of men, that at this dreadful juncture his mind found time to take in, by a momentary sweep, the varied scenes that had had their day between this creature's epoch and his own. There is no place like a cleft landscape for bringing home such imaginings as these.\nTime closed up like a fan before him. He saw himself at one extremity of the years, face to face with the beginning and all the intermediate centuries simultaneously. Fierce men, clothed in the hides of beasts, and carrying, for defence and attack, huge clubs and pointed spears, rose from the rock, like the phantoms before the doomed Macbeth. They lived in hollows, woods, and mud huts—perhaps in caves of the neighbouring rocks. Behind them stood an earlier band. No man was there. Huge elephantine forms, the mastodon, the hippopotamus, the tapir, antelopes of monstrous size, the megatherium, and the myledon—all, for the moment, in juxtaposition. Further back, and overlapped by these, were perched huge-billed birds and swinish creatures as large as horses. Still more shadowy were the sinister crocodilian outlines—alligators and other uncouth shapes, culminating in the colossal lizard, the iguanodon. Folded behind were dragon forms and clouds of flying reptiles: still underneath were fishy beings of lower development; and so on, till the lifetime scenes of the fossil confronting him were a present and modern condition of things. These images passed before Knight's inner eye in less than half a minute, and he was again considering the actual present. Was he to die? The mental picture of Elfride in the world, without himself to cherish her, smote his heart like a whip. He had hoped for deliverance, but what could a girl do? He dared not move an inch. Was Death really stretching out his hand? The previous sensation, that it was improbable he would die, was fainter now.\nHowever, Knight still clung to the cliff.\nTo those musing weather-beaten West-country folk who pass the greater part of their days and nights out of doors, Nature seems to have moods in other than a poetical sense: predilections for certain deeds at certain times, without any apparent law to govern or season to account for them. She is read as a person with a curious temper; as one who does not scatter kindnesses and cruelties alternately, impartially, and in order, but heartless severities or overwhelming generosities in lawless caprice. Man's case is always that of the prodigal's favourite or the miser's pensioner. In her unfriendly moments there seems a feline fun in her tricks, begotten by a foretaste of her pleasure in swallowing the victim.\nSuch a way of thinking had been absurd to Knight, but he began to adopt it now. He was first spitted on to a rock. New tortures followed. The rain increased, and persecuted him with an exceptional persistency which he was moved to believe owed its cause to the fact that he was in such a wretched state already. An entirely new order of things could be observed in this introduction of rain upon the scene. It rained upwards instead of down. The strong ascending air carried the rain-drops with it in its race up the escarpment, coming to him with such velocity that they stuck into his flesh like cold needles. Each drop was virtually a shaft, and it pierced him to his skin. The water-shafts seemed to lift him on their points: no downward rain ever had such a torturing effect. In a brief space he was drenched, except in two places. These were on the top of his shoulders and on the crown of his hat.\nThe wind, though not intense in other situations was strong here. It tugged at his coat and lifted it. We are mostly accustomed to look upon all opposition which is not animate, as that of the stolid, inexorable hand of indifference, which wears out the patience more than the strength. Here, at any rate, hostility did not assume that slow and sickening form. It was a cosmic agency, active, lashing, eager for conquest: determination; not an insensate standing in the way.\nKnight had over-estimated the strength of his hands. They were getting weak already. \"She will never come again; she has been gone ten minutes,\" he said to himself.\nThis mistake arose from the unusual compression of his experiences just now: she had really been gone but three.\n\"As many more minutes will be my end,\" he thought.\nNext came another instance of the incapacity of the mind to make comparisons at such times.\n\"This is a summer afternoon,\" he said, \"and there can never have been such a heavy and cold rain on a summer day in my life before.\"", "chosen": "From the fact that the cliff formed the inner face of the segment of a huge cylinder, having the sky for a top and the sea for a bottom, which enclosed the cove to the extent of more than a semicircle, he could see the vertical face curving round on each side of him.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nFrom the fact that the cliff formed the inner face of the segment of a huge cylinder, having the sky for a top and the sea for a bottom, which enclosed the cove to the extent of more than a semicircle, he could see the vertical face curving round on each side of him.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-021-00-589d4d14", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nShe began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both: by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved; and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance.\nBut no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their family.\nHow Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable independence she could not imagine. But how little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture.\nMr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr. Bennet's acknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurances of his eagerness to promote the welfare of any of his family; and concluded with entreaties that the subject might never be mentioned to him again. The principal purport of his letter was to inform them, that Mr. Wickham had resolved on quitting the militia.\n\"It was greatly my wish that he should do so,\" he added, \"as soon as his marriage was fixed on. And I think you will agree with me, in considering a removal from that corps as highly advisable, both on his account and my niece's. It is Mr. Wickham's intention to go into the Regulars; and, among his former friends, there are still some who are able and willing to assist him in the army. He has the promise of an ensigncy in General----'s regiment, now quartered in the north. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part of the kingdom. He promises fairly; and I hope among different people, where they may each have a character to preserve, they will both be more prudent. I have written to Colonel Forster, to inform him of our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton with assurances of speedy payment, for which I have pledged myself. And will you give yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances to his creditors in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin a list, according to his information? He has given in all his debts; I hope at least he has not deceived us. Haggerston has our directions, and all will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment, unless they are first invited to Longbourn; and I understand from Mrs. Gardiner that my niece is very desirous of seeing you all before she leaves the south. She is well, and begs to be dutifully remembered to you and her mother.--Yours, etc.\n\"E. GARDINER.\"\nMr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham's removal from the ----shire, as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. But Mrs. Bennet was not so well pleased with it. Lydia's being settled in the north, just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her company, for she had by no means given up her plan of their residing in Hertfordshire, was a severe disappointment; and, besides, it was such a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted with everybody, and had so many favourites.\n\"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster,\" said she, \"it will be quite shocking to send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General----'s regiment.\"\nHis daughter's request, for such it might be considered, of being admitted into her family again, before she set off for the north, received at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who agreed in wishing, for the sake of their sister's feelings and consequence, that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents, urged him so earnestly, yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her and her husband at Longbourn, as soon as they were married, that he was prevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they wished. And their mother had the satisfaction of knowing, that she should be able to show her married daughter in the neighbourhood, before she was banished to the north. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he sent his permission for them to come; and it was settled, that, as soon as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn. Elizabeth was surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme; and, had she consulted only her own inclination, any meeting with him would have been the last object of her wishes.", "chosen": "[\"It was greatly my wish that he should do so,\", \"E. GARDINER.\", \"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster,\", \"it will be quite shocking to send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General----'s regiment.\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"It was greatly my wish that he should do so,\", \"E. GARDINER.\", \"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster,\", \"it will be quite shocking to send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General----'s regiment.\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-1342-050-01-070e3e3e", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nRaskolnikov walked after him.\n\"What's this?\" cried Svidrigaïlov turning round, \"I thought I said...\"\n\"It means that I am not going to lose sight of you now.\"\n\"What?\"\nBoth stood still and gazed at one another, as though measuring their strength.\n\"From all your half tipsy stories,\" Raskolnikov observed harshly, \"I am positive that you have not given up your designs on my sister, but are pursuing them more actively than ever. I have learnt that my sister received a letter this morning. You have hardly been able to sit still all this time.... You may have unearthed a wife on the way, but that means nothing. I should like to make certain myself.\"\nRaskolnikov could hardly have said himself what he wanted and of what he wished to make certain.\n\"Upon my word! I'll call the police!\"\n\"Call away!\"\nAgain they stood for a minute facing each other. At last Svidrigaïlov's face changed. Having satisfied himself that Raskolnikov was not frightened at his threat, he assumed a mirthful and friendly air.\n\"What a fellow! I purposely refrained from referring to your affair, though I am devoured by curiosity. It's a fantastic affair. I've put it off till another time, but you're enough to rouse the dead.... Well, let us go, only I warn you beforehand I am only going home for a moment, to get some money; then I shall lock up the flat, take a cab and go to spend the evening at the Islands. Now, now are you going to follow me?\"\n\"I'm coming to your lodgings, not to see you but Sofya Semyonovna, to say I'm sorry not to have been at the funeral.\"\n\"That's as you like, but Sofya Semyonovna is not at home. She has taken the three children to an old lady of high rank, the patroness of some orphan asylums, whom I used to know years ago. I charmed the old lady by depositing a sum of money with her to provide for the three children of Katerina Ivanovna and subscribing to the institution as well. I told her too the story of Sofya Semyonovna in full detail, suppressing nothing. It produced an indescribable effect on her. That's why Sofya Semyonovna has been invited to call to-day at the X. Hotel where the lady is staying for the time.\"\n\"No matter, I'll come all the same.\"\n\"As you like, it's nothing to me, but I won't come with you; here we are at home. By the way, I am convinced that you regard me with suspicion just because I have shown such delicacy and have not so far troubled you with questions... you understand? It struck you as extraordinary; I don't mind betting it's that. Well, it teaches one to show delicacy!\"\n\"And to listen at doors!\"\n\"Ah, that's it, is it?\" laughed Svidrigaïlov. \"Yes, I should have been surprised if you had let that pass after all that has happened. Ha-ha! Though I did understand something of the pranks you had been up to and were telling Sofya Semyonovna about, what was the meaning of it? Perhaps I am quite behind the times and can't understand. For goodness' sake, explain it, my dear boy. Expound the latest theories!\"\n\"You couldn't have heard anything. You're making it all up!\"\n\"But I'm not talking about that (though I did hear something). No, I'm talking of the way you keep sighing and groaning now. The Schiller in you is in revolt every moment, and now you tell me not to listen at doors. If that's how you feel, go and inform the police that you had this mischance: you made a little mistake in your theory. But if you are convinced that one mustn't listen at doors, but one may murder old women at one's pleasure, you'd better be off to America and make haste. Run, young man! There may still be time. I'm speaking sincerely. Haven't you the money? I'll give you the fare.\"\n\"I'm not thinking of that at all,\" Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust.\n\"I understand (but don't put yourself out, don't discuss it if you don't want to). I understand the questions you are worrying over--moral ones, aren't they? Duties of citizen and man? Lay them all aside. They are nothing to you now, ha-ha! You'll say you are still a man and a citizen. If so you ought not to have got into this coil. It's no use taking up a job you are not fit for. Well, you'd better shoot yourself, or don't you want to?\"\n\"You seem trying to enrage me, to make me leave you.\"\n\"What a queer fellow! But here we are. Welcome to the staircase. You see, that's the way to Sofya Semyonovna. Look, there is no one at home. Don't you believe me? Ask Kapernaumov. She leaves the key with him. Here is Madame de Kapernaumov herself. Hey, what? She is rather deaf. Has she gone out? Where? Did you hear? She is not in and won't be till late in the evening probably. Well, come to my room; you wanted to come and see me, didn't you? Here we are. Madame Resslich's not at home. She is a woman who is always busy, an excellent woman I assure you.... She might have been of use to you if you had been a little more sensible. Now, see! I take this five-per-cent bond out of the bureau--see what a lot I've got of them still--this one will be turned into cash to-day. I mustn't waste any more time. The bureau is locked, the flat is locked, and here we are again on the stairs. Shall we take a cab? I'm going to the Islands. Would you like a lift? I'll take this carriage. Ah, you refuse? You are tired of it! Come for a drive! I believe it will come on to rain. Never mind, we'll put down the hood....\"\nSvidrigaïlov was already in the carriage. Raskolnikov decided that his suspicions were at least for that moment unjust. Without answering a word he turned and walked back towards the Hay Market. If he had only turned round on his way he might have seen Svidrigaïlov get out not a hundred paces off, dismiss the cab and walk along the pavement. But he had turned the corner and could see nothing. Intense disgust drew him away from Svidrigaïlov.\n\"To think that I could for one instant have looked for help from that coarse brute, that depraved sensualist and blackguard!\" he cried.\nRaskolnikov's judgment was uttered too lightly and hastily: there was something about Svidrigaïlov which gave him a certain original, even a mysterious character. As concerned his sister, Raskolnikov was convinced that Svidrigaïlov would not leave her in peace. But it was too tiresome and unbearable to go on thinking and thinking about this.\nWhen he was alone, he had not gone twenty paces before he sank, as usual, into deep thought. On the bridge he stood by the railing and began gazing at the water. And his sister was standing close by him.\nHe met her at the entrance to the bridge, but passed by without seeing her. Dounia had never met him like this in the street before and was struck with dismay. She stood still and did not know whether to call to him or not. Suddenly she saw Svidrigaïlov coming quickly from the direction of the Hay Market.\nHe seemed to be approaching cautiously. He did not go on to the bridge, but stood aside on the pavement, doing all he could to avoid Raskolnikov's seeing him. He had observed Dounia for some time and had been making signs to her. She fancied he was signalling to beg her not to speak to her brother, but to come to him.\nThat was what Dounia did. She stole by her brother and went up to Svidrigaïlov.\n\"Let us make haste away,\" Svidrigaïlov whispered to her, \"I don't want Rodion Romanovitch to know of our meeting. I must tell you I've been sitting with him in the restaurant close by, where he looked me up and I had great difficulty in getting rid of him. He has somehow heard of my letter to you and suspects something. It wasn't you who told him, of course, but if not you, who then?\"", "chosen": "then", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nthen\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2554-006-00-3c2e532a", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nIt frequently happened that the houses of farmers, clergymen, etc., lay a short distance up or down a lane or path branching from the direct track of the postman's journey. To save time and distance, at the point of junction of some of these paths with the main road, the gate-post was hollowed out to form a letter-box, in which the postman deposited his missives in the morning, looking in the box again in the evening to collect those placed there for the return post. Tolchurch Vicarage and Farmstead, lying back from the village street, were served on this principle. This fact the steward now learnt by conversing with the postman, and the discovery relieved Manston greatly, making his intentions much clearer to himself than they had been in the earlier stages of his journey.\nThey had reached the outskirts of the village. Manston insisted upon the flask being emptied before they proceeded further. This was done, and they approached the church, the vicarage, and the farmhouse in which Owen and Cytherea were living.\nThe postman paused, fumbled in his bag, took out by the light of his lantern some half-dozen letters, and tried to sort them. He could not perform the task.\n'We be crippled disciples a b'lieve,' he said, with a sigh and a stagger.\n'Not drunk, but market-merry,' said Manston cheerfully.\n'Well done! If I baint so weak that I can't see the clouds--much less letters. Guide my soul, if so be anybody should tell the Queen's postmaster-general of me! The whole story will have to go through Parliament House, and I shall be high-treasoned--as safe as houses--and be fined, and who'll pay for a poor martel! O, 'tis a world!'\n'Trust in the Lord--he'll pay.'\n'He pay a b'lieve! why should he when he didn't drink the drink? He pay a b'lieve! D'ye think the man's a fool?'\n'Well, well, I had no intention of hurting your feelings--but how was I to know you were so sensitive?'\n'True--you were not to know I was so sensitive. Here's a caddle wi' these letters! Guide my soul, what will Billy do!'\nManston offered his services.\n'They are to be divided,' the man said.\n'How?' said Manston.\n'These, for the village, to be carried on into it: any for the vicarage or vicarage farm must be left in the box of the gate-post just here. There's none for the vicarage-house this mornen, but I saw when I started there was one for the clerk o' works at the new church. This is it, isn't it?'\nHe held up a large envelope, directed in Edward Springrove's handwriting:--\n'MR. O. GRAYE, CLERK OF WORKS, TOLCHURCH, NEAR ANGLEBURY.'\nThe letter-box was scooped in an oak gate-post about a foot square. There was no slit for inserting the letters, by reason of the opportunity such a lonely spot would have afforded mischievous peasant-boys of doing damage had such been the case; but at the side was a small iron door, kept close by an iron reversible strap locked across it. One side of this strap was painted black, the other white, and white or black outwards implied respectively that there were letters inside, or none.\nThe postman had taken the key from his pocket and was attempting to insert it in the keyhole of the box. He touched one side, the other, above, below, but never made a straight hit.\n'Let me unlock it,' said Manston, taking the key from the postman. He opened the box and reached out with his other hand for Owen's letter.\n'No, no. O no--no,' the postman said. 'As one of--Majesty's servants--care--Majesty's mails--duty--put letters--own hands.' He slowly and solemnly placed the letter in the small cavity.\n'Now lock it,' he said, closing the door.\nThe steward placed the bar across, with the black side outwards, signifying 'empty,' and turned the key.\n'You've put the wrong side outwards!' said the postman. ''Tisn't empty.'\n'And dropped the key in the mud, so that I can't alter it,' said the steward, letting something fall.\n'What an awkward thing!'\n'It is an awkward thing.'\nThey both went searching in the mud, which their own trampling had reduced to the consistency of pap, the postman unstrapping his little lantern from his breast, and thrusting it about, close to the ground, the rain still drizzling down, and the dawn so tardy on account of the heavy clouds that daylight seemed delayed indefinitely. The rays of the lantern were rendered individually visible upon the thick mist, and seemed almost tangible as they passed off into it, after illuminating the faces and knees of the two stooping figures dripping with wet; the postman's cape and private bags, and the steward's valise, glistening as if they had been varnished.\n'It fell on the grass,' said the postman.\n'No; it fell in the mud,' said Manston. They searched again.\n'I'm afraid we shan't find it by this light,' said the steward at length, washing his muddy fingers in the wet grass of the bank.\n'I'm afraid we shan't,' said the other, standing up.\n'I'll tell you what we had better do,' said Manston. 'I shall be back this way in an hour or so, and since it was all my fault, I'll look again, and shall be sure to find it in the daylight. And I'll hide the key here for you.' He pointed to a spot behind the post. 'It will be too late to turn the index then, as the people will have been here, so that the box had better stay as it is. The letter will only be delayed a day, and that will not be noticed; if it is, you can say you placed the iron the wrong way without knowing it, and all will be well.'\nThis was agreed to by the postman as the best thing to be done under the circumstances, and the pair went on. They had passed the village and come to a crossroad, when the steward, telling his companion that their paths now diverged, turned off to the left towards Carriford.\nNo sooner was the postman out of sight and hearing than Manston stalked back to the vicarage letter-box by keeping inside a fence, and thus avoiding the village; arrived here, he took the key from his pocket, where it had been concealed all the time, and abstracted Owen's letter. This done, he turned towards home, by the help of what he carried in his valise adjusting himself to his ordinary appearance as he neared the quarter in which he was known.\nAn hour and half's sharp walking brought him to his own door in Knapwater Park.\n2. EIGHT O'CLOCK A.M.\nSeated in his private office he wetted the flap of the stolen letter, and waited patiently till the adhesive gum could be loosened. He took out Edward's note, the accounts, the rosebud, and the photographs, regarding them with the keenest interest and anxiety.\nThe note, the accounts, the rosebud, and his own photograph, he restored to their places again. The other photograph he took between his finger and thumb, and held it towards the bars of the grate. There he held it for half-a-minute or more, meditating.\n'It is a great risk to run, even for such an end,' he muttered.\nSuddenly, impregnated with a bright idea, he jumped up and left the office for the front parlour. Taking up an album of portraits, which lay on the table, he searched for three or four likenesses of the lady who had so lately displaced Cytherea, which were interspersed among the rest of the collection, and carefully regarded them. They were taken in different attitudes and styles, and he compared each singly with that he held in his hand. One of them, the one most resembling that abstracted from the letter in general tone, size, and attitude, he selected from the rest, and returned with it to his office.\nPouring some water into a plate, he set the two portraits afloat upon it, and sitting down tried to read.", "chosen": "[\"Vicarage\", \"Farmstead\", \"Manston\", \"Owen\", \"Cytherea\", \"Queen\", \"Parliament\", \"House\", \"Billy\", \"Edward\", \"Springrove\", \"Carriford\", \"Knapwater\", \"Park\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Vicarage\", \"Farmstead\", \"Manston\", \"Owen\", \"Cytherea\", \"Queen\", \"Parliament\", \"House\", \"Billy\", \"Edward\", \"Springrove\", \"Carriford\", \"Knapwater\", \"Park\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-3044-012-01-5e85e935", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nWhen the particulars of this conversation were repeated by Miss Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effect on her was not entirely such as the former had hoped to see. Not that Marianne appeared to distrust the truth of any part of it, for she listened to it all with the most steady and submissive attention, made neither objection nor remark, attempted no vindication of Willoughby, and seemed to show by her tears that she felt it to be impossible. But though this behaviour assured Elinor that the conviction of this guilt was carried home to her mind, though she saw with satisfaction the effect of it, in her no longer avoiding Colonel Brandon when he called, in her speaking to him, even voluntarily speaking, with a kind of compassionate respect, and though she saw her spirits less violently irritated than before, she did not see her less wretched. Her mind did become settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection. She felt the loss of Willoughby's character yet more heavily than she had felt the loss of his heart; his seduction and desertion of Miss Williams, the misery of that poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might once have been on herself, preyed altogether so much on her spirits, that she could not bring herself to speak of what she felt even to Elinor; and, brooding over her sorrows in silence, gave more pain to her sister than could have been communicated by the most open and most frequent confession of them.\nTo give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood on receiving and answering Elinor's letter would be only to give a repetition of what her daughters had already felt and said; of a disappointment hardly less painful than Marianne's, and an indignation even greater than Elinor's. Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other, arrived to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express her anxious solicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with fortitude under this misfortune. Bad indeed must the nature of Marianne's affliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude! mortifying and humiliating must be the origin of those regrets, which she could wish her not to indulge!\nAgainst the interest of her own individual comfort, Mrs. Dashwood had determined that it would be better for Marianne to be any where, at that time, than at Barton, where every thing within her view would be bringing back the past in the strongest and most afflicting manner, by constantly placing Willoughby before her, such as she had always seen him there. She recommended it to her daughters, therefore, by all means not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length of which, though never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at least five or six weeks. A variety of occupations, of objects, and of company, which could not be procured at Barton, would be inevitable there, and might yet, she hoped, cheat Marianne, at times, into some interest beyond herself, and even into some amusement, much as the ideas of both might now be spurned by her.\nFrom all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother considered her to be at least equally safe in town as in the country, since his acquaintance must now be dropped by all who called themselves her friends. Design could never bring them in each other's way: negligence could never leave them exposed to a surprise; and chance had less in its favour in the crowd of London than even in the retirement of Barton, where it might force him before her while paying that visit at Allenham on his marriage, which Mrs. Dashwood, from foreseeing at first as a probable event, had brought herself to expect as a certain one.\nShe had yet another reason for wishing her children to remain where they were; a letter from her son-in-law had told her that he and his wife were to be in town before the middle of February, and she judged it right that they should sometimes see their brother.\nMarianne had promised to be guided by her mother's opinion, and she submitted to it therefore without opposition, though it proved perfectly different from what she wished and expected, though she felt it to be entirely wrong, formed on mistaken grounds, and that by requiring her longer continuance in London it deprived her of the only possible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sympathy of her mother, and doomed her to such society and such scenes as must prevent her ever knowing a moment's rest.\nBut it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought evil to herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the other hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward entirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer stay would therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire.\nHer carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hearing Willoughby's name mentioned, was not thrown away. Marianne, though without knowing it herself, reaped all its advantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor Sir John, nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her. Elinor wished that the same forbearance could have extended towards herself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged to listen day after day to the indignation of them all.\nSir John, could not have thought it possible. \"A man of whom he had always had such reason to think well! Such a good-natured fellow! He did not believe there was a bolder rider in England! It was an unaccountable business. He wished him at the devil with all his heart. He would not speak another word to him, meet him where he might, for all the world! No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton covert, and they were kept watching for two hours together. Such a scoundrel of a fellow! such a deceitful dog! It was only the last time they met that he had offered him one of Folly's puppies! and this was the end of it!\"\nMrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry. \"She was determined to drop his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she had never been acquainted with him at all. She wished with all her heart Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify, for it was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated him so much that she was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should tell everybody she saw, how good-for-nothing he was.\"\nThe rest of Mrs. Palmer's sympathy was shown in procuring all the particulars in her power of the approaching marriage, and communicating them to Elinor. She could soon tell at what coachmaker's the new carriage was building, by what painter Mr. Willoughby's portrait was drawn, and at what warehouse Miss Grey's clothes might be seen.\nThe calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a happy relief to Elinor's spirits, oppressed as they often were by the clamorous kindness of the others. It was a great comfort to her to be sure of exciting no interest in one person at least among their circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there was one who would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any anxiety for her sister's health.\nEvery qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to comfort than good-nature.", "chosen": "When, Not, But, Her, She, To, Dashwood, Long, Bad, mortifying, Against, Dashwood, She, Jennings;, A, From, Design, Dashwood,, She, Marianne, But, Her, Marianne,, Jennings,, Palmer, Elinor, Sir, A, Such, He, It, He, He, No,, Such, such, It, and, Palmer,, She, She, Palmer's, She, Willoughby's, The, It, Every", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nWhen, Not, But, Her, She, To, Dashwood, Long, Bad, mortifying, Against, Dashwood, She, Jennings;, A, From, Design, Dashwood,, She, Marianne, But, Her, Marianne,, Jennings,, Palmer, Elinor, Sir, A, Such, He, It, He, He, No,, Such, such, It, and, Palmer,, She, She, Palmer's, She, Willoughby's, The, It, Every\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-032-00-1efd37d3", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nAt sunrise on a first of April, there appeared, suddenly as Manco Capac at the lake Titicaca, a man in cream-colors, at the water-side in the city of St. Louis.\nHis cheek was fair, his chin downy, his hair flaxen, his hat a white fur one, with a long fleecy nap. He had neither trunk, valise, carpet-bag, nor parcel. No porter followed him. He was unaccompanied by friends. From the shrugged shoulders, titters, whispers, wonderings of the crowd, it was plain that he was, in the extremest sense of the word, a stranger.\nIn the same moment with his advent, he stepped aboard the favorite steamer Fidèle, on the point of starting for New Orleans. Stared at, but unsaluted, with the air of one neither courting nor shunning regard, but evenly pursuing the path of duty, lead it through solitudes or cities, he held on his way along the lower deck until he chanced to come to a placard nigh the captain's office, offering a reward for the capture of a mysterious impostor, supposed to have recently arrived from the East; quite an original genius in his vocation, as would appear, though wherein his originality consisted was not clearly given; but what purported to be a careful description of his person followed.\nAs if it had been a theatre-bill, crowds were gathered about the announcement, and among them certain chevaliers, whose eyes, it was plain, were on the capitals, or, at least, earnestly seeking sight of them from behind intervening coats; but as for their fingers, they were enveloped in some myth; though, during a chance interval, one of these chevaliers somewhat showed his hand in purchasing from another chevalier, ex-officio a peddler of money-belts, one of his popular safe-guards, while another peddler, who was still another versatile chevalier, hawked, in the thick of the throng, the lives of Measan, the bandit of Ohio, Murrel, the pirate of the Mississippi, and the brothers Harpe, the Thugs of the Green River country, in Kentucky--creatures, with others of the sort, one and all exterminated at the time, and for the most part, like the hunted generations of wolves in the same regions, leaving comparatively few successors; which would seem cause for unalloyed gratulation, and is such to all except those who think that in new countries, where the wolves are killed off, the foxes increase.\nPausing at this spot, the stranger so far succeeded in threading his way, as at last to plant himself just beside the placard, when, producing a small slate and tracing some words upon if, he held it up before him on a level with the placard, so that they who read the one might read the other. The words were these:--\n\"Charity thinketh no evil.\"\nAs, in gaining his place, some little perseverance, not to say persistence, of a mildly inoffensive sort, had been unavoidable, it was not with the best relish that the crowd regarded his apparent intrusion; and upon a more attentive survey, perceiving no badge of authority about him, but rather something quite the contrary--he being of an aspect so singularly innocent; an aspect too, which they took to be somehow inappropriate to the time and place, and inclining to the notion that his writing was of much the same sort: in short, taking him for some strange kind of simpleton, harmless enough, would he keep to himself, but not wholly unobnoxious as an intruder--they made no scruple to jostle him aside; while one, less kind than the rest, or more of a wag, by an unobserved stroke, dexterously flattened down his fleecy hat upon his head. Without readjusting it, the stranger quietly turned, and writing anew upon the slate, again held it up:--\n\"Charity suffereth long, and is kind.\"\nIlly pleased with his pertinacity, as they thought it, the crowd a second time thrust him aside, and not without epithets and some buffets, all of which were unresented. But, as if at last despairing of so difficult an adventure, wherein one, apparently a non-resistant, sought to impose his presence upon fighting characters, the stranger now moved slowly away, yet not before altering his writing to this:--\n\"Charity endureth all things.\"\nShield-like bearing his slate before him, amid stares and jeers he moved slowly up and down, at his turning points again changing his inscription to--\n\"Charity believeth all things.\"\nand then--\n\"Charity never faileth.\"\nThe word charity, as originally traced, remained throughout uneffaced, not unlike the left-hand numeral of a printed date, otherwise left for convenience in blank.\nTo some observers, the singularity, if not lunacy, of the stranger was heightened by his muteness, and, perhaps also, by the contrast to his proceedings afforded in the actions--quite in the wonted and sensible order of things--of the barber of the boat, whose quarters, under a smoking-saloon, and over against a bar-room, was next door but two to the captain's office. As if the long, wide, covered deck, hereabouts built up on both sides with shop-like windowed spaces, were some Constantinople arcade or bazaar, where more than one trade is plied, this river barber, aproned and slippered, but rather crusty-looking for the moment, it may be from being newly out of bed, was throwing open his premises for the day, and suitably arranging the exterior. With business-like dispatch, having rattled down his shutters, and at a palm-tree angle set out in the iron fixture his little ornamental pole, and this without overmuch tenderness for the elbows and toes of the crowd, he concluded his operations by bidding people stand still more aside, when, jumping on a stool, he hung over his door, on the customary nail, a gaudy sort of illuminated pasteboard sign, skillfully executed by himself, gilt with the likeness of a razor elbowed in readiness to shave, and also, for the public benefit, with two words not unfrequently seen ashore gracing other shops besides barbers':--\n\"NO TRUST.\"\nAn inscription which, though in a sense not less intrusive than the contrasted ones of the stranger, did not, as it seemed, provoke any corresponding derision or surprise, much less indignation; and still less, to all appearances, did it gain for the inscriber the repute of being a simpleton.\nMeanwhile, he with the slate continued moving slowly up and down, not without causing some stares to change into jeers, and some jeers into pushes, and some pushes into punches; when suddenly, in one of his turns, he was hailed from behind by two porters carrying a large trunk; but as the summons, though loud, was without effect, they accidentally or otherwise swung their burden against him, nearly overthrowing him; when, by a quick start, a peculiar inarticulate moan, and a pathetic telegraphing of his fingers, he involuntarily betrayed that he was not alone dumb, but also deaf.\nPresently, as if not wholly unaffected by his reception thus far, he went forward, seating himself in a retired spot on the forecastle, nigh the foot of a ladder there leading to a deck above, up and down which ladder some of the boatmen, in discharge of their duties, were occasionally going.\nFrom his betaking himself to this humble quarter, it was evident that, as a deck-passenger, the stranger, simple though he seemed, was not entirely ignorant of his place, though his taking a deck-passage might have been partly for convenience; as, from his having no luggage, it was probable that his destination was one of the small wayside landings within a few hours' sail. But, though he might not have a long way to go, yet he seemed already to have come from a very long distance.\nThough neither soiled nor slovenly, his cream-colored suit had a tossed look, almost linty, as if, traveling night and day from some far country beyond the prairies, he had long been without the solace of a bed. His aspect was at once gentle and jaded, and, from the moment of seating himself, increasing in tired abstraction and dreaminess. Gradually overtaken by slumber, his flaxen head drooped, his whole lamb-like figure relaxed, and, half reclining against the ladder's foot, lay motionless, as some sugar-snow in March, which, softly stealing down over night, with its white placidity startles the brown farmer peering out from his threshold at daybreak.", "chosen": "24", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n24\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-21816-001-00-4a2d5b44", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Well, what night shall we go?\"\n\"Let me see. To-day is Tuesday. Let us fix to-morrow. She plays Juliet to-morrow.\"\n\"All right. The Bristol at eight o'clock; and I will get Basil.\"\n\"Not eight, Harry, please. Half-past six. We must be there before the curtain rises. You must see her in the first act, where she meets Romeo.\"\n\"Half-past six! What an hour! It will be like having a meat-tea, or reading an English novel. It must be seven. No gentleman dines before seven. Shall you see Basil between this and then? Or shall I write to him?\"\n\"Dear Basil! I have not laid eyes on him for a week. It is rather horrid of me, as he has sent me my portrait in the most wonderful frame, specially designed by himself, and, though I am a little jealous of the picture for being a whole month younger than I am, I must admit that I delight in it. Perhaps you had better write to him. I don't want to see him alone. He says things that annoy me. He gives me good advice.\"\nLord Henry smiled. \"People are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves. It is what I call the depth of generosity.\"\n\"Oh, Basil is the best of fellows, but he seems to me to be just a bit of a Philistine. Since I have known you, Harry, I have discovered that.\"\n\"Basil, my dear boy, puts everything that is charming in him into his work. The consequence is that he has nothing left for life but his prejudices, his principles, and his common sense. The only artists I have ever known who are personally delightful are bad artists. Good artists exist simply in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are. A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of all creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes are, the more picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets makes a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize.\"\n\"I wonder is that really so, Harry?\" said Dorian Gray, putting some perfume on his handkerchief out of a large, gold-topped bottle that stood on the table. \"It must be, if you say it. And now I am off. Imogen is waiting for me. Don't forget about to-morrow. Good-bye.\"\nAs he left the room, Lord Henry's heavy eyelids drooped, and he began to think. Certainly few people had ever interested him so much as Dorian Gray, and yet the lad's mad adoration of some one else caused him not the slightest pang of annoyance or jealousy. He was pleased by it. It made him a more interesting study. He had been always enthralled by the methods of natural science, but the ordinary subject-matter of that science had seemed to him trivial and of no import. And so he had begun by vivisecting himself, as he had ended by vivisecting others. Human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating. Compared to it there was nothing else of any value. It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible of pain and pleasure, one could not wear over one's face a mask of glass, nor keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling the brain and making the imagination turbid with monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams. There were poisons so subtle that to know their properties one had to sicken of them. There were maladies so strange that one had to pass through them if one sought to understand their nature. And, yet, what a great reward one received! How wonderful the whole world became to one! To note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! What matter what the cost was? One could never pay too high a price for any sensation.\nHe was conscious—and the thought brought a gleam of pleasure into his brown agate eyes—that it was through certain words of his, musical words said with musical utterance, that Dorian Gray's soul had turned to this white girl and bowed in worship before her. To a large extent the lad was his own creation. He had made him premature. That was something. Ordinary people waited till life disclosed to them its secrets, but to the few, to the elect, the mysteries of life were revealed before the veil was drawn away. Sometimes this was the effect of art, and chiefly of the art of literature, which dealt immediately with the passions and the intellect. But now and then a complex personality took the place and assumed the office of art, was indeed, in its way, a real work of art, life having its elaborate masterpieces, just as poetry has, or sculpture, or painting.\nYes, the lad was premature. He was gathering his harvest while it was yet spring. The pulse and passion of youth were in him, but he was becoming self-conscious. It was delightful to watch him. With his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. It was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. He was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir one's sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses.\nSoul and body, body and soul—how mysterious they were! There was animalism in the soul, and the body had its moments of spirituality. The senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade. Who could say where the fleshly impulse ceased, or the psychical impulse began? How shallow were the arbitrary definitions of ordinary psychologists! And yet how difficult to decide between the claims of the various schools! Was the soul a shadow seated in the house of sin? Or was the body really in the soul, as Giordano Bruno thought? The separation of spirit from matter was a mystery, and the union of spirit with matter was a mystery also.\nHe began to wonder whether we could ever make psychology so absolute a science that each little spring of life would be revealed to us. As it was, we always misunderstood ourselves and rarely understood others. Experience was of no ethical value. It was merely the name men gave to their mistakes. Moralists had, as a rule, regarded it as a mode of warning, had claimed for it a certain ethical efficacy in the formation of character, had praised it as something that taught us what to follow and showed us what to avoid. But there was no motive power in experience. It was as little of an active cause as conscience itself. All that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sin we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy.\nIt was clear to him that the experimental method was the only method by which one could arrive at any scientific analysis of the passions; and certainly Dorian Gray was a subject made to his hand, and seemed to promise rich and fruitful results. His sudden mad love for Sibyl Vane was a psychological phenomenon of no small interest. There was no doubt that curiosity had much to do with it, curiosity and the desire for new experiences, yet it was not a simple, but rather a very complex passion. What there was in it of the purely sensuous instinct of boyhood had been transformed by the workings of the imagination, changed into something that seemed to the lad himself to be remote from sense, and was for that very reason all the more dangerous. It was the passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves that tyrannized most strongly over us. Our weakest motives were those of whose nature we were conscious. It often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves.", "chosen": "It is rather horrid of me, as he has sent me my portrait in the most wonderful frame, specially designed by himself, and, though I am a little jealous of the picture for being a whole month younger than I am, I must admit that I delight in it.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nIt is rather horrid of me, as he has sent me my portrait in the most wonderful frame, specially designed by himself, and, though I am a little jealous of the picture for being a whole month younger than I am, I must admit that I delight in it.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-174-004-03-0dad0c0e", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nBut these manifold mistakes in depicting the whale are not so very surprising after all. Consider! Most of the scientific drawings have been taken from the stranded fish; and these are about as correct as a drawing of a wrecked ship, with broken back, would correctly represent the noble animal itself in all its undashed pride of hull and spars. Though elephants have stood for their full-lengths, the living Leviathan has never yet fairly floated himself for his portrait. The living whale, in his full majesty and significance, is only to be seen at sea in unfathomable waters; and afloat the vast bulk of him is out of sight, like a launched line-of-battle ship; and out of that element it is a thing eternally impossible for mortal man to hoist him bodily into the air, so as to preserve all his mighty swells and undulations. And, not to speak of the highly presumable difference of contour between a young sucking whale and a full-grown Platonian Leviathan; yet, even in the case of one of those young sucking whales hoisted to a ship's deck, such is then the outlandish, eel-like, limbered, varying shape of him, that his precise expression the devil himself could not catch.\nBut it may be fancied, that from the naked skeleton of the stranded whale, accurate hints may be derived touching his true form. Not at all. For it is one of the more curious things about this Leviathan, that his skeleton gives very little idea of his general shape. Though Jeremy Bentham's skeleton, which hangs for candelabra in the library of one of his executors, correctly conveys the idea of a burly-browed utilitarian old gentleman, with all Jeremy's other leading personal characteristics; yet nothing of this kind could be inferred from any leviathan's articulated bones. In fact, as the great Hunter says, the mere skeleton of the whale bears the same relation to the fully invested and padded animal as the insect does to the chrysalis that so roundingly envelopes it. This peculiarity is strikingly evinced in the head, as in some part of this book will be incidentally shown. It is also very curiously displayed in the side fin, the bones of which almost exactly answer to the bones of the human hand, minus only the thumb. This fin has four regular bone-fingers, the index, middle, ring, and little finger. But all these are permanently lodged in their fleshy covering, as the human fingers in an artificial covering. \"However recklessly the whale may sometimes serve us,\" said humorous Stubb one day, \"he can never be truly said to handle us without mittens.\"\nFor all these reasons, then, any way you may look at it, you must needs conclude that the great Leviathan is that one creature in the world which must remain unpainted to the last. True, one portrait may hit the mark much nearer than another, but none can hit it with any very considerable degree of exactness. So there is no earthly way of finding out precisely what the whale really looks like. And the only mode in which you can derive even a tolerable idea of his living contour, is by going a whaling yourself; but by so doing, you run no small risk of being eternally stove and sunk by him. Wherefore, it seems to me you had best not be too fastidious in your curiosity touching this Leviathan.\nCHAPTER 56. Of the Less Erroneous Pictures of Whales, and the True Pictures of Whaling Scenes.\nIn connexion with the monstrous pictures of whales, I am strongly tempted here to enter upon those still more monstrous stories of them which are to be found in certain books, both ancient and modern, especially in Pliny, Purchas, Hackluyt, Harris, Cuvier, etc. But I pass that matter by.\nI know of only four published outlines of the great Sperm Whale; Colnett's, Huggins's, Frederick Cuvier's, and Beale's. In the previous chapter Colnett and Cuvier have been referred to. Huggins's is far better than theirs; but, by great odds, Beale's is the best. All Beale's drawings of this whale are good, excepting the middle figure in the picture of three whales in various attitudes, capping his second chapter. His frontispiece, boats attacking Sperm Whales, though no doubt calculated to excite the civil scepticism of some parlor men, is admirably correct and life-like in its general effect. Some of the Sperm Whale drawings in J. Ross Browne are pretty correct in contour; but they are wretchedly engraved. That is not his fault though.\nOf the Right Whale, the best outline pictures are in Scoresby; but they are drawn on too small a scale to convey a desirable impression. He has but one picture of whaling scenes, and this is a sad deficiency, because it is by such pictures only, when at all well done, that you can derive anything like a truthful idea of the living whale as seen by his living hunters.\nBut, taken for all in all, by far the finest, though in some details not the most correct, presentations of whales and whaling scenes to be anywhere found, are two large French engravings, well executed, and taken from paintings by one Garnery. Respectively, they represent attacks on the Sperm and Right Whale. In the first engraving a noble Sperm Whale is depicted in full majesty of might, just risen beneath the boat from the profundities of the ocean, and bearing high in the air upon his back the terrific wreck of the stoven planks. The prow of the boat is partially unbroken, and is drawn just balancing upon the monster's spine; and standing in that prow, for that one single incomputable flash of time, you behold an oarsman, half shrouded by the incensed boiling spout of the whale, and in the act of leaping, as if from a precipice. The action of the whole thing is wonderfully good and true. The half-emptied line-tub floats on the whitened sea; the wooden poles of the spilled harpoons obliquely bob in it; the heads of the swimming crew are scattered about the whale in contrasting expressions of affright; while in the black stormy distance the ship is bearing down upon the scene. Serious fault might be found with the anatomical details of this whale, but let that pass; since, for the life of me, I could not draw so good a one.\nIn the second engraving, the boat is in the act of drawing alongside the barnacled flank of a large running Right Whale, that rolls his black weedy bulk in the sea like some mossy rock-slide from the Patagonian cliffs. His jets are erect, full, and black like soot; so that from so abounding a smoke in the chimney, you would think there must be a brave supper cooking in the great bowels below. Sea fowls are pecking at the small crabs, shell-fish, and other sea candies and maccaroni, which the Right Whale sometimes carries on his pestilent back. And all the while the thick-lipped leviathan is rushing through the deep, leaving tons of tumultuous white curds in his wake, and causing the slight boat to rock in the swells like a skiff caught nigh the paddle-wheels of an ocean steamer. Thus, the foreground is all raging commotion; but behind, in admirable artistic contrast, is the glassy level of a sea becalmed, the drooping unstarched sails of the powerless ship, and the inert mass of a dead whale, a conquered fortress, with the flag of capture lazily hanging from the whale-pole inserted into his spout-hole.\nWho Garnery the painter is, or was, I know not. But my life for it he was either practically conversant with his subject, or else marvellously tutored by some experienced whaleman. The French are the lads for painting action. Go and gaze upon all the paintings of Europe, and where will you find such a gallery of living and breathing commotion on canvas, as in that triumphal hall at Versailles; where the beholder fights his way, pell-mell, through the consecutive great battles of France; where every sword seems a flash of the Northern Lights, and the successive armed kings and Emperors dash by, like a charge of crowned centaurs? Not wholly unworthy of a place in that gallery, are these sea battle-pieces of Garnery.", "chosen": "Garnery", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nGarnery\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-048-01-c77d1756", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nI often wanted to kill Brown, but this would not answer. A cub had to take everything his boss gave, in the way of vigorous comment and criticism; and we all believed that there was a United States law making it a penitentiary offense to strike or threaten a pilot who was on duty. However, I could _imagine _myself killing Brown; there was no law against that; and that was the thing I used always to do the moment I was abed. Instead of going over my river in my mind as was my duty, I threw business aside for pleasure, and killed Brown. I killed Brown every night for months; not in old, stale, commonplace ways, but in new and picturesque ones;--ways that were sometimes surprising for freshness of design and ghastliness of situation and environment.\nBrown was _always _watching for a pretext to find fault; and if he could find no plausible pretext, he would invent one. He would scold you for shaving a shore, and for not shaving it; for hugging a bar, and for not hugging it; for 'pulling down' when not invited, and for not pulling down when not invited; for firing up without orders, and for waiting for orders. In a word, it was his invariable rule to find fault with _everything _you did; and another invariable rule of his was to throw all his remarks (to you) into the form of an insult.\nOne day we were approaching New Madrid, bound down and heavily laden. Brown was at one side of the wheel, steering; I was at the other, standing by to 'pull down' or 'shove up.' He cast a furtive glance at me every now and then. I had long ago learned what that meant; viz., he was trying to invent a trap for me. I wondered what shape it was going to take. By and by he stepped back from the wheel and said in his usual snarly way--\n'Here!--See if you've got gumption enough to round her to.'\nThis was simply _bound _to be a success; nothing could prevent it; for he had never allowed me to round the boat to before; consequently, no matter how I might do the thing, he could find free fault with it. He stood back there with his greedy eye on me, and the result was what might have been foreseen: I lost my head in a quarter of a minute, and didn't know what I was about; I started too early to bring the boat around, but detected a green gleam of joy in Brown's eye, and corrected my mistake; I started around once more while too high up, but corrected myself again in time; I made other false moves, and still managed to save myself; but at last I grew so confused and anxious that I tumbled into the very worst blunder of all--I got too far down before beginning to fetch the boat around. Brown's chance was come.\nHis face turned red with passion; he made one bound, hurled me across the house with a sweep of his arm, spun the wheel down, and began to pour out a stream of vituperation upon me which lasted till he was out of breath. In the course of this speech he called me all the different kinds of hard names he could think of, and once or twice I thought he was even going to swear--but he didn't this time. 'Dod dern' was the nearest he ventured to the luxury of swearing, for he had been brought up with a wholesome respect for future fire and brimstone.\nThat was an uncomfortable hour; for there was a big audience on the hurricane deck. When I went to bed that night, I killed Brown in seventeen different ways--all of them new.", "chosen": "[\"Brown\", \"United\", \"States\", \"New\", \"Madrid\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Brown\", \"United\", \"States\", \"New\", \"Madrid\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-245-019-01-dae679f0", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nHe had no time to lose indeed. Even while he was saying good-by to Lise, the thought had struck him that he must attempt some stratagem to find his brother Dmitri, who was evidently keeping out of his way. It was getting late, nearly three o'clock. Alyosha's whole soul turned to the monastery, to his dying saint, but the necessity of seeing Dmitri outweighed everything. The conviction that a great inevitable catastrophe was about to happen grew stronger in Alyosha's mind with every hour. What that catastrophe was, and what he would say at that moment to his brother, he could perhaps not have said definitely. \"Even if my benefactor must die without me, anyway I won't have to reproach myself all my life with the thought that I might have saved something and did not, but passed by and hastened home. If I do as I intend, I shall be following his great precept.\"\nHis plan was to catch his brother Dmitri unawares, to climb over the fence, as he had the day before, get into the garden and sit in the summer-house. If Dmitri were not there, thought Alyosha, he would not announce himself to Foma or the women of the house, but would remain hidden in the summer-house, even if he had to wait there till evening. If, as before, Dmitri were lying in wait for Grushenka to come, he would be very likely to come to the summer-house. Alyosha did not, however, give much thought to the details of his plan, but resolved to act upon it, even if it meant not getting back to the monastery that day.\nEverything happened without hindrance, he climbed over the hurdle almost in the same spot as the day before, and stole into the summer-house unseen. He did not want to be noticed. The woman of the house and Foma too, if he were here, might be loyal to his brother and obey his instructions, and so refuse to let Alyosha come into the garden, or might warn Dmitri that he was being sought and inquired for.\nThere was no one in the summer-house. Alyosha sat down and began to wait. He looked round the summer-house, which somehow struck him as a great deal more ancient than before. Though the day was just as fine as yesterday, it seemed a wretched little place this time. There was a circle on the table, left no doubt from the glass of brandy having been spilt the day before. Foolish and irrelevant ideas strayed about his mind, as they always do in a time of tedious waiting. He wondered, for instance, why he had sat down precisely in the same place as before, why not in the other seat. At last he felt very depressed—depressed by suspense and uncertainty. But he had not sat there more than a quarter of an hour, when he suddenly heard the thrum of a guitar somewhere quite close. People were sitting, or had only just sat down, somewhere in the bushes not more than twenty paces away. Alyosha suddenly recollected that on coming out of the summer-house the day before, he had caught a glimpse of an old green low garden-seat among the bushes on the left, by the fence. The people must be sitting on it now. Who were they?\nA man's voice suddenly began singing in a sugary falsetto, accompanying himself on the guitar:\nWith invincible force I am bound to my dear. O Lord, have mercy On her and on me! On her and on me! On her and on me!\nThe voice ceased. It was a lackey's tenor and a lackey's song. Another voice, a woman's, suddenly asked insinuatingly and bashfully, though with mincing affectation:\n\"Why haven't you been to see us for so long, Pavel Fyodorovitch? Why do you always look down upon us?\"\n\"Not at all,\" answered a man's voice politely, but with emphatic dignity. It was clear that the man had the best of the position, and that the woman was making advances. \"I believe the man must be Smerdyakov,\" thought Alyosha, \"from his voice. And the lady must be the daughter of the house here, who has come from Moscow, the one who wears the dress with a tail and goes to Marfa for soup.\"\n\"I am awfully fond of verses of all kinds, if they rhyme,\" the woman's voice continued. \"Why don't you go on?\"\nThe man sang again:\nWhat do I care for royal wealth If but my dear one be in health? Lord have mercy On her and on me! On her and on me! On her and on me!\n\"It was even better last time,\" observed the woman's voice. \"You sang 'If my darling be in health'; it sounded more tender. I suppose you've forgotten to-day.\"\n\"Poetry is rubbish!\" said Smerdyakov curtly.\n\"Oh, no! I am very fond of poetry.\"\n\"So far as it's poetry, it's essential rubbish. Consider yourself, who ever talks in rhyme? And if we were all to talk in rhyme, even though it were decreed by government, we shouldn't say much, should we? Poetry is no good, Marya Kondratyevna.\"\n\"How clever you are! How is it you've gone so deep into everything?\" The woman's voice was more and more insinuating.\n\"I could have done better than that. I could have known more than that, if it had not been for my destiny from my childhood up. I would have shot a man in a duel if he called me names because I am descended from a filthy beggar and have no father. And they used to throw it in my teeth in Moscow. It had reached them from here, thanks to Grigory Vassilyevitch. Grigory Vassilyevitch blames me for rebelling against my birth, but I would have sanctioned their killing me before I was born that I might not have come into the world at all. They used to say in the market, and your mamma too, with great lack of delicacy, set off telling me that her hair was like a mat on her head, and that she was short of five foot by a wee bit. Why talk of a wee bit while she might have said 'a little bit,' like every one else? She wanted to make it touching, a regular peasant's feeling. Can a Russian peasant be said to feel, in comparison with an educated man? He can't be said to have feeling at all, in his ignorance. From my childhood up when I hear 'a wee bit,' I am ready to burst with rage. I hate all Russia, Marya Kondratyevna.\"\n\"If you'd been a cadet in the army, or a young hussar, you wouldn't have talked like that, but would have drawn your saber to defend all Russia.\"\n\"I don't want to be a hussar, Marya Kondratyevna, and, what's more, I should like to abolish all soldiers.\"\n\"And when an enemy comes, who is going to defend us?\"\n\"There's no need of defense. In 1812 there was a great invasion of Russia by Napoleon, first Emperor of the French, father of the present one, and it would have been a good thing if they had conquered us. A clever nation would have conquered a very stupid one and annexed it. We should have had quite different institutions.\"\n\"Are they so much better in their own country than we are? I wouldn't change a dandy I know of for three young Englishmen,\" observed Marya Kondratyevna tenderly, doubtless accompanying her words with a most languishing glance.\n\"That's as one prefers.\"\n\"But you are just like a foreigner—just like a most gentlemanly foreigner. I tell you that, though it makes me bashful.\"\n\"If you care to know, the folks there and ours here are just alike in their vice. They are swindlers, only there the scoundrel wears polished boots and here he grovels in filth and sees no harm in it. The Russian people want thrashing, as Fyodor Pavlovitch said very truly yesterday, though he is mad, and all his children.\"\n\"You said yourself you had such a respect for Ivan Fyodorovitch.\"", "chosen": "He, Even, It, Alyosha's, The, What, Even, If, If, If,, Alyosha, Everything, He, The, There, Alyosha, He, Though, There, Foolish, He, At, But, People, Alyosha, The, Who, A, O, On, On, The, It, Another, Why, It, I, And, Why, Lord, On, On, It, You, I, Oh,, I, Consider, And, Poetry, How, I, I, I, And, It, Grigory, They, Why, She, Can, He, From, I, In, A, We, I, That's, I, They, The", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nHe, Even, It, Alyosha's, The, What, Even, If, If, If,, Alyosha, Everything, He, The, There, Alyosha, He, Though, There, Foolish, He, At, But, People, Alyosha, The, Who, A, O, On, On, The, It, Another, Why, It, I, And, Why, Lord, On, On, It, You, I, Oh,, I, Consider, And, Poetry, How, I, I, I, And, It, Grigory, They, Why, She, Can, He, From, I, In, A, We, I, That's, I, They, The\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-033-00-2b29189b", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of ignorance. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoiled by my parents, who, though good themselves, (my father particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable,) allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight-and-twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.\"\n\"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?\"\n\"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses.\"\n\"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening!\"\n\"Hate you! I was angry, perhaps, at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction.\"\n\"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?\"\n\"No, indeed, I felt nothing but surprise.\"\n\"Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.\"\n\"My object then,\" replied Darcy, \"was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves, I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.\"\nHe then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.\nShe expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each to be dwelt on farther.\nAfter walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know anything about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.\n\"What could have become of Mr. Bingley and Jane?\" was a wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of it.\n\"I must ask whether you were surprised?\" said Elizabeth.\n\"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.\"\n\"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much.\" And though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much the case.\n\"On the evening before my going to London,\" said he, \"I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.\"\nElizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend.\n\"Did you speak from your own observation,\" said she, \"when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?\"\n\"From the former. I had narrowly observed her, during the two visits which I had lately made her here; and I was convinced of her affection.\"\n\"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him.\"\n\"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made everything easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now.\"\nElizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted.", "chosen": "49", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n49\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-1342-058-01-1a52768f", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"A multitude of people, and yet a solitude!\" said Darnay, when they had listened for a while.\n\"Is it not impressive, Mr. Darnay?\" asked Lucie. \"Sometimes, I have sat here of an evening, until I have fancied--but even the shade of a foolish fancy makes me shudder to-night, when all is so black and solemn--\"\n\"Let us shudder too. We may know what it is.\"\n\"It will seem nothing to you. Such whims are only impressive as we originate them, I think; they are not to be communicated. I have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by-and-bye into our lives.\"\n\"There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so,\" Sydney Carton struck in, in his moody way.\nThe footsteps were incessant, and the hurry of them became more and more rapid. The corner echoed and re-echoed with the tread of feet; some, as it seemed, under the windows; some, as it seemed, in the room; some coming, some going, some breaking off, some stopping altogether; all in the distant streets, and not one within sight.\n\"Are all these footsteps destined to come to all of us, Miss Manette, or are we to divide them among us?\"\n\"I don't know, Mr. Darnay; I told you it was a foolish fancy, but you asked for it. When I have yielded myself to it, I have been alone, and then I have imagined them the footsteps of the people who are to come into my life, and my father's.\"\n\"I take them into mine!\" said Carton. \"I ask no questions and make no stipulations. There is a great crowd bearing down upon us, Miss Manette, and I see them--by the Lightning.\" He added the last words, after there had been a vivid flash which had shown him lounging in the window.\n\"And I hear them!\" he added again, after a peal of thunder. \"Here they come, fast, fierce, and furious!\"\nIt was the rush and roar of rain that he typified, and it stopped him, for no voice could be heard in it. A memorable storm of thunder and lightning broke with that sweep of water, and there was not a moment's interval in crash, and fire, and rain, until after the moon rose at midnight.\nThe great bell of Saint Paul's was striking one in the cleared air, when Mr. Lorry, escorted by Jerry, high-booted and bearing a lantern, set forth on his return-passage to Clerkenwell. There were solitary patches of road on the way between Soho and Clerkenwell, and Mr. Lorry, mindful of foot-pads, always retained Jerry for this service: though it was usually performed a good two hours earlier.\n\"What a night it has been! Almost a night, Jerry,\" said Mr. Lorry, \"to bring the dead out of their graves.\"\n\"I never see the night myself, master--nor yet I don't expect to--what would do that,\" answered Jerry.\n\"Good night, Mr. Carton,\" said the man of business. \"Good night, Mr. Darnay. Shall we ever see such a night again, together!\"\nPerhaps. Perhaps, see the great crowd of people with its rush and roar, bearing down upon them, too.", "chosen": "I have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by-and-bye into our lives.\"\n\"There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so,\" Sydney Carton struck in, in his moody way.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nI have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by-and-bye into our lives.\"\n\"There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so,\" Sydney Carton struck in, in his moody way.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-98-012-03-4021f339", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nElinor could not suppose that Sir John would be more nice in proclaiming his suspicions of her regard for Edward, than he had been with respect to Marianne; indeed it was rather his favourite joke of the two, as being somewhat newer and more conjectural; and since Edward's visit, they had never dined together without his drinking to her best affections with so much significancy and so many nods and winks, as to excite general attention. The letter F had been likewise invariably brought forward, and found productive of such countless jokes, that its character as the wittiest letter in the alphabet had been long established with Elinor.\nThe Miss Steeles, as she expected, had now all the benefit of these jokes, and in the eldest of them they raised a curiosity to know the name of the gentleman alluded to, which, though often impertinently expressed, was perfectly of a piece with her general inquisitiveness into the concerns of their family. But Sir John did not sport long with the curiosity which he delighted to raise, for he had at least as much pleasure in telling the name, as Miss Steele had in hearing it.\n\"His name is Ferrars,\" said he, in a very audible whisper; \"but pray do not tell it, for it's a great secret.\"\n\"Ferrars!\" repeated Miss Steele; \"Mr. Ferrars is the happy man, is he? What! your sister-in-law's brother, Miss Dashwood? a very agreeable young man to be sure; I know him very well.\"\n\"How can you say so, Anne?\" cried Lucy, who generally made an amendment to all her sister's assertions. \"Though we have seen him once or twice at my uncle's, it is rather too much to pretend to know him very well.\"\nElinor heard all this with attention and surprise. \"And who was this uncle? Where did he live? How came they acquainted?\" She wished very much to have the subject continued, though she did not choose to join in it herself; but nothing more of it was said, and for the first time in her life, she thought Mrs. Jennings deficient either in curiosity after petty information, or in a disposition to communicate it. The manner in which Miss Steele had spoken of Edward, increased her curiosity; for it struck her as being rather ill-natured, and suggested the suspicion of that lady's knowing, or fancying herself to know something to his disadvantage. But her curiosity was unavailing, for no farther notice was taken of Mr. Ferrars's name by Miss Steele when alluded to, or even openly mentioned by Sir John.", "chosen": "[\"His name is Ferrars,\", \"but pray do not tell it, for it's a great secret.\", \"Ferrars!\", \"Mr. Ferrars is the happy man, is he? What! your sister-in-law's brother, Miss Dashwood? a very agreeable young man to be sure; I know him very well.\", \"How can you say so, Anne?\", \"Though we have seen him once or twice at my uncle's, it is rather too much to pretend to know him very well.\", \"And who was this uncle? Where did he live? How came they acquainted?\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"His name is Ferrars,\", \"but pray do not tell it, for it's a great secret.\", \"Ferrars!\", \"Mr. Ferrars is the happy man, is he? What! your sister-in-law's brother, Miss Dashwood? a very agreeable young man to be sure; I know him very well.\", \"How can you say so, Anne?\", \"Though we have seen him once or twice at my uncle's, it is rather too much to pretend to know him very well.\", \"And who was this uncle? Where did he live? How came they acquainted?\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-21839-021-02-058c9d4e", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nA low moan broke from her, and she flung herself at his feet and lay there like a trampled flower. \"Dorian, Dorian, don't leave me!\" she whispered. \"I am so sorry I didn't act well. I was thinking of you all the time. But I will try—indeed, I will try. It came so suddenly across me, my love for you. I think I should never have known it if you had not kissed me—if we had not kissed each other. Kiss me again, my love. Don't go away from me. I couldn't bear it. Oh! don't go away from me. My brother ... No; never mind. He didn't mean it. He was in jest.... But you, oh! can't you forgive me for to-night? I will work so hard and try to improve. Don't be cruel to me, because I love you better than anything in the world. After all, it is only once that I have not pleased you. But you are quite right, Dorian. I should have shown myself more of an artist. It was foolish of me, and yet I couldn't help it. Oh, don't leave me, don't leave me.\" A fit of passionate sobbing choked her. She crouched on the floor like a wounded thing, and Dorian Gray, with his beautiful eyes, looked down at her, and his chiselled lips curled in exquisite disdain. There is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love. Sibyl Vane seemed to him to be absurdly melodramatic. Her tears and sobs annoyed him.\n\"I am going,\" he said at last in his calm clear voice. \"I don't wish to be unkind, but I can't see you again. You have disappointed me.\"\nShe wept silently, and made no answer, but crept nearer. Her little hands stretched blindly out, and appeared to be seeking for him. He turned on his heel and left the room. In a few moments he was out of the theatre.\nWhere he went to he hardly knew. He remembered wandering through dimly lit streets, past gaunt, black-shadowed archways and evil-looking houses. Women with hoarse voices and harsh laughter had called after him. Drunkards had reeled by, cursing and chattering to themselves like monstrous apes. He had seen grotesque children huddled upon door-steps, and heard shrieks and oaths from gloomy courts.\nAs the dawn was just breaking, he found himself close to Covent Garden. The darkness lifted, and, flushed with faint fires, the sky hollowed itself into a perfect pearl. Huge carts filled with nodding lilies rumbled slowly down the polished empty street. The air was heavy with the perfume of the flowers, and their beauty seemed to bring him an anodyne for his pain. He followed into the market and watched the men unloading their waggons. A white-smocked carter offered him some cherries. He thanked him, wondered why he refused to accept any money for them, and began to eat them listlessly. They had been plucked at midnight, and the coldness of the moon had entered into them. A long line of boys carrying crates of striped tulips, and of yellow and red roses, defiled in front of him, threading their way through the huge, jade-green piles of vegetables. Under the portico, with its grey, sun-bleached pillars, loitered a troop of draggled bareheaded girls, waiting for the auction to be over. Others crowded round the swinging doors of the coffee-house in the piazza. The heavy cart-horses slipped and stamped upon the rough stones, shaking their bells and trappings. Some of the drivers were lying asleep on a pile of sacks. Iris-necked and pink-footed, the pigeons ran about picking up seeds.\nAfter a little while, he hailed a hansom and drove home. For a few moments he loitered upon the doorstep, looking round at the silent square, with its blank, close-shuttered windows and its staring blinds. The sky was pure opal now, and the roofs of the houses glistened like silver against it. From some chimney opposite a thin wreath of smoke was rising. It curled, a violet riband, through the nacre-coloured air.\nIn the huge gilt Venetian lantern, spoil of some Doge's barge, that hung from the ceiling of the great, oak-panelled hall of entrance, lights were still burning from three flickering jets: thin blue petals of flame they seemed, rimmed with white fire. He turned them out and, having thrown his hat and cape on the table, passed through the library towards the door of his bedroom, a large octagonal chamber on the ground floor that, in his new-born feeling for luxury, he had just had decorated for himself and hung with some curious Renaissance tapestries that had been discovered stored in a disused attic at Selby Royal. As he was turning the handle of the door, his eye fell upon the portrait Basil Hallward had painted of him. He started back as if in surprise. Then he went on into his own room, looking somewhat puzzled. After he had taken the button-hole out of his coat, he seemed to hesitate. Finally, he came back, went over to the picture, and examined it. In the dim arrested light that struggled through the cream-coloured silk blinds, the face appeared to him to be a little changed. The expression looked different. One would have said that there was a touch of cruelty in the mouth. It was certainly strange.\nHe turned round and, walking to the window, drew up the blind. The bright dawn flooded the room and swept the fantastic shadows into dusky corners, where they lay shuddering. But the strange expression that he had noticed in the face of the portrait seemed to linger there, to be more intensified even. The quivering ardent sunlight showed him the lines of cruelty round the mouth as clearly as if he had been looking into a mirror after he had done some dreadful thing.\nHe winced and, taking up from the table an oval glass framed in ivory Cupids, one of Lord Henry's many presents to him, glanced hurriedly into its polished depths. No line like that warped his red lips. What did it mean?\nHe rubbed his eyes, and came close to the picture, and examined it again. There were no signs of any change when he looked into the actual painting, and yet there was no doubt that the whole expression had altered. It was not a mere fancy of his own. The thing was horribly apparent.\nHe threw himself into a chair and began to think. Suddenly there flashed across his mind what he had said in Basil Hallward's studio the day the picture had been finished. Yes, he remembered it perfectly. He had uttered a mad wish that he himself might remain young, and the portrait grow old; that his own beauty might be untarnished, and the face on the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his sins; that the painted image might be seared with the lines of suffering and thought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness of his then just conscious boyhood. Surely his wish had not been fulfilled? Such things were impossible. It seemed monstrous even to think of them. And, yet, there was the picture before him, with the touch of cruelty in the mouth.", "chosen": "mouth", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nmouth\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-174-007-02-6c322d6a", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe long and the short of it is, gentlemen, that it is better to do nothing! Better conscious inertia! And so hurrah for underground! Though I have said that I envy the normal man to the last drop of my bile, yet I should not care to be in his place such as he is now (though I shall not cease envying him). No, no; anyway the underground life is more advantageous. There, at any rate, one can.... Oh, but even now I am lying! I am lying because I know myself that it is not underground that is better, but something different, quite different, for which I am thirsting, but which I cannot find! Damn underground!\nI will tell you another thing that would be better, and that is, if I myself believed in anything of what I have just written. I swear to you, gentlemen, there is not one thing, not one word of what I have written that I really believe. That is, I believe it, perhaps, but at the same time I feel and suspect that I am lying like a cobbler.\n\"Then why have you written all this?\" you will say to me.\n\"I ought to put you underground for forty years without anything to do and then come to you in your cellar, to find out what stage you have reached! How can a man be left with nothing to do for forty years?\"\n\"Isn't that shameful, isn't that humiliating?\" you will say, perhaps, wagging your heads contemptuously. \"You thirst for life and try to settle the problems of life by a logical tangle. And how persistent, how insolent are your sallies, and at the same time what a scare you are in! You talk nonsense and are pleased with it; you say impudent things and are in continual alarm and apologizing for them. You declare that you are afraid of nothing and at the same time try to ingratiate yourself in our good opinion. You declare that you are gnashing your teeth and at the same time you try to be witty so as to amuse us. You know that your witticisms are not witty, but you are evidently well satisfied with their literary value. You may, perhaps, have really suffered, but you have no respect for your own suffering. You may have sincerity, but you have no modesty; out of the pettiest vanity you expose your sincerity to publicity and ignominy. You doubtlessly mean to say something, but hide your last word through fear, because you have not the resolution to utter it, and only have a cowardly impudence. You boast of consciousness, but you are not sure of your ground, for though your mind works, yet your heart is darkened and corrupt, and you cannot have a full, genuine consciousness without a pure heart. And how intrusive you are, how you insist and grimace! Lies, lies, lies!\"\nOf course I have myself made up all the things you say. That, too, is from underground. I have been for forty years listening to you through a crack under the floor. I have invented them myself, there was nothing else I could invent. It is no wonder that I have learned it by heart and it has taken a literary form....\nBut can you really be so credulous as to think that I will print all this and give it to you to read too? And another problem: why do I call you \"gentlemen,\" why do I address you as though you really were my readers? Such confessions as I intend to make are never printed nor given to other people to read. Anyway, I am not strong-minded enough for that, and I don't see why I should be. But you see a fancy has occurred to me and I want to realize it at all costs. Let me explain.\nEvery man has reminiscences which he would not tell to every one, but only to his friends. He has other matters in his mind which he would not reveal even to his friends, but only to himself, and that in secret. But there are other things which a man is afraid to tell even to himself, and every decent man has a number of such things stored away in his mind. The more decent he is, the greater the number of such things in his mind. Anyway, I have only lately determined to remember some of my early adventures. Till now I have always avoided them, even with a certain uneasiness. Now, when I am not only recalling them, but have actually decided to write an account of them, I want to try the experiment whether one can, even with oneself, be perfectly open and not take fright at the whole truth. I will observe, in parenthesis, that Heine says that a true autobiography is almost an impossibility, and that man is bound to lie about himself. He considers that Rousseau certainly told lies about himself in his confessions, and even intentionally lied, out of vanity. I am convinced that Heine is right; I quite understand how sometimes one may, out of sheer vanity, attribute regular crimes to oneself, and indeed I can very well conceive that kind of vanity. But Heine judged of people who made their confessions to the public. I write only for myself, and I wish to declare once and for all that if I write as though I were addressing readers, that is simply because it is easier for me to write in that form. It is a form, an empty form--I shall never have readers. I have made this plain already....\nI don't wish to be hampered by any restrictions in the compilation of my notes. I shall not attempt any system or method. I will jot things down as I remember them.\nBut here, perhaps, some one will catch at the word and ask me: if you really don't reckon on readers, why do you make such compacts with yourself--and on paper too--that is, that you won't attempt any system or method, that you jot things down as you remember them, and so on, and so on? Why are you explaining? Why do you apologize?\nWell, there it is, I answer.\nThere is a whole psychology in all this, though. Perhaps it is simply that I am a coward. And perhaps that I purposely imagine an audience before me in order that I may be more dignified while I write. There are perhaps thousands of reasons. Again, what is my object precisely in writing? If it is not for the benefit of the public why should I not simply recall these incidents in my own mind without putting them on paper?\nQuite so; but yet it is more imposing on paper. There is something more impressive in it; I shall be better able to criticize myself and improve my style. Besides, I shall perhaps obtain actual relief from writing. To-day, for instance, I am particularly oppressed by one memory of a distant past. It came back vividly to my mind a few days ago, and has remained haunting me like an annoying tune that one cannot get rid of. And yet I must get rid of it somehow. I have hundreds of such reminiscences; but at times some one stands out from the hundred and oppresses me. For some reason I believe that if I write it down I should get rid of it. Why not try?\nBesides, I am bored, and I never have anything to do. Writing will be a sort of work. They say work makes man kind-hearted and honest. Well, here is a chance for me, anyway.\nSnow is falling to-day, yellow and dingy. It fell yesterday, too, and a few days ago. I fancy it is the wet snow that has reminded me of that incident which I cannot shake off now. And so let it be a story à propos of the falling snow.", "chosen": "[\"Isn\", \"Heine\", \"Rousseau\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Isn\", \"Heine\", \"Rousseau\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-36034-001-00-1f226ef5", "source": "pg-36034", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIt appeared that the unfortunate man had had for a wife one of those natures, anomalously vicious, which would almost tempt a metaphysical lover of our species to doubt whether the human form be, in all cases, conclusive evidence of humanity, whether, sometimes, it may not be a kind of unpledged and indifferent tabernacle, and whether, once for all to crush the saying of Thrasea, (an unaccountable one, considering that he himself was so good a man) that \"he who hates vice, hates humanity,\" it should not, in self-defense, be held for a reasonable maxim, that none but the good are human.\nGoneril was young, in person lithe and straight, too straight, indeed, for a woman, a complexion naturally rosy, and which would have been charmingly so, but for a certain hardness and bakedness, like that of the glazed colors on stone-ware. Her hair was of a deep, rich chestnut, but worn in close, short curls all round her head. Her Indian figure was not without its impairing effect on her bust, while her mouth would have been pretty but for a trace of moustache. Upon the whole, aided by the resources of the toilet, her appearance at distance was such, that some might have thought her, if anything, rather beautiful, though of a style of beauty rather peculiar and cactus-like.\nIt was happy for Goneril that her more striking peculiarities were less of the person than of temper and taste. One hardly knows how to reveal, that, while having a natural antipathy to such things as the breast of chicken, or custard, or peach, or grape, Goneril could yet in private make a satisfactory lunch on hard crackers and brawn of ham. She liked lemons, and the only kind of candy she loved were little dried sticks of blue clay, secretly carried in her pocket. Withal she had hard, steady health like a squaw's, with as firm a spirit and resolution. Some other points about her were likewise such as pertain to the women of savage life. Lithe though she was, she loved supineness, but upon occasion could endure like a stoic. She was taciturn, too. From early morning till about three o'clock in the afternoon she would seldom speak--it taking that time to thaw her, by all accounts, into but talking terms with humanity. During the interval she did little but look, and keep looking out of her large, metallic eyes, which her enemies called cold as a cuttle-fish's, but which by her were esteemed gazelle-like; for Goneril was not without vanity. Those who thought they best knew her, often wondered what happiness such a being could take in life, not considering the happiness which is to be had by some natures in the very easy way of simply causing pain to those around them. Those who suffered from Goneril's strange nature, might, with one of those hyberboles to which the resentful incline, have pronounced her some kind of toad; but her worst slanderers could never, with any show of justice, have accused her of being a toady. In a large sense she possessed the virtue of independence of mind. Goneril held it flattery to hint praise even of the absent, and even if merited; but honesty, to fling people's imputed faults into their faces. This was thought malice, but it certainly was not passion. Passion is human. Like an icicle-dagger, Goneril at once stabbed and froze; so at least they said; and when she saw frankness and innocence tyrannized into sad nervousness under her spell, according to the same authority, inly she chewed her blue clay, and you could mark that she chuckled. These peculiarities were strange and unpleasing; but another was alleged, one really incomprehensible. In company she had a strange way of touching, as by accident, the arm or hand of comely young men, and seemed to reap a secret delight from it, but whether from the humane satisfaction of having given the evil-touch, as it is called, or whether it was something else in her, not equally wonderful, but quite as deplorable, remained an enigma.", "chosen": "It, Goneril, Her, Her, Upon, It, One, She, Withal, Some, Lithe, She, From, During, Those, Those, In, Goneril, This, Passion, Like, These, In", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nIt, Goneril, Her, Her, Upon, It, One, She, Withal, Some, Lithe, She, From, During, Those, Those, In, Goneril, This, Passion, Like, These, In\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21816-012-00-15318338", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nHe had been left an orphan when he was fresh from a public school. His father, a military man, had made but little provision for three children, and when the boy Tertius asked to have a medical education, it seemed easier to his guardians to grant his request by apprenticing him to a country practitioner than to make any objections on the score of family dignity. He was one of the rarer lads who early get a decided bent and make up their minds that there is something particular in life which they would like to do for its own sake, and not because their fathers did it. Most of us who turn to any subject with love remember some morning or evening hour when we got on a high stool to reach down an untried volume, or sat with parted lips listening to a new talker, or for very lack of books began to listen to the voices within, as the first traceable beginning of our love. Something of that sort happened to Lydgate. He was a quick fellow, and when hot from play, would toss himself in a corner, and in five minutes be deep in any sort of book that he could lay his hands on: if it were Rasselas or Gulliver, so much the better, but Bailey's Dictionary would do, or the Bible with the Apocrypha in it. Something he must read, when he was not riding the pony, or running and hunting, or listening to the talk of men. All this was true of him at ten years of age; he had then read through \"Chrysal, or the Adventures of a Guinea,\" which was neither milk for babes, nor any chalky mixture meant to pass for milk, and it had already occurred to him that books were stuff, and that life was stupid. His school studies had not much modified that opinion, for though he \"did\" his classics and mathematics, he was not pre-eminent in them. It was said of him, that Lydgate could do anything he liked, but he had certainly not yet liked to do anything remarkable. He was a vigorous animal with a ready understanding, but no spark had yet kindled in him an intellectual passion; knowledge seemed to him a very superficial affair, easily mastered: judging from the conversation of his elders, he had apparently got already more than was necessary for mature life. Probably this was not an exceptional result of expensive teaching at that period of short-waisted coats, and other fashions which have not yet recurred. But, one vacation, a wet day sent him to the small home library to hunt once more for a book which might have some freshness for him: in vain! unless, indeed, he took down a dusty row of volumes with gray-paper backs and dingy labels—the volumes of an old Cyclopaedia which he had never disturbed. It would at least be a novelty to disturb them. They were on the highest shelf, and he stood on a chair to get them down. But he opened the volume which he first took from the shelf: somehow, one is apt to read in a makeshift attitude, just where it might seem inconvenient to do so. The page he opened on was under the head of Anatomy, and the first passage that drew his eyes was on the valves of the heart. He was not much acquainted with valves of any sort, but he knew that valvae were folding-doors, and through this crevice came a sudden light startling him with his first vivid notion of finely adjusted mechanism in the human frame. A liberal education had of course left him free to read the indecent passages in the school classics, but beyond a general sense of secrecy and obscenity in connection with his internal structure, had left his imagination quite unbiassed, so that for anything he knew his brains lay in small bags at his temples, and he had no more thought of representing to himself how his blood circulated than how paper served instead of gold. But the moment of vocation had come, and before he got down from his chair, the world was made new to him by a presentiment of endless processes filling the vast spaces planked out of his sight by that wordy ignorance which he had supposed to be knowledge. From that hour Lydgate felt the growth of an intellectual passion.\nWe are not afraid of telling over and over again how a man comes to fall in love with a woman and be wedded to her, or else be fatally parted from her. Is it due to excess of poetry or of stupidity that we are never weary of describing what King James called a woman's \"makdom and her fairnesse,\" never weary of listening to the twanging of the old Troubadour strings, and are comparatively uninterested in that other kind of \"makdom and fairnesse\" which must be wooed with industrious thought and patient renunciation of small desires? In the story of this passion, too, the development varies: sometimes it is the glorious marriage, sometimes frustration and final parting. And not seldom the catastrophe is bound up with the other passion, sung by the Troubadours. For in the multitude of middle-aged men who go about their vocations in a daily course determined for them much in the same way as the tie of their cravats, there is always a good number who once meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little. The story of their coming to be shapen after the average and fit to be packed by the gross, is hardly ever told even in their consciousness; for perhaps their ardor in generous unpaid toil cooled as imperceptibly as the ardor of other youthful loves, till one day their earlier self walked like a ghost in its old home and made the new furniture ghastly. Nothing in the world more subtle than the process of their gradual change! In the beginning they inhaled it unknowingly: you and I may have sent some of our breath towards infecting them, when we uttered our conforming falsities or drew our silly conclusions: or perhaps it came with the vibrations from a woman's glance.\nLydgate did not mean to be one of those failures, and there was the better hope of him because his scientific interest soon took the form of a professional enthusiasm: he had a youthful belief in his bread-winning work, not to be stifled by that initiation in makeshift called his 'prentice days; and he carried to his studies in London, Edinburgh, and Paris, the conviction that the medical profession as it might be was the finest in the world; presenting the most perfect interchange between science and art; offering the most direct alliance between intellectual conquest and the social good. Lydgate's nature demanded this combination: he was an emotional creature, with a flesh-and-blood sense of fellowship which withstood all the abstractions of special study. He cared not only for \"cases,\" but for John and Elizabeth, especially Elizabeth.", "chosen": "33", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n33\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-016-01-e46f9021", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nSunday morning had come, and Owen was trudging over the six miles of hill and dale that lay between Tolchurch and Carriford.\nEdward Springrove's answer to the last letter, after expressing his amazement at the strange contradiction between the verses and Mrs. Morris's letter, had been to the effect that he had again visited the neighbour of the dead Mr. Brown, and had received as near a description of Mrs. Manston as it was possible to get at second-hand, and by hearsay. She was a tall woman, wide at the shoulders, and full-chested, and she had a straight and rather large nose. The colour of her eyes the informant did not know, for she had only seen the lady in the street as she went in or out. This confusing remark was added. The woman had almost recognized Mrs. Manston when she had called with her husband lately, but she had kept her veil down. Her residence, before she came to Hoxton, was quite unknown to this next-door neighbour, and Edward could get no manner of clue to it from any other source.\nOwen reached the church-door a few minutes before the bells began chiming. Nobody was yet in the church, and he walked round the aisles. From Cytherea's frequent description of how and where herself and others used to sit, he knew where to look for Manston's seat; and after two or three errors of examination he took up a prayer-book in which was written 'Eunice Manston.' The book was nearly new, and the date of the writing about a month earlier. One point was at any rate established: that the woman living with Manston was presented to the world as no other than his lawful wife.\nThe quiet villagers of Carriford required no pew-opener in their place of worship: natives and in-dwellers had their own seats, and strangers sat where they could. Graye took a seat in the nave, on the north side, close behind a pillar dividing it from the north aisle, which was completely allotted to Miss Aldclyffe, her farmers, and her retainers, Manston's pew being in the midst of them. Owen's position on the other side of the passage was a little in advance of Manston's seat, and so situated that by leaning forward he could look directly into the face of any person sitting there, though, if he sat upright, he was wholly hidden from such a one by the intervening pillar.\nAiming to keep his presence unknown to Manston if possible, Owen sat, without once turning his head, during the entrance of the congregation. A rustling of silk round by the north passage and into Manston's seat, told him that some woman had entered there, and as it seemed from the accompaniment of heavier footsteps, Manston was with her.\nImmediately upon rising up, he looked intently in that direction, and saw a lady standing at the end of the seat nearest himself. Portions of Manston's figure appeared on the other side of her. In two glances Graye read thus many of her characteristics, and in the following order:--\nShe was a tall woman.\nShe was broad at the shoulders.\nShe was full-bosomed.\nShe was easily recognizable from the photograph but nothing could be discerned of the colour of her eyes.\nWith a preoccupied mind he withdrew into his nook, and heard the service continued--only conscious of the fact that in opposition to the suspicion which one odd circumstance had bred in his sister concerning this woman, all ostensible and ordinary proofs and probabilities tended to the opposite conclusion. There sat the genuine original of the portrait--could he wish for more? Cytherea wished for more. Eunice Manston's eyes were blue, and it was necessary that this woman's eyes should be blue also.\nUnskilled labour wastes in beating against the bars ten times the energy exerted by the practised hand in the effective direction. Owen felt this to be the case in his own and Edward's attempts to follow up the clue afforded them. Think as he might, he could not think of a crucial test in the matter absorbing him, which should possess the indispensable attribute--a capability of being applied privately; that in the event of its proving the lady to be the rightful owner of the name she used, he might recede without obloquy from an untenable position.\nBut to see Mrs. Manston's eyes from where he sat was impossible, and he could do nothing in the shape of a direct examination at present. Miss Aldclyffe had possibly recognized him, but Manston had not, and feeling that it was indispensable to keep the purport of his visit a secret from the steward, he thought it would be as well, too, to keep his presence in the village a secret from him; at any rate, till the day was over.\nAt the first opening of the doors, Graye left the church and wandered away into the fields to ponder on another scheme. He could not call on Farmer Springrove, as he had intended, until this matter was set at rest. Two hours intervened between the morning and afternoon services.\nThis time had nearly expired before Owen had struck out any method of proceeding, or could decide to run the risk of calling at the Old House and asking to see Mrs. Manston point-blank. But he had drawn near the place, and was standing still in the public path, from which a partial view of the front of the building could be obtained, when the bells began chiming for afternoon service. Whilst Graye paused, two persons came from the front door of the half-hidden dwelling whom he presently saw to be Manston and his wife. Manston was wearing his old garden-hat, and carried one of the monthly magazines under his arm. Immediately they had passed the gateway he branched off and went over the hill in a direction away from the church, evidently intending to ramble along, and read as the humour moved him. The lady meanwhile turned in the other direction, and went into the church path.\nOwen resolved to make something of this opportunity. He hurried along towards the church, doubled round a sharp angle, and came back upon the other path, by which Mrs. Manston must arrive.\nIn about three minutes she appeared in sight without a veil. He discovered, as she drew nearer, a difficulty which had not struck him at first--that it is not an easy matter to particularize the colour of a stranger's eyes in a merely casual encounter on a path out of doors. That Mrs. Manston must be brought close to him, and not only so, but to look closely at him, if his purpose were to be accomplished.\nHe shaped a plan. It might by chance be effectual; if otherwise, it would not reveal his intention to her. When Mrs. Manston was within speaking distance, he went up to her and said--\n'Will you kindly tell me which turning will take me to Casterbridge?'\n'The second on the right,' said Mrs. Manston.\nOwen put on a blank look: he held his hand to his ear--conveying to the lady the idea that he was deaf.\nShe came closer and said more distinctly--\n'The second turning on the right.'\nOwen flushed a little. He fancied he had beheld the revelation he was in search of. But had his eyes deceived him?\nOnce more he used the ruse, still drawing nearer and intimating by a glance that the trouble he gave her was very distressing to him.\n'How very deaf!' she murmured. She exclaimed loudly--\n'The second turning to the right.'\nShe had advanced her face to within a foot of his own, and in speaking mouthed very emphatically, fixing her eyes intently upon his. And now his first suspicion was indubitably confirmed. Her eyes were as black as midnight.\nAll this feigning was most distasteful to Graye. The riddle having been solved, he unconsciously assumed his natural look before she had withdrawn her face. She found him to be peering at her as if he would read her very soul--expressing with his eyes the notification of which, apart from emotion, the eyes are more capable than any other--inquiry.", "chosen": "From Cytherea's frequent description of how and where herself and others used to sit, he knew where to look for Manston's seat; and after two or three errors of examination he took up a prayer-book in which was written 'Eunice Manston.' The book was nearly new, and the date of the writing about a month earlier.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nFrom Cytherea's frequent description of how and where herself and others used to sit, he knew where to look for Manston's seat; and after two or three errors of examination he took up a prayer-book in which was written 'Eunice Manston.' The book was nearly new, and the date of the writing about a month earlier.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-3044-013-00-d8d27320", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHe threaded his way back to the ferry landing, found nobody at large there, and walked boldly on board the boat, for he knew she was tenantless except that there was a watchman, who always turned in and slept like a graven image. He untied the skiff at the stern, slipped into it, and was soon rowing cautiously upstream. When he had pulled a mile above the village, he started quartering across and bent himself stoutly to his work. He hit the landing on the other side neatly, for this was a familiar bit of work to him. He was moved to capture the skiff, arguing that it might be considered a ship and therefore legitimate prey for a pirate, but he knew a thorough search would be made for it and that might end in revelations. So he stepped ashore and entered the woods.\nHe sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meanwhile to keep awake, and then started warily down the home-stretch. The night was far spent. It was broad daylight before he found himself fairly abreast the island bar. He rested again until the sun was well up and gilding the great river with its splendor, and then he plunged into the stream. A little later he paused, dripping, upon the threshold of the camp, and heard Joe say:\n\"No, Tom's true-blue, Huck, and he'll come back. He won't desert. He knows that would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for that sort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?\"\n\"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?\"\n\"Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he ain't back here to breakfast.\"\n\"Which he is!\" exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic effect, stepping grandly into camp.\nA sumptuous breakfast of bacon and fish was shortly provided, and as the boys set to work upon it, Tom recounted (and adorned) his adventures. They were a vain and boastful company of heroes when the tale was done. Then Tom hid himself away in a shady nook to sleep till noon, and the other pirates got ready to fish and explore.", "chosen": "[\"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?\", \"Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he ain't back here to breakfast.\", \"Which he is!\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?\", \"Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he ain't back here to breakfast.\", \"Which he is!\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-74-015-01-69c83e1e", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nShe was sitting in the kitchen with her grandmother; they were both just going to bed. Relying on Nazar Ivanovitch, they had not locked themselves in. Mitya ran in, pounced on Fenya and seized her by the throat.\n\"Speak at once! Where is she? With whom is she now, at Mokroe?\" he roared furiously.\nBoth the women squealed.\n\"Aie! I'll tell you. Aie! Dmitri Fyodorovitch, darling, I'll tell you everything directly, I won't hide anything,\" gabbled Fenya, frightened to death; \"she's gone to Mokroe, to her officer.\"\n\"What officer?\" roared Mitya.\n\"To her officer, the same one she used to know, the one who threw her over five years ago,\" cackled Fenya, as fast as she could speak.\nMitya withdrew the hands with which he was squeezing her throat. He stood facing her, pale as death, unable to utter a word, but his eyes showed that he realized it all, all, from the first word, and guessed the whole position. Poor Fenya was not in a condition at that moment to observe whether he understood or not. She remained sitting on the trunk as she had been when he ran into the room, trembling all over, holding her hands out before her as though trying to defend herself. She seemed to have grown rigid in that position. Her wide-opened, scared eyes were fixed immovably upon him. And to make matters worse, both his hands were smeared with blood. On the way, as he ran, he must have touched his forehead with them, wiping off the perspiration, so that on his forehead and his right cheek were blood-stained patches. Fenya was on the verge of hysterics. The old cook had jumped up and was staring at him like a mad woman, almost unconscious with terror.\nMitya stood for a moment, then mechanically sank on to a chair next to Fenya. He sat, not reflecting but, as it were, terror-stricken, benumbed. Yet everything was clear as day: that officer, he knew about him, he knew everything perfectly, he had known it from Grushenka herself, had known that a letter had come from him a month before. So that for a month, for a whole month, this had been going on, a secret from him, till the very arrival of this new man, and he had never thought of him! But how could he, how could he not have thought of him? Why was it he had forgotten this officer, like that, forgotten him as soon as he heard of him? That was the question that faced him like some monstrous thing. And he looked at this monstrous thing with horror, growing cold with horror.\nBut suddenly, as gently and mildly as a gentle and affectionate child, he began speaking to Fenya as though he had utterly forgotten how he had scared and hurt her just now. He fell to questioning Fenya with an extreme preciseness, astonishing in his position, and though the girl looked wildly at his blood-stained hands, she, too, with wonderful readiness and rapidity, answered every question as though eager to put the whole truth and nothing but the truth before him. Little by little, even with a sort of enjoyment, she began explaining every detail, not wanting to torment him, but, as it were, eager to be of the utmost service to him. She described the whole of that day, in great detail, the visit of Rakitin and Alyosha, how she, Fenya, had stood on the watch, how the mistress had set off, and how she had called out of the window to Alyosha to give him, Mitya, her greetings, and to tell him \"to remember for ever how she had loved him for an hour.\"\nHearing of the message, Mitya suddenly smiled, and there was a flush of color on his pale cheeks. At the same moment Fenya said to him, not a bit afraid now to be inquisitive:\n\"Look at your hands, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. They're all over blood!\"\n\"Yes,\" answered Mitya mechanically. He looked carelessly at his hands and at once forgot them and Fenya's question.\nHe sank into silence again. Twenty minutes had passed since he had run in. His first horror was over, but evidently some new fixed determination had taken possession of him. He suddenly stood up, smiling dreamily.\n\"What has happened to you, sir?\" said Fenya, pointing to his hands again. She spoke compassionately, as though she felt very near to him now in his grief. Mitya looked at his hands again.\n\"That's blood, Fenya,\" he said, looking at her with a strange expression. \"That's human blood, and my God! why was it shed? But ... Fenya ... there's a fence here\" (he looked at her as though setting her a riddle), \"a high fence, and terrible to look at. But at dawn to-morrow, when the sun rises, Mitya will leap over that fence.... You don't understand what fence, Fenya, and, never mind.... You'll hear to-morrow and understand ... and now, good-by. I won't stand in her way. I'll step aside, I know how to step aside. Live, my joy.... You loved me for an hour, remember Mityenka Karamazov so for ever.... She always used to call me Mityenka, do you remember?\"\nAnd with those words he went suddenly out of the kitchen. Fenya was almost more frightened at this sudden departure than she had been when he ran in and attacked her.\nJust ten minutes later Dmitri went in to Pyotr Ilyitch Perhotin, the young official with whom he had pawned his pistols. It was by now half-past eight, and Pyotr Ilyitch had finished his evening tea, and had just put his coat on again to go to the \"Metropolis\" to play billiards. Mitya caught him coming out.\nSeeing him with his face all smeared with blood, the young man uttered a cry of surprise.\n\"Good heavens! What is the matter?\"\n\"I've come for my pistols,\" said Mitya, \"and brought you the money. And thanks very much. I'm in a hurry, Pyotr Ilyitch, please make haste.\"\nPyotr Ilyitch grew more and more surprised; he suddenly caught sight of a bundle of bank-notes in Mitya's hand, and what was more, he had walked in holding the notes as no one walks in and no one carries money: he had them in his right hand, and held them outstretched as if to show them. Perhotin's servant-boy, who met Mitya in the passage, said afterwards that he walked into the passage in the same way, with the money outstretched in his hand, so he must have been carrying them like that even in the streets. They were all rainbow-colored hundred-rouble notes, and the fingers holding them were covered with blood.\nWhen Pyotr Ilyitch was questioned later on as to the sum of money, he said that it was difficult to judge at a glance, but that it might have been two thousand, or perhaps three, but it was a big, \"fat\" bundle. \"Dmitri Fyodorovitch,\" so he testified afterwards, \"seemed unlike himself, too; not drunk, but, as it were, exalted, lost to everything, but at the same time, as it were, absorbed, as though pondering and searching for something and unable to come to a decision. He was in great haste, answered abruptly and very strangely, and at moments seemed not at all dejected but quite cheerful.\"\n\"But what is the matter with you? What's wrong?\" cried Pyotr Ilyitch, looking wildly at his guest. \"How is it that you're all covered with blood? Have you had a fall? Look at yourself!\"\nHe took him by the elbow and led him to the glass.\nSeeing his blood-stained face, Mitya started and scowled wrathfully.\n\"Damnation! That's the last straw,\" he muttered angrily, hurriedly changing the notes from his right hand to the left, and impulsively jerked the handkerchief out of his pocket. But the handkerchief turned out to be soaked with blood, too (it was the handkerchief he had used to wipe Grigory's face). There was scarcely a white spot on it, and it had not merely begun to dry, but had stiffened into a crumpled ball and could not be pulled apart. Mitya threw it angrily on the floor.\n\"Oh, damn it!\" he said. \"Haven't you a rag of some sort ... to wipe my face?\"\n\"So you're only stained, not wounded? You'd better wash,\" said Pyotr Ilyitch. \"Here's a wash-stand. I'll pour you out some water.\"", "chosen": "water", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nwater\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-048-00-e125ddf6", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Miss Manette, it was I. And you will see how truly I spoke of myself just now, in saying I had no feelings, and that all the relations I hold with my fellow-creatures are mere business relations, when you reflect that I have never seen you since. No; you have been the ward of Tellson's House since, and I have been busy with the other business of Tellson's House since. Feelings! I have no time for them, no chance of them. I pass my whole life, miss, in turning an immense pecuniary Mangle.\"\nAfter this odd description of his daily routine of employment, Mr. Lorry flattened his flaxen wig upon his head with both hands (which was most unnecessary, for nothing could be flatter than its shining surface was before), and resumed his former attitude.\n\"So far, miss (as you have remarked), this is the story of your regretted father. Now comes the difference. If your father had not died when he did--Don't be frightened! How you start!\"\nShe did, indeed, start. And she caught his wrist with both her hands.\n\"Pray,\" said Mr. Lorry, in a soothing tone, bringing his left hand from the back of the chair to lay it on the supplicatory fingers that clasped him in so violent a tremble: \"pray control your agitation--a matter of business. As I was saying--\"\nHer look so discomposed him that he stopped, wandered, and began anew:\n\"As I was saying; if Monsieur Manette had not died; if he had suddenly and silently disappeared; if he had been spirited away; if it had not been difficult to guess to what dreadful place, though no art could trace him; if he had an enemy in some compatriot who could exercise a privilege that I in my own time have known the boldest people afraid to speak of in a whisper, across the water there; for instance, the privilege of filling up blank forms for the consignment of any one to the oblivion of a prison for any length of time; if his wife had implored the king, the queen, the court, the clergy, for any tidings of him, and all quite in vain;--then the history of your father would have been the history of this unfortunate gentleman, the Doctor of Beauvais.\"\n\"I entreat you to tell me more, sir.\"\n\"I will. I am going to. You can bear it?\"\n\"I can bear anything but the uncertainty you leave me in at this moment.\"\n\"You speak collectedly, and you--are collected. That's good!\" (Though his manner was less satisfied than his words.) \"A matter of business. Regard it as a matter of business--business that must be done. Now if this doctor's wife, though a lady of great courage and spirit, had suffered so intensely from this cause before her little child was born--\"\n\"The little child was a daughter, sir.\"\n\"A daughter. A-a-matter of business--don't be distressed. Miss, if the poor lady had suffered so intensely before her little child was born, that she came to the determination of sparing the poor child the inheritance of any part of the agony she had known the pains of, by rearing her in the belief that her father was dead--No, don't kneel! In Heaven's name why should you kneel to me!\"\n\"For the truth. O dear, good, compassionate sir, for the truth!\"\n\"A--a matter of business. You confuse me, and how can I transact business if I am confused? Let us be clear-headed. If you could kindly mention now, for instance, what nine times ninepence are, or how many shillings in twenty guineas, it would be so encouraging. I should be so much more at my ease about your state of mind.\"\nWithout directly answering to this appeal, she sat so still when he had very gently raised her, and the hands that had not ceased to clasp his wrists were so much more steady than they had been, that she communicated some reassurance to Mr. Jarvis Lorry.\n\"That's right, that's right. Courage! Business! You have business before you; useful business. Miss Manette, your mother took this course with you. And when she died--I believe broken-hearted--having never slackened her unavailing search for your father, she left you, at two years old, to grow to be blooming, beautiful, and happy, without the dark cloud upon you of living in uncertainty whether your father soon wore his heart out in prison, or wasted there through many lingering years.\"\nAs he said the words he looked down, with an admiring pity, on the flowing golden hair; as if he pictured to himself that it might have been already tinged with grey.\n\"You know that your parents had no great possession, and that what they had was secured to your mother and to you. There has been no new discovery, of money, or of any other property; but--\"\nHe felt his wrist held closer, and he stopped. The expression in the forehead, which had so particularly attracted his notice, and which was now immovable, had deepened into one of pain and horror.\n\"But he has been--been found. He is alive. Greatly changed, it is too probable; almost a wreck, it is possible; though we will hope the best. Still, alive. Your father has been taken to the house of an old servant in Paris, and we are going there: I, to identify him if I can: you, to restore him to life, love, duty, rest, comfort.\"\nA shiver ran through her frame, and from it through his. She said, in a low, distinct, awe-stricken voice, as if she were saying it in a dream,\n\"I am going to see his Ghost! It will be his Ghost--not him!\"\nMr. Lorry quietly chafed the hands that held his arm. \"There, there, there! See now, see now! The best and the worst are known to you, now. You are well on your way to the poor wronged gentleman, and, with a fair sea voyage, and a fair land journey, you will be soon at his dear side.\"\nShe repeated in the same tone, sunk to a whisper, \"I have been free, I have been happy, yet his Ghost has never haunted me!\"\n\"Only one thing more,\" said Mr. Lorry, laying stress upon it as a wholesome means of enforcing her attention: \"he has been found under another name; his own, long forgotten or long concealed. It would be worse than useless now to inquire which; worse than useless to seek to know whether he has been for years overlooked, or always designedly held prisoner. It would be worse than useless now to make any inquiries, because it would be dangerous. Better not to mention the subject, anywhere or in any way, and to remove him--for a while at all events--out of France. Even I, safe as an Englishman, and even Tellson's, important as they are to French credit, avoid all naming of the matter. I carry about me, not a scrap of writing openly referring to it. This is a secret service altogether. My credentials, entries, and memoranda, are all comprehended in the one line, 'Recalled to Life;' which may mean anything. But what is the matter! She doesn't notice a word! Miss Manette!\"\nPerfectly still and silent, and not even fallen back in her chair, she sat under his hand, utterly insensible; with her eyes open and fixed upon him, and with that last expression looking as if it were carved or branded into her forehead. So close was her hold upon his arm, that he feared to detach himself lest he should hurt her; therefore he called out loudly for assistance without moving.\nA wild-looking woman, whom even in his agitation, Mr. Lorry observed to be all of a red colour, and to have red hair, and to be dressed in some extraordinary tight-fitting fashion, and to have on her head a most wonderful bonnet like a Grenadier wooden measure, and good measure too, or a great Stilton cheese, came running into the room in advance of the inn servants, and soon settled the question of his detachment from the poor young lady, by laying a brawny hand upon his chest, and sending him flying back against the nearest wall.\n(\"I really think this must be a man!\" was Mr. Lorry's breathless reflection, simultaneously with his coming against the wall.)", "chosen": "[\"Manette\", \"Tellson\", \"House\", \"Mangle\", \"Pray\", \"Monsieur\", \"Beauvais\", \"Though\", \"Heaven\", \"Lorry\", \"Paris\", \"Ghost\", \"Only\", \"France\", \"Englishman\", \"French\", \"Life\", \"Grenadier\", \"Stilton\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Manette\", \"Tellson\", \"House\", \"Mangle\", \"Pray\", \"Monsieur\", \"Beauvais\", \"Though\", \"Heaven\", \"Lorry\", \"Paris\", \"Ghost\", \"Only\", \"France\", \"Englishman\", \"French\", \"Life\", \"Grenadier\", \"Stilton\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-98-004-02-f2b63eb0", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nAfter this, it came to be held in various quarters that Lydgate played even with respectable constitutions for his own purposes, and how much more likely that in his flighty experimenting he should make sixes and sevens of hospital patients. Especially it was to be expected, as the landlady of the Tankard had said, that he would recklessly cut up their dead bodies. For Lydgate having attended Mrs. Goby, who died apparently of a heart-disease not very clearly expressed in the symptoms, too daringly asked leave of her relatives to open the body, and thus gave an offence quickly spreading beyond Parley Street, where that lady had long resided on an income such as made this association of her body with the victims of Burke and Hare a flagrant insult to her memory.\nAffairs were in this stage when Lydgate opened the subject of the Hospital to Dorothea. We see that he was bearing enmity and silly misconception with much spirit, aware that they were partly created by his good share of success.\n\"They will not drive me away,\" he said, talking confidentially in Mr. Farebrother's study. \"I have got a good opportunity here, for the ends I care most about; and I am pretty sure to get income enough for our wants. By-and-by I shall go on as quietly as possible: I have no seductions now away from home and work. And I am more and more convinced that it will be possible to demonstrate the homogeneous origin of all the tissues. Raspail and others are on the same track, and I have been losing time.\"\n\"I have no power of prophecy there,\" said Mr. Farebrother, who had been puffing at his pipe thoughtfully while Lydgate talked; \"but as to the hostility in the town, you'll weather it if you are prudent.\"\n\"How am I to be prudent?\" said Lydgate, \"I just do what comes before me to do. I can't help people's ignorance and spite, any more than Vesalius could. It isn't possible to square one's conduct to silly conclusions which nobody can foresee.\"\n\"Quite true; I didn't mean that. I meant only two things. One is, keep yourself as separable from Bulstrode as you can: of course, you can go on doing good work of your own by his help; but don't get tied. Perhaps it seems like personal feeling in me to say so—and there's a good deal of that, I own—but personal feeling is not always in the wrong if you boil it down to the impressions which make it simply an opinion.\"\n\"Bulstrode is nothing to me,\" said Lydgate, carelessly, \"except on public grounds. As to getting very closely united to him, I am not fond enough of him for that. But what was the other thing you meant?\" said Lydgate, who was nursing his leg as comfortably as possible, and feeling in no great need of advice.\n\"Why, this. Take care—experto crede—take care not to get hampered about money matters. I know, by a word you let fall one day, that you don't like my playing at cards so much for money. You are right enough there. But try and keep clear of wanting small sums that you haven't got. I am perhaps talking rather superfluously; but a man likes to assume superiority over himself, by holding up his bad example and sermonizing on it.\"\nLydgate took Mr. Farebrother's hints very cordially, though he would hardly have borne them from another man. He could not help remembering that he had lately made some debts, but these had seemed inevitable, and he had no intention now to do more than keep house in a simple way. The furniture for which he owed would not want renewing; nor even the stock of wine for a long while.\nMany thoughts cheered him at that time—and justly. A man conscious of enthusiasm for worthy aims is sustained under petty hostilities by the memory of great workers who had to fight their way not without wounds, and who hover in his mind as patron saints, invisibly helping. At home, that same evening when he had been chatting with Mr. Farebrother, he had his long legs stretched on the sofa, his head thrown back, and his hands clasped behind it according to his favorite ruminating attitude, while Rosamond sat at the piano, and played one tune after another, of which her husband only knew (like the emotional elephant he was!) that they fell in with his mood as if they had been melodious sea-breezes.\nThere was something very fine in Lydgate's look just then, and any one might have been encouraged to bet on his achievement. In his dark eyes and on his mouth and brow there was that placidity which comes from the fulness of contemplative thought—the mind not searching, but beholding, and the glance seeming to be filled with what is behind it.\nPresently Rosamond left the piano and seated herself on a chair close to the sofa and opposite her husband's face.\n\"Is that enough music for you, my lord?\" she said, folding her hands before her and putting on a little air of meekness.\n\"Yes, dear, if you are tired,\" said Lydgate, gently, turning his eyes and resting them on her, but not otherwise moving. Rosamond's presence at that moment was perhaps no more than a spoonful brought to the lake, and her woman's instinct in this matter was not dull.\n\"What is absorbing you?\" she said, leaning forward and bringing her face nearer to his.\nHe moved his hands and placed them gently behind her shoulders.\n\"I am thinking of a great fellow, who was about as old as I am three hundred years ago, and had already begun a new era in anatomy.\"\n\"I can't guess,\" said Rosamond, shaking her head. \"We used to play at guessing historical characters at Mrs. Lemon's, but not anatomists.\"\n\"I'll tell you. His name was Vesalius. And the only way he could get to know anatomy as he did, was by going to snatch bodies at night, from graveyards and places of execution.\"\n\"Oh!\" said Rosamond, with a look of disgust on her pretty face, \"I am very glad you are not Vesalius. I should have thought he might find some less horrible way than that.\"\n\"No, he couldn't,\" said Lydgate, going on too earnestly to take much notice of her answer. \"He could only get a complete skeleton by snatching the whitened bones of a criminal from the gallows, and burying them, and fetching them away by bits secretly, in the dead of night.\"\n\"I hope he is not one of your great heroes,\" said Rosamond, half playfully, half anxiously, \"else I shall have you getting up in the night to go to St. Peter's churchyard. You know how angry you told me the people were about Mrs. Goby. You have enemies enough already.\"\n\"So had Vesalius, Rosy. No wonder the medical fogies in Middlemarch are jealous, when some of the greatest doctors living were fierce upon Vesalius because they had believed in Galen, and he showed that Galen was wrong. They called him a liar and a poisonous monster. But the facts of the human frame were on his side; and so he got the better of them.\"\n\"And what happened to him afterwards?\" said Rosamond, with some interest.\n\"Oh, he had a good deal of fighting to the last. And they did exasperate him enough at one time to make him burn a good deal of his work. Then he got shipwrecked just as he was coming from Jerusalem to take a great chair at Padua. He died rather miserably.\"\nThere was a moment's pause before Rosamond said, \"Do you know, Tertius, I often wish you had not been a medical man.\"\n\"Nay, Rosy, don't say that,\" said Lydgate, drawing her closer to him. \"That is like saying you wish you had married another man.\"\n\"Not at all; you are clever enough for anything: you might easily have been something else. And your cousins at Quallingham all think that you have sunk below them in your choice of a profession.\"\n\"The cousins at Quallingham may go to the devil!\" said Lydgate, with scorn. \"It was like their impudence if they said anything of the sort to you.\"", "chosen": "After, Especially, For, Goby,, Affairs, We, They, Farebrother's, I, By-and-by, And, Raspail, Farebrother,, I, It, I, One, Perhaps, As, But, Why,, Take, I, You, But, I, Farebrother's, He, The, Many, A, At, Farebrother,, There, In, Presently, Is, Yes,, Rosamond's, What, He, I, We, Lemon's,, His, And, I, He, Peter's, You, Goby., You, No, They, But, Oh,, And, Then, He, That, And, It", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nAfter, Especially, For, Goby,, Affairs, We, They, Farebrother's, I, By-and-by, And, Raspail, Farebrother,, I, It, I, One, Perhaps, As, But, Why,, Take, I, You, But, I, Farebrother's, He, The, Many, A, At, Farebrother,, There, In, Presently, Is, Yes,, Rosamond's, What, He, I, We, Lemon's,, His, And, I, He, Peter's, You, Goby., You, No, They, But, Oh,, And, Then, He, That, And, It\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-045-04-64deb821", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nI was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible Presbyterian Church. How then could I unite with this wild idolator in worshipping his piece of wood? But what is worship? thought I. Do you suppose now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and earth—pagans and all included—can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of black wood? Impossible! But what is worship?—to do the will of God—that is worship. And what is the will of God?—to do to my fellow man what I would have my fellow man to do to me—that is the will of God. Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particular Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must then unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolator. So I kindled the shavings; helped prop up the innocent little idol; offered him burnt biscuit with Queequeg; salamed before him twice or thrice; kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and went to bed, at peace with our own consciences and all the world. But we did not go to sleep without some little chat.\nHow it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts' honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg—a cosy, loving pair.", "chosen": "17", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n17\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-010-01-9d0cdc5f", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"You see, gentlemen,\" he said at last, with difficulty controlling himself, \"you see. I listen to you and am haunted by a dream.... It's a dream I have sometimes, you know.... I often dream it—it's always the same ... that some one is hunting me, some one I'm awfully afraid of ... that he's hunting me in the dark, in the night ... tracking me, and I hide somewhere from him, behind a door or cupboard, hide in a degrading way, and the worst of it is, he always knows where I am, but he pretends not to know where I am on purpose, to prolong my agony, to enjoy my terror.... That's just what you're doing now. It's just like that!\"\n\"Is that the sort of thing you dream about?\" inquired the prosecutor.\n\"Yes, it is. Don't you want to write it down?\" said Mitya, with a distorted smile.\n\"No; no need to write it down. But still you do have curious dreams.\"\n\"It's not a question of dreams now, gentlemen—this is realism, this is real life! I'm a wolf and you're the hunters. Well, hunt him down!\"\n\"You are wrong to make such comparisons ...\" began Nikolay Parfenovitch, with extraordinary softness.\n\"No, I'm not wrong, not at all!\" Mitya flared up again, though his outburst of wrath had obviously relieved his heart. He grew more good-humored at every word. \"You may not trust a criminal or a man on trial tortured by your questions, but an honorable man, the honorable impulses of the heart (I say that boldly!)—no! That you must believe you have no right indeed ... but—\nBe silent, heart, Be patient, humble, hold thy peace.\nWell, shall I go on?\" he broke off gloomily.\n\"If you'll be so kind,\" answered Nikolay Parfenovitch.", "chosen": "tracking me, and I hide somewhere from him, behind a door or cupboard, hide in a degrading way, and the worst of it is, he always knows where I am, but he pretends not to know where I am on purpose, to prolong my agony, to enjoy my terror....", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\ntracking me, and I hide somewhere from him, behind a door or cupboard, hide in a degrading way, and the worst of it is, he always knows where I am, but he pretends not to know where I am on purpose, to prolong my agony, to enjoy my terror....\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-055-02-058e8c77", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Be under no apprehension, Miss Manette, of my ever resuming this conversation by so much as a passing word. I will never refer to it again. If I were dead, that could not be surer than it is henceforth. In the hour of my death, I shall hold sacred the one good remembrance--and shall thank and bless you for it--that my last avowal of myself was made to you, and that my name, and faults, and miseries were gently carried in your heart. May it otherwise be light and happy!\"\nHe was so unlike what he had ever shown himself to be, and it was so sad to think how much he had thrown away, and how much he every day kept down and perverted, that Lucie Manette wept mournfully for him as he stood looking back at her.\n\"Be comforted!\" he said, \"I am not worth such feeling, Miss Manette. An hour or two hence, and the low companions and low habits that I scorn but yield to, will render me less worth such tears as those, than any wretch who creeps along the streets. Be comforted! But, within myself, I shall always be, towards you, what I am now, though outwardly I shall be what you have heretofore seen me. The last supplication but one I make to you, is, that you will believe this of me.\"\n\"I will, Mr. Carton.\"\n\"My last supplication of all, is this; and with it, I will relieve you of a visitor with whom I well know you have nothing in unison, and between whom and you there is an impassable space. It is useless to say it, I know, but it rises out of my soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in your mind, at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed about you--ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home you so adorn--the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you. O Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy father's face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!\"\nHe said, \"Farewell!\" said a last \"God bless you!\" and left her.", "chosen": "[\"Be comforted!\", \"I will, Mr. Carton.\", \"\\nHe said, \", \" said a last \"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Be comforted!\", \"I will, Mr. Carton.\", \"\\nHe said, \", \" said a last \"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-98-019-01-269b625c", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe first thing Tom heard on Friday morning was a glad piece of news—Judge Thatcher's family had come back to town the night before. Both Injun Joe and the treasure sunk into secondary importance for a moment, and Becky took the chief place in the boy's interest. He saw her and they had an exhausting good time playing \"hispy\" and \"gully-keeper\" with a crowd of their schoolmates. The day was completed and crowned in a peculiarly satisfactory way: Becky teased her mother to appoint the next day for the long-promised and long-delayed picnic, and she consented. The child's delight was boundless; and Tom's not more moderate. The invitations were sent out before sunset, and straightway the young folks of the village were thrown into a fever of preparation and pleasurable anticipation. Tom's excitement enabled him to keep awake until a pretty late hour, and he had good hopes of hearing Huck's \"maow,\" and of having his treasure to astonish Becky and the picnickers with, next day; but he was disappointed. No signal came that night.\nMorning came, eventually, and by ten or eleven o'clock a giddy and rollicking company were gathered at Judge Thatcher's, and everything was ready for a start. It was not the custom for elderly people to mar the picnics with their presence. The children were considered safe enough under the wings of a few young ladies of eighteen and a few young gentlemen of twenty-three or thereabouts. The old steam ferry-boat was chartered for the occasion; presently the gay throng filed up the main street laden with provision-baskets. Sid was sick and had to miss the fun; Mary remained at home to entertain him. The last thing Mrs. Thatcher said to Becky, was:\n\"You'll not get back till late. Perhaps you'd better stay all night with some of the girls that live near the ferry-landing, child.\"\n\"Then I'll stay with Susy Harper, mamma.\"\n\"Very well. And mind and behave yourself and don't be any trouble.\"\nPresently, as they tripped along, Tom said to Becky:\n\"Say—I'll tell you what we'll do. 'Stead of going to Joe Harper's we'll climb right up the hill and stop at the Widow Douglas'. She'll have ice-cream! She has it most every day—dead loads of it. And she'll be awful glad to have us.\"\n\"Oh, that will be fun!\"\nThen Becky reflected a moment and said:\n\"But what will mamma say?\"\n\"How'll she ever know?\"\nThe girl turned the idea over in her mind, and said reluctantly:\n\"I reckon it's wrong—but—\"\n\"But shucks! Your mother won't know, and so what's the harm? All she wants is that you'll be safe; and I bet you she'd 'a' said go there if she'd 'a' thought of it. I know she would!\"\nThe Widow Douglas' splendid hospitality was a tempting bait. It and Tom's persuasions presently carried the day. So it was decided to say nothing to anybody about the night's programme. Presently it occurred to Tom that maybe Huck might come this very night and give the signal. The thought took a deal of the spirit out of his anticipations. Still he could not bear to give up the fun at Widow Douglas'. And why should he give it up, he reasoned—the signal did not come the night before, so why should it be any more likely to come tonight? The sure fun of the evening outweighed the uncertain treasure; and, boy-like, he determined to yield to the stronger inclination and not allow himself to think of the box of money another time that day.\nThree miles below town the ferryboat stopped at the mouth of a woody hollow and tied up. The crowd swarmed ashore and soon the forest distances and craggy heights echoed far and near with shoutings and laughter. All the different ways of getting hot and tired were gone through with, and by-and-by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified with responsible appetites, and then the destruction of the good things began. After the feast there was a refreshing season of rest and chat in the shade of spreading oaks. By-and-by somebody shouted:\n\"Who's ready for the cave?\"\nEverybody was. Bundles of candles were procured, and straightway there was a general scamper up the hill. The mouth of the cave was up the hillside—an opening shaped like a letter A. Its massive oaken door stood unbarred. Within was a small chamber, chilly as an icehouse, and walled by Nature with solid limestone that was dewy with a cold sweat. It was romantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep gloom and look out upon the green valley shining in the sun. But the impressiveness of the situation quickly wore off, and the romping began again. The moment a candle was lighted there was a general rush upon the owner of it; a struggle and a gallant defence followed, but the candle was soon knocked down or blown out, and then there was a glad clamor of laughter and a new chase. But all things have an end. By-and-by the procession went filing down the steep descent of the main avenue, the flickering rank of lights dimly revealing the lofty walls of rock almost to their point of junction sixty feet overhead. This main avenue was not more than eight or ten feet wide. Every few steps other lofty and still narrower crevices branched from it on either hand—for McDougal's cave was but a vast labyrinth of crooked aisles that ran into each other and out again and led nowhere. It was said that one might wander days and nights together through its intricate tangle of rifts and chasms, and never find the end of the cave; and that he might go down, and down, and still down, into the earth, and it was just the same—labyrinth under labyrinth, and no end to any of them. No man \"knew\" the cave. That was an impossible thing. Most of the young men knew a portion of it, and it was not customary to venture much beyond this known portion. Tom Sawyer knew as much of the cave as any one.\nThe procession moved along the main avenue some three-quarters of a mile, and then groups and couples began to slip aside into branch avenues, fly along the dismal corridors, and take each other by surprise at points where the corridors joined again. Parties were able to elude each other for the space of half an hour without going beyond the \"known\" ground.\nBy-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth of the cave, panting, hilarious, smeared from head to foot with tallow drippings, daubed with clay, and entirely delighted with the success of the day. Then they were astonished to find that they had been taking no note of time and that night was about at hand. The clanging bell had been calling for half an hour. However, this sort of close to the day's adventures was romantic and therefore satisfactory. When the ferryboat with her wild freight pushed into the stream, nobody cared sixpence for the wasted time but the captain of the craft.\nHuck was already upon his watch when the ferryboat's lights went glinting past the wharf. He heard no noise on board, for the young people were as subdued and still as people usually are who are nearly tired to death. He wondered what boat it was, and why she did not stop at the wharf—and then he dropped her out of his mind and put his attention upon his business. The night was growing cloudy and dark. Ten o'clock came, and the noise of vehicles ceased, scattered lights began to wink out, all straggling foot-passengers disappeared, the village betook itself to its slumbers and left the small watcher alone with the silence and the ghosts. Eleven o'clock came, and the tavern lights were put out; darkness everywhere, now. Huck waited what seemed a weary long time, but nothing happened. His faith was weakening. Was there any use? Was there really any use? Why not give it up and turn in?", "chosen": "in", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nin\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-74-028-00-94afb3e7", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAt first he was startled to find these great roads so empty, as if a pestilence had swept through the city. Then he told himself that some degree of emptiness was natural; first because the snow-storm was even dangerously deep, and secondly because it was Sunday. And at the very word Sunday he bit his lip; the word was henceforth for hire like some indecent pun. Under the white fog of snow high up in the heaven the whole atmosphere of the city was turned to a very queer kind of green twilight, as of men under the sea. The sealed and sullen sunset behind the dark dome of St. Paul's had in it smoky and sinister colours—colours of sickly green, dead red or decaying bronze, that were just bright enough to emphasise the solid whiteness of the snow. But right up against these dreary colours rose the black bulk of the cathedral; and upon the top of the cathedral was a random splash and great stain of snow, still clinging as to an Alpine peak. It had fallen accidentally, but just so fallen as to half drape the dome from its very topmost point, and to pick out in perfect silver the great orb and the cross. When Syme saw it he suddenly straightened himself, and made with his sword-stick an involuntary salute.\nHe knew that that evil figure, his shadow, was creeping quickly or slowly behind him, and he did not care.\nIt seemed a symbol of human faith and valour that while the skies were darkening that high place of the earth was bright. The devils might have captured heaven, but they had not yet captured the cross. He had a new impulse to tear out the secret of this dancing, jumping and pursuing paralytic; and at the entrance of the court as it opened upon the Circus he turned, stick in hand, to face his pursuer.\nProfessor de Worms came slowly round the corner of the irregular alley behind him, his unnatural form outlined against a lonely gas-lamp, irresistibly recalling that very imaginative figure in the nursery rhymes, \"the crooked man who went a crooked mile.\" He really looked as if he had been twisted out of shape by the tortuous streets he had been threading. He came nearer and nearer, the lamplight shining on his lifted spectacles, his lifted, patient face. Syme waited for him as St. George waited for the dragon, as a man waits for a final explanation or for death. And the old Professor came right up to him and passed him like a total stranger, without even a blink of his mournful eyelids.\nThere was something in this silent and unexpected innocence that left Syme in a final fury. The man's colourless face and manner seemed to assert that the whole following had been an accident. Syme was galvanised with an energy that was something between bitterness and a burst of boyish derision. He made a wild gesture as if to knock the old man's hat off, called out something like \"Catch me if you can,\" and went racing away across the white, open Circus. Concealment was impossible now; and looking back over his shoulder, he could see the black figure of the old gentleman coming after him with long, swinging strides like a man winning a mile race. But the head upon that bounding body was still pale, grave and professional, like the head of a lecturer upon the body of a harlequin.\nThis outrageous chase sped across Ludgate Circus, up Ludgate Hill, round St. Paul's Cathedral, along Cheapside, Syme remembering all the nightmares he had ever known. Then Syme broke away towards the river, and ended almost down by the docks. He saw the yellow panes of a low, lighted public-house, flung himself into it and ordered beer. It was a foul tavern, sprinkled with foreign sailors, a place where opium might be smoked or knives drawn.\nA moment later Professor de Worms entered the place, sat down carefully, and asked for a glass of milk.", "chosen": "[\"Sunday\", \"Alpine\", \"Syme\", \"Circus\", \"Worms\", \"Professor\", \"Catch\", \"Ludgate\", \"Hill\", \"Cathedral\", \"Cheapside\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Sunday\", \"Alpine\", \"Syme\", \"Circus\", \"Worms\", \"Professor\", \"Catch\", \"Ludgate\", \"Hill\", \"Cathedral\", \"Cheapside\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1695-007-02-da94f7d7", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe whole court was thrown into confusion. I don't remember everything as it happened. I was excited myself and could not follow. I only know that afterwards, when everything was quiet again and every one understood what had happened, the court usher came in for a reprimand, though he very reasonably explained that the witness had been quite well, that the doctor had seen him an hour ago, when he had a slight attack of giddiness, but that, until he had come into the court, he had talked quite consecutively, so that nothing could have been foreseen—that he had, in fact, insisted on giving evidence. But before every one had completely regained their composure and recovered from this scene, it was followed by another. Katerina Ivanovna had an attack of hysterics. She sobbed, shrieking loudly, but refused to leave the court, struggled, and besought them not to remove her. Suddenly she cried to the President:\n\"There is more evidence I must give at once ... at once! Here is a document, a letter ... take it, read it quickly, quickly! It's a letter from that monster ... that man there, there!\" she pointed to Mitya. \"It was he killed his father, you will see that directly. He wrote to me how he would kill his father! But the other one is ill, he is ill, he is delirious!\" she kept crying out, beside herself.\nThe court usher took the document she held out to the President, and she, dropping into her chair, hiding her face in her hands, began convulsively and noiselessly sobbing, shaking all over, and stifling every sound for fear she should be ejected from the court. The document she had handed up was that letter Mitya had written at the \"Metropolis\" tavern, which Ivan had spoken of as a \"mathematical proof.\" Alas! its mathematical conclusiveness was recognized, and had it not been for that letter, Mitya might have escaped his doom or, at least, that doom would have been less terrible. It was, I repeat, difficult to notice every detail. What followed is still confused to my mind. The President must, I suppose, have at once passed on the document to the judges, the jury, and the lawyers on both sides. I only remember how they began examining the witness. On being gently asked by the President whether she had recovered sufficiently, Katerina Ivanovna exclaimed impetuously:\n\"I am ready, I am ready! I am quite equal to answering you,\" she added, evidently still afraid that she would somehow be prevented from giving evidence. She was asked to explain in detail what this letter was and under what circumstances she received it.\n\"I received it the day before the crime was committed, but he wrote it the day before that, at the tavern—that is, two days before he committed the crime. Look, it is written on some sort of bill!\" she cried breathlessly. \"He hated me at that time, because he had behaved contemptibly and was running after that creature ... and because he owed me that three thousand.... Oh! he was humiliated by that three thousand on account of his own meanness! This is how it happened about that three thousand. I beg you, I beseech you, to hear me. Three weeks before he murdered his father, he came to me one morning. I knew he was in want of money, and what he wanted it for. Yes, yes—to win that creature and carry her off. I knew then that he had been false to me and meant to abandon me, and it was I, I, who gave him that money, who offered it to him on the pretext of his sending it to my sister in Moscow. And as I gave it him, I looked him in the face and said that he could send it when he liked, 'in a month's time would do.' How, how could he have failed to understand that I was practically telling him to his face, 'You want money to be false to me with your creature, so here's the money for you. I give it to you myself. Take it, if you have so little honor as to take it!' I wanted to prove what he was, and what happened? He took it, he took it, and squandered it with that creature in one night.... But he knew, he knew that I knew all about it. I assure you he understood, too, that I gave him that money to test him, to see whether he was so lost to all sense of honor as to take it from me. I looked into his eyes and he looked into mine, and he understood it all and he took it—he carried off my money!\"\n\"That's true, Katya,\" Mitya roared suddenly, \"I looked into your eyes and I knew that you were dishonoring me, and yet I took your money. Despise me as a scoundrel, despise me, all of you! I've deserved it!\"\n\"Prisoner,\" cried the President, \"another word and I will order you to be removed.\"\n\"That money was a torment to him,\" Katya went on with impulsive haste. \"He wanted to repay it me. He wanted to, that's true; but he needed money for that creature, too. So he murdered his father, but he didn't repay me, and went off with her to that village where he was arrested. There, again, he squandered the money he had stolen after the murder of his father. And a day before the murder he wrote me this letter. He was drunk when he wrote it. I saw it at once, at the time. He wrote it from spite, and feeling certain, positively certain, that I should never show it to any one, even if he did kill him, or else he wouldn't have written it. For he knew I shouldn't want to revenge myself and ruin him! But read it, read it attentively—more attentively, please—and you will see that he had described it all in his letter, all beforehand, how he would kill his father and where his money was kept. Look, please, don't overlook that, there's one phrase there, 'I shall kill him as soon as Ivan has gone away.' So he thought it all out beforehand how he would kill him,\" Katerina Ivanovna pointed out to the court with venomous and malignant triumph. Oh! it was clear she had studied every line of that letter and detected every meaning underlining it. \"If he hadn't been drunk, he wouldn't have written to me; but, look, everything is written there beforehand, just as he committed the murder after. A complete program of it!\" she exclaimed frantically.\nShe was reckless now of all consequences to herself, though, no doubt, she had foreseen them even a month ago, for even then, perhaps, shaking with anger, she had pondered whether to show it at the trial or not. Now she had taken the fatal plunge. I remember that the letter was read aloud by the clerk, directly afterwards, I believe. It made an overwhelming impression. They asked Mitya whether he admitted having written the letter.\n\"It's mine, mine!\" cried Mitya. \"I shouldn't have written it, if I hadn't been drunk!... We've hated each other for many things, Katya, but I swear, I swear I loved you even while I hated you, and you didn't love me!\"\nHe sank back on his seat, wringing his hands in despair. The prosecutor and counsel for the defense began cross-examining her, chiefly to ascertain what had induced her to conceal such a document and to give her evidence in quite a different tone and spirit just before.", "chosen": "The, I, I, I, But, Katerina, She, Suddenly, at, Here, take, It's, that, It, He, But, The, The, its, It, What, The, I, On, I, She, I, Look,, He, and, Oh!, he, This, I, Three, I, Yes,, I, And, I, Take, He, But, I, I, Despise, I've, He, He, So, There,, And, He, I, He, For, But, Look,, Oh!, it, If, A, She, Now, I, It, They, It's, I, We've, The", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nThe, I, I, I, But, Katerina, She, Suddenly, at, Here, take, It's, that, It, He, But, The, The, its, It, What, The, I, On, I, She, I, Look,, He, and, Oh!, he, This, I, Three, I, Yes,, I, And, I, Take, He, But, I, I, Despise, I've, He, He, So, There,, And, He, I, He, For, But, Look,, Oh!, it, If, A, She, Now, I, It, They, It's, I, We've, The\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-082-01-77284b0e", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nIt was a Saturday night, and such a Sabbath as followed! Ex officio professors of Sabbath breaking are all whalemen. The ivory Pequod was turned into what seemed a shamble; every sailor a butcher. You would have thought we were offering up ten thousand red oxen to the sea gods.\nIn the first place, the enormous cutting tackles, among other ponderous things comprising a cluster of blocks generally painted green, and which no single man can possibly lift—this vast bunch of grapes was swayed up to the main-top and firmly lashed to the lower mast-head, the strongest point anywhere above a ship's deck. The end of the hawser-like rope winding through these intricacies, was then conducted to the windlass, and the huge lower block of the tackles was swung over the whale; to this block the great blubber hook, weighing some one hundred pounds, was attached. And now suspended in stages over the side, Starbuck and Stubb, the mates, armed with their long spades, began cutting a hole in the body for the insertion of the hook just above the nearest of the two side-fins. This done, a broad, semicircular line is cut round the hole, the hook is inserted, and the main body of the crew striking up a wild chorus, now commence heaving in one dense crowd at the windlass. When instantly, the entire ship careens over on her side; every bolt in her starts like the nail-heads of an old house in frosty weather; she trembles, quivers, and nods her frighted mast-heads to the sky. More and more she leans over to the whale, while every gasping heave of the windlass is answered by a helping heave from the billows; till at last, a swift, startling snap is heard; with a great swash the ship rolls upwards and backwards from the whale, and the triumphant tackle rises into sight dragging after it the disengaged semicircular end of the first strip of blubber. Now as the blubber envelopes the whale precisely as the rind does an orange, so is it stripped off from the body precisely as an orange is sometimes stripped by spiralizing it. For the strain constantly kept up by the windlass continually keeps the whale rolling over and over in the water, and as the blubber in one strip uniformly peels off along the line called the \"scarf,\" simultaneously cut by the spades of Starbuck and Stubb, the mates; and just as fast as it is thus peeled off, and indeed by that very act itself, it is all the time being hoisted higher and higher aloft till its upper end grazes the main-top; the men at the windlass then cease heaving, and for a moment or two the prodigious blood-dripping mass sways to and fro as if let down from the sky, and every one present must take good heed to dodge it when it swings, else it may box his ears and pitch him headlong overboard.\nOne of the attending harpooneers now advances with a long, keen weapon called a boarding-sword, and watching his chance he dexterously slices out a considerable hole in the lower part of the swaying mass. Into this hole, the end of the second alternating great tackle is then hooked so as to retain a hold upon the blubber, in order to prepare for what follows. Whereupon, this accomplished swordsman, warning all hands to stand off, once more makes a scientific dash at the mass, and with a few sidelong, desperate, lunging slicings, severs it completely in twain; so that while the short lower part is still fast, the long upper strip, called a blanket-piece, swings clear, and is all ready for lowering. The heavers forward now resume their song, and while the one tackle is peeling and hoisting a second strip from the whale, the other is slowly slackened away, and down goes the first strip through the main hatchway right beneath, into an unfurnished parlor called the blubber-room. Into this twilight apartment sundry nimble hands keep coiling away the long blanket-piece as if it were a great live mass of plaited serpents. And thus the work proceeds; the two tackles hoisting and lowering simultaneously; both whale and windlass heaving, the heavers singing, the blubber-room gentlemen coiling, the mates scarfing, the ship straining, and all hands swearing occasionally, by way of assuaging the general friction.", "chosen": "18", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n18\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-057-00-0d92fe24", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nRank and Dignity of Piloting\nIN my preceding chapters I have tried, by going into the minutiae of the science of piloting, to carry the reader step by step to a comprehension of what the science consists of; and at the same time I have tried to show him that it is a very curious and wonderful science, too, and very worthy of his attention. If I have seemed to love my subject, it is no surprising thing, for I loved the profession far better than any I have followed since, and I took a measureless pride in it. The reason is plain: a pilot, in those days, was the only unfettered and entirely independent human being that lived in the earth. Kings are but the hampered servants of parliament and people; parliaments sit in chains forged by their constituency; the editor of a newspaper cannot be independent, but must work with one hand tied behind him by party and patrons, and be content to utter only half or two-thirds of his mind; no clergyman is a free man and may speak the whole truth, regardless of his parish's opinions; writers of all kinds are manacled servants of the public. We write frankly and fearlessly, but then we 'modify' before we print. In truth, every man and woman and child has a master, and worries and frets in servitude; but in the day I write of, the Mississippi pilot had none. The captain could stand upon the hurricane deck, in the pomp of a very brief authority, and give him five or six orders while the vessel backed into the stream, and then that skipper's reign was over.\nThe moment that the boat was under way in the river, she was under the sole and unquestioned control of the pilot. He could do with her exactly as he pleased, run her when and whither he chose, and tie her up to the bank whenever his judgment said that that course was best. His movements were entirely free; he consulted no one, he received commands from nobody, he promptly resented even the merest suggestions. Indeed, the law of the United States forbade him to listen to commands or suggestions, rightly considering that the pilot necessarily knew better how to handle the boat than anybody could tell him. So here was the novelty of a king without a keeper, an absolute monarch who was absolute in sober truth and not by a fiction of words. I have seen a boy of eighteen taking a great steamer serenely into what seemed almost certain destruction, and the aged captain standing mutely by, filled with apprehension but powerless to interfere. His interference, in that particular instance, might have been an excellent thing, but to permit it would have been to establish a most pernicious precedent. It will easily be guessed, considering the pilot's boundless authority, that he was a great personage in the old steamboating days. He was treated with marked courtesy by the captain and with marked deference by all the officers and servants; and this deferential spirit was quickly communicated to the passengers, too. I think pilots were about the only people I ever knew who failed to show, in some degree, embarrassment in the presence of traveling foreign princes. But then, people in one's own grade of life are not usually embarrassing objects.\nBy long habit, pilots came to put all their wishes in the form of commands. It 'gravels' me, to this day, to put my will in the weak shape of a request, instead of launching it in the crisp language of an order. In those old days, to load a steamboat at St. Louis, take her to New Orleans and back, and discharge cargo, consumed about twenty-five days, on an average. Seven or eight of these days the boat spent at the wharves of St. Louis and New Orleans, and every soul on board was hard at work, except the two pilots; they did nothing but play gentleman up town, and receive the same wages for it as if they had been on duty. The moment the boat touched the wharf at either city, they were ashore; and they were not likely to be seen again till the last bell was ringing and everything in readiness for another voyage.\nWhen a captain got hold of a pilot of particularly high reputation, he took pains to keep him. When wages were four hundred dollars a month on the Upper Mississippi, I have known a captain to keep such a pilot in idleness, under full pay, three months at a time, while the river was frozen up. And one must remember that in those cheap times four hundred dollars was a salary of almost inconceivable splendor. Few men on shore got such pay as that, and when they did they were mightily looked up to. When pilots from either end of the river wandered into our small Missouri village, they were sought by the best and the fairest, and treated with exalted respect. Lying in port under wages was a thing which many pilots greatly enjoyed and appreciated; especially if they belonged in the Missouri River in the heyday of that trade (Kansas times), and got nine hundred dollars a trip, which was equivalent to about eighteen hundred dollars a month. Here is a conversation of that day. A chap out of the Illinois River, with a little stern-wheel tub, accosts a couple of ornate and gilded Missouri River pilots--\n'Gentlemen, I've got a pretty good trip for the upcountry, and shall want you about a month. How much will it be?'\n'Eighteen hundred dollars apiece.'\n'Heavens and earth! You take my boat, let me have your wages, and I'll divide!'\nI will remark, in passing, that Mississippi steamboatmen were important in landsmen's eyes (and in their own, too, in a degree) according to the dignity of the boat they were on. For instance, it was a proud thing to be of the crew of such stately craft as the 'Aleck Scott' or the 'Grand Turk.' Negro firemen, deck hands, and barbers belonging to those boats were distinguished personages in their grade of life, and they were well aware of that fact too. A stalwart darkey once gave offense at a negro ball in New Orleans by putting on a good many airs. Finally one of the managers bustled up to him and said--\n'Who is you, any way? Who is you? dat's what I wants to know!'\nThe offender was not disconcerted in the least, but swelled himself up and threw that into his voice which showed that he knew he was not putting on all those airs on a stinted capital.\n'Who is I? Who _is _I? I let you know mighty quick who I is! I want you niggers to understan' dat I fires de middle do'{footnote [Door]} on de \"Aleck Scott!\"'\nThat was sufficient.\nThe barber of the 'Grand Turk' was a spruce young negro, who aired his importance with balmy complacency, and was greatly courted by the circle in which he moved. The young colored population of New Orleans were much given to flirting, at twilight, on the banquettes of the back streets. Somebody saw and heard something like the following, one evening, in one of those localities. A middle-aged negro woman projected her head through a broken pane and shouted (very willing that the neighbors should hear and envy), 'You Mary Ann, come in de house dis minute! Stannin' out dah foolin' 'long wid dat low trash, an' heah's de barber offn de \"Gran' Turk\" wants to conwerse wid you!'", "chosen": "Kings are but the hampered servants of parliament and people; parliaments sit in chains forged by their constituency; the editor of a newspaper cannot be independent, but must work with one hand tied behind him by party and patrons, and be content to utter only half or two-thirds of his mind; no clergyman is a free man and may speak the whole truth, regardless of his parish's opinions; writers of all kinds are manacled servants of the public.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nKings are but the hampered servants of parliament and people; parliaments sit in chains forged by their constituency; the editor of a newspaper cannot be independent, but must work with one hand tied behind him by party and patrons, and be content to utter only half or two-thirds of his mind; no clergyman is a free man and may speak the whole truth, regardless of his parish's opinions; writers of all kinds are manacled servants of the public.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-245-015-00-85448b98", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nKolya leaned against the fence with an air of dignity, waiting for Alyosha to appear. Yes, he had long wanted to meet him. He had heard a great deal about him from the boys, but hitherto he had always maintained an appearance of disdainful indifference when he was mentioned, and he had even \"criticized\" what he heard about Alyosha. But secretly he had a great longing to make his acquaintance; there was something sympathetic and attractive in all he was told about Alyosha. So the present moment was important: to begin with, he had to show himself at his best, to show his independence, \"Or he'll think of me as thirteen and take me for a boy, like the rest of them. And what are these boys to him? I shall ask him when I get to know him. It's a pity I am so short, though. Tuzikov is younger than I am, yet he is half a head taller. But I have a clever face. I am not good-looking. I know I'm hideous, but I've a clever face. I mustn't talk too freely; if I fall into his arms all at once, he may think—Tfoo! how horrible if he should think—!\"\nSuch were the thoughts that excited Kolya while he was doing his utmost to assume the most independent air. What distressed him most was his being so short; he did not mind so much his \"hideous\" face, as being so short. On the wall in a corner at home he had the year before made a pencil-mark to show his height, and every two months since he anxiously measured himself against it to see how much he had gained. But alas! he grew very slowly, and this sometimes reduced him almost to despair. His face was in reality by no means \"hideous\"; on the contrary, it was rather attractive, with a fair, pale skin, freckled. His small, lively gray eyes had a fearless look, and often glowed with feeling. He had rather high cheekbones; small, very red, but not very thick, lips; his nose was small and unmistakably turned up. \"I've a regular pug nose, a regular pug nose,\" Kolya used to mutter to himself when he looked in the looking-glass, and he always left it with indignation. \"But perhaps I haven't got a clever face?\" he sometimes thought, doubtful even of that. But it must not be supposed that his mind was preoccupied with his face and his height. On the contrary, however bitter the moments before the looking-glass were to him, he quickly forgot them, and forgot them for a long time, \"abandoning himself entirely to ideas and to real life,\" as he formulated it to himself.\nAlyosha came out quickly and hastened up to Kolya. Before he reached him, Kolya could see that he looked delighted. \"Can he be so glad to see me?\" Kolya wondered, feeling pleased. We may note here, in passing, that Alyosha's appearance had undergone a complete change since we saw him last. He had abandoned his cassock and was wearing now a well-cut coat, a soft, round hat, and his hair had been cropped short. All this was very becoming to him, and he looked quite handsome. His charming face always had a good-humored expression; but there was a gentleness and serenity in his good-humor. To Kolya's surprise, Alyosha came out to him just as he was, without an overcoat. He had evidently come in haste. He held out his hand to Kolya at once.\n\"Here you are at last! How anxious we've been to see you!\"\n\"There were reasons which you shall know directly. Anyway, I am glad to make your acquaintance. I've long been hoping for an opportunity, and have heard a great deal about you,\" Kolya muttered, a little breathless.\n\"We should have met anyway. I've heard a great deal about you, too; but you've been a long time coming here.\"\n\"Tell me, how are things going?\"\n\"Ilusha is very ill. He is certainly dying.\"\n\"How awful! You must admit that medicine is a fraud, Karamazov,\" cried Kolya warmly.\n\"Ilusha has mentioned you often, very often, even in his sleep, in delirium, you know. One can see that you used to be very, very dear to him ... before the incident ... with the knife.... Then there's another reason.... Tell me, is that your dog?\"\n\"Yes, Perezvon.\"\n\"Not Zhutchka?\" Alyosha looked at Kolya with eyes full of pity. \"Is she lost for ever?\"", "chosen": "[\"criticized\", \"\\nSuch were the thoughts that excited Kolya while he was doing his utmost to assume the most independent air. What distressed him most was his being so short; he did not mind so much his \", \"hideous\", \"I've a regular pug nose, a regular pug nose,\", \"But perhaps I haven't got a clever face?\", \"abandoning himself entirely to ideas and to real life,\", \"Can he be so glad to see me?\", \"Here you are at last! How anxious we've been to see you!\", \"There were reasons which you shall know directly. Anyway, I am glad to make your acquaintance. I've long been hoping for an opportunity, and have heard a great deal about you,\", \"We should have met anyway. I've heard a great deal about you, too; but you've been a long time coming here.\", \"Tell me, how are things going?\", \"Ilusha is very ill. He is certainly dying.\", \"How awful! You must admit that medicine is a fraud, Karamazov,\", \"Yes, Perezvon.\", \"Not Zhutchka?\", \"Is she lost for ever?\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"criticized\", \"\\nSuch were the thoughts that excited Kolya while he was doing his utmost to assume the most independent air. What distressed him most was his being so short; he did not mind so much his \", \"hideous\", \"I've a regular pug nose, a regular pug nose,\", \"But perhaps I haven't got a clever face?\", \"abandoning himself entirely to ideas and to real life,\", \"Can he be so glad to see me?\", \"Here you are at last! How anxious we've been to see you!\", \"There were reasons which you shall know directly. Anyway, I am glad to make your acquaintance. I've long been hoping for an opportunity, and have heard a great deal about you,\", \"We should have met anyway. I've heard a great deal about you, too; but you've been a long time coming here.\", \"Tell me, how are things going?\", \"Ilusha is very ill. He is certainly dying.\", \"How awful! You must admit that medicine is a fraud, Karamazov,\", \"Yes, Perezvon.\", \"Not Zhutchka?\", \"Is she lost for ever?\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-064-00-19b4cba9", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIt having been found that the lowness of the tide would prevent their getting off for an hour, the Swancourts, having nothing else to do, allowed their eyes to idle upon men in blue jerseys performing mysterious mending operations with tar-twine; they turned to look at the dashes of lurid sunlight, like burnished copper stars afloat on the ripples, which danced into and tantalized their vision; or listened to the loud music of a steam-crane at work close by; or to sighing sounds from the funnels of passing steamers, getting dead as they grew more distant; or to shouts from the decks of different craft in their vicinity, all of them assuming the form of \"Ah-he-hay!\"\nHalf-past ten: not yet off. Mr. Swancourt breathed a breath of weariness, and looked at his fellow-travellers in general. Their faces were certainly not worth looking at. The expression \"Waiting\" was written upon them so absolutely that nothing more could be discerned there. All animation was suspended till Providence should raise the water and let them go.\n\"I have been thinking,\" said Knight, \"that we have come amongst the rarest class of people in the kingdom. Of all human characteristics, a low opinion of the value of his own time by an individual must be among the strangest to find. Here we see numbers of that patient and happy species. Rovers, as distinct from travellers.\"\n\"But they are pleasure-seekers, to whom time is of no importance.\"\n\"Oh no. The pleasure-seekers we meet on the grand routes are more anxious than commercial travellers to rush on. And added to the loss of time in getting to their journey's end, these exceptional people take their chance of sea-sickness by coming this way.\"\n\"Can it be?\" inquired the vicar with apprehension. \"Surely not, Mr. Knight, just here in our English Channel—close at our doors, as I may say.\"\n\"Entrance passages are very draughty places, and the Channel is like the rest. It ruins the temper of sailors. It has been calculated by philosophers that more damns go up to heaven from the Channel, in the course of a year, than from all the five oceans put together.\"\nThey really start now, and the dead looks of all the throng come to life immediately. The man who has been frantically hauling in a rope that bade fair to have no end ceases his labours, and they glide down the serpentine bends of the Thames.\nAnything anywhere was a mine of interest to Elfride, and so was this.\n\"It is well enough now,\" said Mrs. Swancourt, after they had passed the Nore, \"but I can't say I have cared for my voyage hitherto.\" For being now in the open sea a slight breeze had sprung up, which cheered her as well as her two younger companions. But unfortunately it had a reverse effect upon the vicar, who, after turning a sort of apricot jam colour, interspersed with dashes of raspberry, pleaded indisposition, and vanished from their sight.\nThe afternoon wore on. Mrs. Swancourt kindly sat apart by herself reading, and the betrothed pair were left to themselves. Elfride clung trustingly to Knight's arm, and proud was she to walk with him up and down the deck, or to go forward, and leaning with him against the forecastle rails, watch the setting sun gradually withdrawing itself over their stern into a huge bank of livid cloud with golden edges that rose to meet it.\nShe was childishly full of life and spirits, though in walking up and down with him before the other passengers, and getting noticed by them, she was at starting rather confused, it being the first time she had shown herself so openly under that kind of protection. \"I expect they are envious and saying things about us, don't you?\" she would whisper to Knight with a stealthy smile.\n\"Oh no,\" he would answer unconcernedly. \"Why should they envy us, and what can they say?\"\n\"Not any harm, of course,\" Elfride replied, \"except such as this: 'How happy those two are! she is proud enough now.' What makes it worse,\" she continued in the extremity of confidence, \"I heard those two cricketing men say just now, 'She's the nobbiest girl on the boat.' But I don't mind it, you know, Harry.\"\n\"I should hardly have supposed you did, even if you had not told me,\" said Knight with great blandness.\nShe was never tired of asking her lover questions and admiring his answers, good, bad, or indifferent as they might be. The evening grew dark and night came on, and lights shone upon them from the horizon and from the sky.\n\"Now look there ahead of us, at that halo in the air, of silvery brightness. Watch it, and you will see what it comes to.\"\nShe watched for a few minutes, when two white lights emerged from the side of a hill, and showed themselves to be the origin of the halo.\n\"What a dazzling brilliance! What do they mark?\"\n\"The South Foreland: they were previously covered by the cliff.\"\n\"What is that level line of little sparkles—a town, I suppose?\"\n\"That's Dover.\"\nAll this time, and later, soft sheet lightning expanded from a cloud in their path, enkindling their faces as they paced up and down, shining over the water, and, for a moment, showing the horizon as a keen line.\nElfride slept soundly that night. Her first thought the next morning was the thrilling one that Knight was as close at hand as when they were at home at Endelstow, and her first sight, on looking out of the cabin window, was the perpendicular face of Beachy Head, gleaming white in a brilliant six-o'clock-in-the-morning sun. This fair daybreak, however, soon changed its aspect. A cold wind and a pale mist descended upon the sea, and seemed to threaten a dreary day.\nWhen they were nearing Southampton, Mrs. Swancourt came to say that her husband was so ill that he wished to be put on shore here, and left to do the remainder of the journey by land. \"He will be perfectly well directly he treads firm ground again. Which shall we do—go with him, or finish our voyage as we intended?\"\nElfride was comfortably housed under an umbrella which Knight was holding over her to keep off the wind. \"Oh, don't let us go on shore!\" she said with dismay. \"It would be such a pity!\"\n\"That's very fine,\" said Mrs. Swancourt archly, as to a child. \"See, the wind has increased her colour, the sea her appetite and spirits, and somebody her happiness. Yes, it would be a pity, certainly.\"\n\"'Tis my misfortune to be always spoken to from a pedestal,\" sighed Elfride.\n\"Well, we will do as you like, Mrs. Swancourt,\" said Knight, \"but——\"\n\"I myself would rather remain on board,\" interrupted the elder lady. \"And Mr. Swancourt particularly wishes to go by himself. So that shall settle the matter.\"\nThe vicar, now a drab colour, was put ashore, and became as well as ever forthwith.\nElfride, sitting alone in a retired part of the vessel, saw a veiled woman walk aboard among the very latest arrivals at this port. She was clothed in black silk, and carried a dark shawl upon her arm. The woman, without looking around her, turned to the quarter allotted to the second-cabin passengers. All the carnation Mrs. Swancourt had complimented her step-daughter upon possessing left Elfride's cheeks, and she trembled visibly.\nShe ran to the other side of the boat, where Mrs. Swancourt was standing.\n\"Let us go home by railway with papa, after all,\" she pleaded earnestly. \"I would rather go with him—shall we?\"\nMrs. Swancourt looked around for a moment, as if unable to decide. \"Ah,\" she exclaimed, \"it is too late now. Why did not you say so before, when we had plenty of time?\"\nThe Juliet had at that minute let go, the engines had started, and they were gliding slowly away from the quay. There was no help for it but to remain, unless the Juliet could be made to put back, and that would create a great disturbance. Elfride gave up the idea and submitted quietly. Her happiness was sadly mutilated now.", "chosen": "now", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nnow\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-028-01-a0d7bd64", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHe did this in an episodic way, very much as he gave orders to his tailor for every requisite of perfect dress, without any notion of being extravagant. On the contrary, he would have despised any ostentation of expense; his profession had familiarized him with all grades of poverty, and he cared much for those who suffered hardships. He would have behaved perfectly at a table where the sauce was served in a jug with the handle off, and he would have remembered nothing about a grand dinner except that a man was there who talked well. But it had never occurred to him that he should live in any other than what he would have called an ordinary way, with green glasses for hock, and excellent waiting at table. In warming himself at French social theories he had brought away no smell of scorching. We may handle even extreme opinions with impunity while our furniture, our dinner-giving, and preference for armorial bearings in our own case, link us indissolubly with the established order. And Lydgate's tendency was not towards extreme opinions: he would have liked no barefooted doctrines, being particular about his boots: he was no radical in relation to anything but medical reform and the prosecution of discovery. In the rest of practical life he walked by hereditary habit; half from that personal pride and unreflecting egoism which I have already called commonness, and half from that naivete which belonged to preoccupation with favorite ideas.\nAny inward debate Lydgate had as to the consequences of this engagement which had stolen upon him, turned on the paucity of time rather than of money. Certainly, being in love and being expected continually by some one who always turned out to be prettier than memory could represent her to be, did interfere with the diligent use of spare hours which might serve some \"plodding fellow of a German\" to make the great, imminent discovery. This was really an argument for not deferring the marriage too long, as he implied to Mr. Farebrother, one day that the Vicar came to his room with some pond-products which he wanted to examine under a better microscope than his own, and, finding Lydgate's tableful of apparatus and specimens in confusion, said sarcastically—\n\"Eros has degenerated; he began by introducing order and harmony, and now he brings back chaos.\"\n\"Yes, at some stages,\" said Lydgate, lifting his brows and smiling, while he began to arrange his microscope. \"But a better order will begin after.\"\n\"Soon?\" said the Vicar.\n\"I hope so, really. This unsettled state of affairs uses up the time, and when one has notions in science, every moment is an opportunity. I feel sure that marriage must be the best thing for a man who wants to work steadily. He has everything at home then—no teasing with personal speculations—he can get calmness and freedom.\"\n\"You are an enviable dog,\" said the Vicar, \"to have such a prospect—Rosamond, calmness and freedom, all to your share. Here am I with nothing but my pipe and pond-animalcules. Now, are you ready?\"\nLydgate did not mention to the Vicar another reason he had for wishing to shorten the period of courtship. It was rather irritating to him, even with the wine of love in his veins, to be obliged to mingle so often with the family party at the Vincys', and to enter so much into Middlemarch gossip, protracted good cheer, whist-playing, and general futility. He had to be deferential when Mr. Vincy decided questions with trenchant ignorance, especially as to those liquors which were the best inward pickle, preserving you from the effects of bad air. Mrs. Vincy's openness and simplicity were quite unstreaked with suspicion as to the subtle offence she might give to the taste of her intended son-in-law; and altogether Lydgate had to confess to himself that he was descending a little in relation to Rosamond's family. But that exquisite creature herself suffered in the same sort of way:—it was at least one delightful thought that in marrying her, he could give her a much-needed transplantation.\n\"Dear!\" he said to her one evening, in his gentlest tone, as he sat down by her and looked closely at her face—\nBut I must first say that he had found her alone in the drawing-room, where the great old-fashioned window, almost as large as the side of the room, was opened to the summer scents of the garden at the back of the house. Her father and mother were gone to a party, and the rest were all out with the butterflies.\n\"Dear! your eyelids are red.\"\n\"Are they?\" said Rosamond. \"I wonder why.\" It was not in her nature to pour forth wishes or grievances. They only came forth gracefully on solicitation.\n\"As if you could hide it from me!\" said Lydgate, laying his hand tenderly on both of hers. \"Don't I see a tiny drop on one of the lashes? Things trouble you, and you don't tell me. That is unloving.\"\n\"Why should I tell you what you cannot alter? They are every-day things:—perhaps they have been a little worse lately.\"\n\"Family annoyances. Don't fear speaking. I guess them.\"\n\"Papa has been more irritable lately. Fred makes him angry, and this morning there was a fresh quarrel because Fred threatens to throw his whole education away, and do something quite beneath him. And besides—\"\nRosamond hesitated, and her cheeks were gathering a slight flush. Lydgate had never seen her in trouble since the morning of their engagement, and he had never felt so passionately towards her as at this moment. He kissed the hesitating lips gently, as if to encourage them.\n\"I feel that papa is not quite pleased about our engagement,\" Rosamond continued, almost in a whisper; \"and he said last night that he should certainly speak to you and say it must be given up.\"\n\"Will you give it up?\" said Lydgate, with quick energy—almost angrily.\n\"I never give up anything that I choose to do,\" said Rosamond, recovering her calmness at the touching of this chord.\n\"God bless you!\" said Lydgate, kissing her again. This constancy of purpose in the right place was adorable. He went on:—\n\"It is too late now for your father to say that our engagement must be given up. You are of age, and I claim you as mine. If anything is done to make you unhappy,—that is a reason for hastening our marriage.\"\nAn unmistakable delight shone forth from the blue eyes that met his, and the radiance seemed to light up all his future with mild sunshine. Ideal happiness (of the kind known in the Arabian Nights, in which you are invited to step from the labor and discord of the street into a paradise where everything is given to you and nothing claimed) seemed to be an affair of a few weeks' waiting, more or less.\n\"Why should we defer it?\" he said, with ardent insistence. \"I have taken the house now: everything else can soon be got ready—can it not? You will not mind about new clothes. Those can be bought afterwards.\"\n\"What original notions you clever men have!\" said Rosamond, dimpling with more thorough laughter than usual at this humorous incongruity. \"This is the first time I ever heard of wedding-clothes being bought after marriage.\"\n\"But you don't mean to say you would insist on my waiting months for the sake of clothes?\" said Lydgate, half thinking that Rosamond was tormenting him prettily, and half fearing that she really shrank from speedy marriage. \"Remember, we are looking forward to a better sort of happiness even than this—being continually together, independent of others, and ordering our lives as we will. Come, dear, tell me how soon you can be altogether mine.\"\nThere was a serious pleading in Lydgate's tone, as if he felt that she would be injuring him by any fantastic delays. Rosamond became serious too, and slightly meditative; in fact, she was going through many intricacies of lace-edging and hosiery and petticoat-tucking, in order to give an answer that would at least be approximative.\n\"Six weeks would be ample—say so, Rosamond,\" insisted Lydgate, releasing her hands to put his arm gently round her.\nOne little hand immediately went to pat her hair, while she gave her neck a meditative turn, and then said seriously—", "chosen": "[\"French\", \"Lydgate\", \"German\", \"Vicar\", \"Eros\", \"Soon\", \"Vincys\", \"Middlemarch\", \"Rosamond\", \"Dear\", \"Are\", \"Don\", \"Family\", \"Papa\", \"Fred\", \"Will\", \"God\", \"Arabian\", \"Nights\", \"Remember\", \"Six\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"French\", \"Lydgate\", \"German\", \"Vicar\", \"Eros\", \"Soon\", \"Vincys\", \"Middlemarch\", \"Rosamond\", \"Dear\", \"Are\", \"Don\", \"Family\", \"Papa\", \"Fred\", \"Will\", \"God\", \"Arabian\", \"Nights\", \"Remember\", \"Six\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-145-037-02-12e036c9", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nManston had evidently resolved to do nothing in a hurry.\nThis much was plain, that his earnest desire and intention was to raise in Cytherea's bosom no feelings of permanent aversion to him. The instant after the first burst of disappointment had escaped him in the hotel at Southampton, he had seen how far better it would be to lose her presence for a week than her respect for ever.\n'She shall be mine; I will claim the young thing yet,' he insisted. And then he seemed to reason over methods for compassing that object, which, to all those who were in any degree acquainted with the recent event, appeared the least likely of possible contingencies.\nHe returned to Knapwater late the next day, and was preparing to call on Miss Aldclyffe, when the conclusion forced itself upon him that nothing would be gained by such a step. No; every action of his should be done openly--even religiously. At least, he called on the rector, and stated this to be his resolve.\n'Certainly,' said Mr. Raunham, 'it is best to proceed candidly and fairly, or undue suspicion may fall on you. You should, in my opinion, take active steps at once.'\n'I will do the utmost that lies in my power to clear up the mystery, and silence the hubbub of gossip that has been set going about me. But what can I do? They say that the man who comes first in the chain of inquiry is not to be found--I mean the porter.'\n'I am sorry to say that he is not. When I returned from the station last night, after seeing Owen Graye off, I went again to the cottage where he has been lodging, to get more intelligence, as I thought. He was not there. He had gone out at dusk, saying he would be back soon. But he has not come back yet.'\n'I rather doubt if we shall see him again.'\n'Had I known of this, I would have done what in my flurry I did not think of doing--set a watch upon him. But why not advertise for your missing wife as a preliminary, consulting your solicitor in the meantime?'\n'Advertise. I'll think about it,' said Manston, lingering on the word as he pronounced it. 'Yes, that seems a right thing--quite a right thing.'\nHe went home and remained moodily indoors all the next day and the next--for nearly a week, in short. Then, one evening at dusk, he went out with an uncertain air as to the direction of his walk, which resulted, however, in leading him again to the rectory.\nHe saw Mr. Raunham. 'Have you done anything yet?' the rector inquired.\n'No--I have not,' said Manston absently. 'But I am going to set about it.' He hesitated, as if ashamed of some weakness he was about to betray. 'My object in calling was to ask if you had heard any tidings from Budmouth of my--Cytherea. You used to speak of her as one you were interested in.'\nThere was, at any rate, real sadness in Manston's tone now, and the rector paused to weigh his words ere he replied.\n'I have not heard directly from her,' he said gently. 'But her brother has communicated with some people in the parish--'\n'The Springroves, I suppose,' said Manston gloomily.\n'Yes; and they tell me that she is very ill, and I am sorry to say, likely to be for some days.'\n'Surely, surely, I must go and see her!' Manston cried.\n'I would advise you not to go,' said Raunham. 'But do this instead--be as quick as you can in making a movement towards ascertaining the truth as regards the existence of your wife. You see, Mr. Manston, an out-step place like this is not like a city, and there is nobody to busy himself for the good of the community; whilst poor Cytherea and her brother are socially too dependent to be able to make much stir in the matter, which is a greater reason still why you should be disinterestedly prompt.'\nThe steward murmured an assent. Still there was the same indecision!--not the indecision of weakness--the indecision of conscious perplexity.\nOn Manston's return from this interview at the rectory, he passed the door of the Rising Sun Inn. Finding he had no light for his cigar, and it being three-quarters of a mile to his residence in the park, he entered the tavern to get one. Nobody was in the outer portion of the front room where Manston stood, but a space round the fire was screened off from the remainder, and inside the high oak settle, forming a part of the screen, he heard voices conversing. The speakers had not noticed his footsteps, and continued their discourse.\nOne of the two he recognized as a well-known night-poacher, the man who had met him with tidings of his wife's death on the evening of the conflagration. The other seemed to be a stranger following the same mode of life. The conversation was carried on in the emphatic and confidential tone of men who are slightly intoxicated, its subject being an unaccountable experience that one of them had had on the night of the fire.\nWhat the steward heard was enough, and more than enough, to lead him to forget or to renounce his motive in entering. The effect upon him was strange and strong. His first object seemed to be to escape from the house again without being seen or heard.\nHaving accomplished this, he went in at the park gate, and strode off under the trees to the Old House. There sitting down by the fire, and burying himself in reflection, he allowed the minutes to pass by unheeded. First the candle burnt down in its socket and stunk: he did not notice it. Then the fire went out: he did not see it. His feet grew cold; still he thought on.\nIt may be remarked that a lady, a year and a quarter before this time, had, under the same conditions--an unrestricted mental absorption--shown nearly the same peculiarities as this man evinced now. The lady was Miss Aldclyffe.\nIt was half-past twelve when Manston moved, as if he had come to a determination.\nThe first thing he did the next morning was to call at Knapwater House; where he found that Miss Aldclyffe was not well enough to see him. She had been ailing from slight internal haemorrhage ever since the confession of the porter Chinney. Apparently not much aggrieved at the denial, he shortly afterwards went to the railway-station and took his departure for London, leaving a letter for Miss Aldclyffe, stating the reason of his journey thither--to recover traces of his missing wife.\nDuring the remainder of the week paragraphs appeared in the local and other newspapers, drawing attention to the facts of this singular case. The writers, with scarcely an exception, dwelt forcibly upon a feature which had at first escaped the observation of the villagers, including Mr. Raunham--that if the announcement of the man Chinney were true, it seemed extremely probable that Mrs. Manston left her watch and keys behind on purpose to blind people as to her escape; and that therefore she would not now let herself be discovered, unless a strong pressure were put upon her. The writers added that the police were on the track of the porter, who very possibly had absconded in the fear that his reticence was criminal, and that Mr. Manston, the husband, was, with praiseworthy energy, making every effort to clear the whole matter up.\n2. FROM THE EIGHTEENTH TO THE END OF JANUARY\nFive days from the time of his departure, Manston returned from London and Liverpool, looking very fatigued and thoughtful. He explained to the rector and other of his acquaintance that all the inquiries he had made at his wife's old lodgings and his own had been totally barren of results.", "chosen": "Manston, This, The, She, And, He, No;, At, Certainly,', Raunham,, You, But, They, When, He, He, But, But, I'll, Yes,, Then,, He, Raunham., Have, No--I, But, My, You, I, But, Yes;, I, But, You, Manston,, Still, On, Finding, Nobody, The, One, The, The, What, The, His, Having, There, First, Then, His, It, The, It, The, She, Apparently, During, The, Raunham--that, Manston, The, Manston,, 2., FROM, He", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nManston, This, The, She, And, He, No;, At, Certainly,', Raunham,, You, But, They, When, He, He, But, But, I'll, Yes,, Then,, He, Raunham., Have, No--I, But, My, You, I, But, Yes;, I, But, You, Manston,, Still, On, Finding, Nobody, The, One, The, The, What, The, His, Having, There, First, Then, His, It, The, It, The, She, Apparently, During, The, Raunham--that, Manston, The, Manston,, 2., FROM, He\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-3044-009-00-f784ee73", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"I am afraid it is rather heavy,\" murmured Dorian as he unlocked the door that opened into the room that was to keep for him the curious secret of his life and hide his soul from the eyes of men.\nHe had not entered the place for more than four years—not, indeed, since he had used it first as a play-room when he was a child, and then as a study when he grew somewhat older. It was a large, well-proportioned room, which had been specially built by the last Lord Kelso for the use of the little grandson whom, for his strange likeness to his mother, and also for other reasons, he had always hated and desired to keep at a distance. It appeared to Dorian to have but little changed. There was the huge Italian cassone, with its fantastically painted panels and its tarnished gilt mouldings, in which he had so often hidden himself as a boy. There the satinwood book-case filled with his dog-eared schoolbooks. On the wall behind it was hanging the same ragged Flemish tapestry where a faded king and queen were playing chess in a garden, while a company of hawkers rode by, carrying hooded birds on their gauntleted wrists. How well he remembered it all! Every moment of his lonely childhood came back to him as he looked round. He recalled the stainless purity of his boyish life, and it seemed horrible to him that it was here the fatal portrait was to be hidden away. How little he had thought, in those dead days, of all that was in store for him!\nBut there was no other place in the house so secure from prying eyes as this. He had the key, and no one else could enter it. Beneath its purple pall, the face painted on the canvas could grow bestial, sodden, and unclean. What did it matter? No one could see it. He himself would not see it. Why should he watch the hideous corruption of his soul? He kept his youth—that was enough. And, besides, might not his nature grow finer, after all? There was no reason that the future should be so full of shame. Some love might come across his life, and purify him, and shield him from those sins that seemed to be already stirring in spirit and in flesh—those curious unpictured sins whose very mystery lent them their subtlety and their charm. Perhaps, some day, the cruel look would have passed away from the scarlet sensitive mouth, and he might show to the world Basil Hallward's masterpiece.\nNo; that was impossible. Hour by hour, and week by week, the thing upon the canvas was growing old. It might escape the hideousness of sin, but the hideousness of age was in store for it. The cheeks would become hollow or flaccid. Yellow crow's feet would creep round the fading eyes and make them horrible. The hair would lose its brightness, the mouth would gape or droop, would be foolish or gross, as the mouths of old men are. There would be the wrinkled throat, the cold, blue-veined hands, the twisted body, that he remembered in the grandfather who had been so stern to him in his boyhood. The picture had to be concealed. There was no help for it.\n\"Bring it in, Mr. Hubbard, please,\" he said, wearily, turning round. \"I am sorry I kept you so long. I was thinking of something else.\"\n\"Always glad to have a rest, Mr. Gray,\" answered the frame-maker, who was still gasping for breath. \"Where shall we put it, sir?\"\n\"Oh, anywhere. Here: this will do. I don't want to have it hung up. Just lean it against the wall. Thanks.\"\n\"Might one look at the work of art, sir?\"\nDorian started. \"It would not interest you, Mr. Hubbard,\" he said, keeping his eye on the man. He felt ready to leap upon him and fling him to the ground if he dared to lift the gorgeous hanging that concealed the secret of his life. \"I shan't trouble you any more now. I am much obliged for your kindness in coming round.\"\n\"Not at all, not at all, Mr. Gray. Ever ready to do anything for you, sir.\" And Mr. Hubbard tramped downstairs, followed by the assistant, who glanced back at Dorian with a look of shy wonder in his rough uncomely face. He had never seen any one so marvellous.\nWhen the sound of their footsteps had died away, Dorian locked the door and put the key in his pocket. He felt safe now. No one would ever look upon the horrible thing. No eye but his would ever see his shame.\nOn reaching the library, he found that it was just after five o'clock and that the tea had been already brought up. On a little table of dark perfumed wood thickly incrusted with nacre, a present from Lady Radley, his guardian's wife, a pretty professional invalid, who had spent the preceding winter in Cairo, was lying a note from Lord Henry, and beside it was a book bound in yellow paper, the cover slightly torn and the edges soiled. A copy of the third edition of The St. James's Gazette had been placed on the tea-tray. It was evident that Victor had returned. He wondered if he had met the men in the hall as they were leaving the house and had wormed out of them what they had been doing. He would be sure to miss the picture—had no doubt missed it already, while he had been laying the tea-things. The screen had not been set back, and a blank space was visible on the wall. Perhaps some night he might find him creeping upstairs and trying to force the door of the room. It was a horrible thing to have a spy in one's house. He had heard of rich men who had been blackmailed all their lives by some servant who had read a letter, or overheard a conversation, or picked up a card with an address, or found beneath a pillow a withered flower or a shred of crumpled lace.\nHe sighed, and having poured himself out some tea, opened Lord Henry's note. It was simply to say that he sent him round the evening paper, and a book that might interest him, and that he would be at the club at eight-fifteen. He opened The St. James's languidly, and looked through it. A red pencil-mark on the fifth page caught his eye. It drew attention to the following paragraph:\nINQUEST ON AN ACTRESS.—An inquest was held this morning at the Bell Tavern, Hoxton Road, by Mr. Danby, the District Coroner, on the body of Sibyl Vane, a young actress recently engaged at the Royal Theatre, Holborn. A verdict of death by misadventure was returned. Considerable sympathy was expressed for the mother of the deceased, who was greatly affected during the giving of her own evidence, and that of Dr. Birrell, who had made the post-mortem examination of the deceased.\nHe frowned, and tearing the paper in two, went across the room and flung the pieces away. How ugly it all was! And how horribly real ugliness made things! He felt a little annoyed with Lord Henry for having sent him the report. And it was certainly stupid of him to have marked it with red pencil. Victor might have read it. The man knew more than enough English for that.\nPerhaps he had read it and had begun to suspect something. And, yet, what did it matter? What had Dorian Gray to do with Sibyl Vane's death? There was nothing to fear. Dorian Gray had not killed her.", "chosen": "88", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n88\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-174-010-01-4e943915", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nSt. Cleeve soon saw the answer she had given and watched her approach from the tower as the sunset drew on. The vivid circumstances of his life at this date led him ever to remember the external scenes in which they were set. It was an evening of exceptional irradiations, and the west heaven gleamed like a foundry of all metals common and rare. The clouds were broken into a thousand fragments, and the margin of every fragment shone. Foreseeing the disadvantage and pain to her of maintaining a resolve under the pressure of a meeting, he vowed not to urge her by word or sign; to put the question plainly and calmly, and to discuss it on a reasonable basis only, like the philosophers they assumed themselves to be.\nBut this intention was scarcely adhered to in all its integrity. She duly appeared on the edge of the field, flooded with the metallic radiance that marked the close of this day; whereupon he quickly descended the steps, and met her at the cabin door. They entered it together.\nAs the evening grew darker and darker he listened to her reasoning, which was precisely a repetition of that already sent him by letter, and by degrees accepted her decision, since she would not revoke it. Time came for them to say good-bye, and then--\n'He turn'd and saw the terror in her eyes, That yearn'd upon him, shining in such wise As a star midway in the midnight fix'd.'\nIt was the misery of her own condition that showed forth, hitherto obscured by her ardour for ameliorating his. They closed together, and kissed each other as though the emotion of their whole year-and-half's acquaintance had settled down upon that moment.\n'I won't go away from you!' said Swithin huskily. 'Why did you propose it for an instant?'\nThus the nearly ended interview was again prolonged, and Viviette yielded to all the passion of her first union with him. Time, however, was merciless, and the hour approached midnight, and she was compelled to depart. Swithin walked with her towards the house, as he had walked many times before, believing that all was now smooth again between them, and caring, it must be owned, very little for his fame as an expositor of the southern constellations just then.\nWhen they reached the silent house he said what he had not ventured to say before, 'Fix the day--you have decided that it is to be soon, and that I am not to go?'\nBut youthful Swithin was far, very far, from being up to the fond subtlety of Viviette this evening. 'I cannot decide here,' she said gently, releasing herself from his arm; 'I will speak to you from the window. Wait for me.'\nShe vanished; and he waited. It was a long time before the window opened, and he was not aware that, with her customary complication of feeling, she had knelt for some time inside the room before looking out.\n'Well?' said he.\n'It cannot be,' she answered. 'I cannot ruin you. But the day after you are five-and-twenty our marriage shall be confirmed, if you choose.'\n'O, my Viviette, how is this!' he cried.\n'Swithin, I have not altered. But I feared for my powers, and could not tell you whilst I stood by your side. I ought not to have given way as I did to-night. Take the bequest, and go. You are too young--to be fettered--I should have thought of it! Do not communicate with me for at least a year: it is imperative. Do not tell me your plans. If we part, we do part. I have vowed a vow not to further obstruct the course you had decided on before you knew me and my puling ways; and by Heaven's help I'll keep that vow. . . . Now go. These are the parting words of your own Viviette!'\nSwithin, who was stable as a giant in all that appertained to nature and life outside humanity, was a mere pupil in domestic matters. He was quite awed by her firmness, and looked vacantly at her for a time, till she closed the window. Then he mechanically turned, and went, as she had commanded.", "chosen": "Time came for them to say good-bye, and then--\n'He turn'd and saw the terror in her eyes, That yearn'd upon him, shining in such wise As a star midway in the midnight fix'd.'\nIt was the misery of her own condition that showed forth, hitherto obscured by her ardour for ameliorating his.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nTime came for them to say good-bye, and then--\n'He turn'd and saw the terror in her eyes, That yearn'd upon him, shining in such wise As a star midway in the midnight fix'd.'\nIt was the misery of her own condition that showed forth, hitherto obscured by her ardour for ameliorating his.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-3146-035-01-a6340d74", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nDorothea by this time had turned cold again, and now threw herself back helplessly in her chair. She might have compared her experience at that moment to the vague, alarmed consciousness that her life was taking on a new form, that she was undergoing a metamorphosis in which memory would not adjust itself to the stirring of new organs. Everything was changing its aspect: her husband's conduct, her own duteous feeling towards him, every struggle between them—and yet more, her whole relation to Will Ladislaw. Her world was in a state of convulsive change; the only thing she could say distinctly to herself was, that she must wait and think anew. One change terrified her as if it had been a sin; it was a violent shock of repulsion from her departed husband, who had had hidden thoughts, perhaps perverting everything she said and did. Then again she was conscious of another change which also made her tremulous; it was a sudden strange yearning of heart towards Will Ladislaw. It had never before entered her mind that he could, under any circumstances, be her lover: conceive the effect of the sudden revelation that another had thought of him in that light—that perhaps he himself had been conscious of such a possibility,—and this with the hurrying, crowding vision of unfitting conditions, and questions not soon to be solved.\nIt seemed a long while—she did not know how long—before she heard Celia saying, \"That will do, nurse; he will be quiet on my lap now. You can go to lunch, and let Garratt stay in the next room. What I think, Dodo,\" Celia went on, observing nothing more than that Dorothea was leaning back in her chair, and likely to be passive, \"is that Mr. Casaubon was spiteful. I never did like him, and James never did. I think the corners of his mouth were dreadfully spiteful. And now he has behaved in this way, I am sure religion does not require you to make yourself uncomfortable about him. If he has been taken away, that is a mercy, and you ought to be grateful. We should not grieve, should we, baby?\" said Celia confidentially to that unconscious centre and poise of the world, who had the most remarkable fists all complete even to the nails, and hair enough, really, when you took his cap off, to make—you didn't know what:—in short, he was Bouddha in a Western form.\nAt this crisis Lydgate was announced, and one of the first things he said was, \"I fear you are not so well as you were, Mrs. Casaubon; have you been agitated? allow me to feel your pulse.\" Dorothea's hand was of a marble coldness.\n\"She wants to go to Lowick, to look over papers,\" said Celia. \"She ought not, ought she?\"\nLydgate did not speak for a few moments. Then he said, looking at Dorothea. \"I hardly know. In my opinion Mrs. Casaubon should do what would give her the most repose of mind. That repose will not always come from being forbidden to act.\"\n\"Thank you,\" said Dorothea, exerting herself, \"I am sure that is wise. There are so many things which I ought to attend to. Why should I sit here idle?\" Then, with an effort to recall subjects not connected with her agitation, she added, abruptly, \"You know every one in Middlemarch, I think, Mr. Lydgate. I shall ask you to tell me a great deal. I have serious things to do now. I have a living to give away. You know Mr. Tyke and all the—\" But Dorothea's effort was too much for her; she broke off and burst into sobs.\nLydgate made her drink a dose of sal volatile.\n\"Let Mrs. Casaubon do as she likes,\" he said to Sir James, whom he asked to see before quitting the house. \"She wants perfect freedom, I think, more than any other prescription.\"\nHis attendance on Dorothea while her brain was excited, had enabled him to form some true conclusions concerning the trials of her life. He felt sure that she had been suffering from the strain and conflict of self-repression; and that she was likely now to feel herself only in another sort of pinfold than that from which she had been released.\nLydgate's advice was all the easier for Sir James to follow when he found that Celia had already told Dorothea the unpleasant fact about the will. There was no help for it now—no reason for any further delay in the execution of necessary business. And the next day Sir James complied at once with her request that he would drive her to Lowick.\n\"I have no wish to stay there at present,\" said Dorothea; \"I could hardly bear it. I am much happier at Freshitt with Celia. I shall be able to think better about what should be done at Lowick by looking at it from a distance. And I should like to be at the Grange a little while with my uncle, and go about in all the old walks and among the people in the village.\"\n\"Not yet, I think. Your uncle is having political company, and you are better out of the way of such doings,\" said Sir James, who at that moment thought of the Grange chiefly as a haunt of young Ladislaw's. But no word passed between him and Dorothea about the objectionable part of the will; indeed, both of them felt that the mention of it between them would be impossible. Sir James was shy, even with men, about disagreeable subjects; and the one thing that Dorothea would have chosen to say, if she had spoken on the matter at all, was forbidden to her at present because it seemed to be a further exposure of her husband's injustice. Yet she did wish that Sir James could know what had passed between her and her husband about Will Ladislaw's moral claim on the property: it would then, she thought, be apparent to him as it was to her, that her husband's strange indelicate proviso had been chiefly urged by his bitter resistance to that idea of claim, and not merely by personal feelings more difficult to talk about. Also, it must be admitted, Dorothea wished that this could be known for Will's sake, since her friends seemed to think of him as simply an object of Mr. Casaubon's charity. Why should he be compared with an Italian carrying white mice? That word quoted from Mrs. Cadwallader seemed like a mocking travesty wrought in the dark by an impish finger.\nAt Lowick Dorothea searched desk and drawer—searched all her husband's places of deposit for private writing, but found no paper addressed especially to her, except that \"Synoptical Tabulation,\" which was probably only the beginning of many intended directions for her guidance. In carrying out this bequest of labor to Dorothea, as in all else, Mr. Casaubon had been slow and hesitating, oppressed in the plan of transmitting his work, as he had been in executing it, by the sense of moving heavily in a dim and clogging medium: distrust of Dorothea's competence to arrange what he had prepared was subdued only by distrust of any other redactor. But he had come at last to create a trust for himself out of Dorothea's nature: she could do what she resolved to do: and he willingly imagined her toiling under the fetters of a promise to erect a tomb with his name upon it. (Not that Mr. Casaubon called the future volumes a tomb; he called them the Key to all Mythologies.) But the months gained on him and left his plans belated: he had only had time to ask for that promise by which he sought to keep his cold grasp on Dorothea's life.", "chosen": "[\"That will do, nurse; he will be quiet on my lap now. You can go to lunch, and let Garratt stay in the next room. What I think, Dodo,\", \"I fear you are not so well as you were, Mrs. Casaubon; have you been agitated? allow me to feel your pulse.\", \"She wants to go to Lowick, to look over papers,\", \"She ought not, ought she?\", \"I hardly know. In my opinion Mrs. Casaubon should do what would give her the most repose of mind. That repose will not always come from being forbidden to act.\", \"Thank you,\", \"I am sure that is wise. There are so many things which I ought to attend to. Why should I sit here idle?\", \"You know every one in Middlemarch, I think, Mr. Lydgate. I shall ask you to tell me a great deal. I have serious things to do now. I have a living to give away. You know Mr. Tyke and all the\\u2014\", \"Let Mrs. Casaubon do as she likes,\", \"She wants perfect freedom, I think, more than any other prescription.\", \"I have no wish to stay there at present,\", \"Not yet, I think. Your uncle is having political company, and you are better out of the way of such doings,\", \"Synoptical Tabulation,\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"That will do, nurse; he will be quiet on my lap now. You can go to lunch, and let Garratt stay in the next room. What I think, Dodo,\", \"I fear you are not so well as you were, Mrs. Casaubon; have you been agitated? allow me to feel your pulse.\", \"She wants to go to Lowick, to look over papers,\", \"She ought not, ought she?\", \"I hardly know. In my opinion Mrs. Casaubon should do what would give her the most repose of mind. That repose will not always come from being forbidden to act.\", \"Thank you,\", \"I am sure that is wise. There are so many things which I ought to attend to. Why should I sit here idle?\", \"You know every one in Middlemarch, I think, Mr. Lydgate. I shall ask you to tell me a great deal. I have serious things to do now. I have a living to give away. You know Mr. Tyke and all the\\u2014\", \"Let Mrs. Casaubon do as she likes,\", \"She wants perfect freedom, I think, more than any other prescription.\", \"I have no wish to stay there at present,\", \"Not yet, I think. Your uncle is having political company, and you are better out of the way of such doings,\", \"Synoptical Tabulation,\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-050-01-6cb9aa82", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nFather Mapple rose, and in a mild voice of unassuming authority ordered the scattered people to condense. \"Starboard gangway, there! side away to larboard—larboard gangway to starboard! Midships! midships!\"\nThere was a low rumbling of heavy sea-boots among the benches, and a still slighter shuffling of women's shoes, and all was quiet again, and every eye on the preacher.\nHe paused a little; then kneeling in the pulpit's bows, folded his large brown hands across his chest, uplifted his closed eyes, and offered a prayer so deeply devout that he seemed kneeling and praying at the bottom of the sea.\nThis ended, in prolonged solemn tones, like the continual tolling of a bell in a ship that is foundering at sea in a fog—in such tones he commenced reading the following hymn; but changing his manner towards the concluding stanzas, burst forth with a pealing exultation and joy—\n\"The ribs and terrors in the whale, Arched over me a dismal gloom, While all God's sun-lit waves rolled by, And lift me deepening down to doom.\n\"I saw the opening maw of hell, With endless pains and sorrows there; Which none but they that feel can tell— Oh, I was plunging to despair.\n\"In black distress, I called my God, When I could scarce believe him mine, He bowed his ear to my complaints— No more the whale did me confine.\n\"With speed he flew to my relief, As on a radiant dolphin borne; Awful, yet bright, as lightning shone The face of my Deliverer God.\n\"My song for ever shall record That terrible, that joyful hour; I give the glory to my God, His all the mercy and the power.\"\nNearly all joined in singing this hymn, which swelled high above the howling of the storm. A brief pause ensued; the preacher slowly turned over the leaves of the Bible, and at last, folding his hand down upon the proper page, said: \"Beloved shipmates, clinch the last verse of the first chapter of Jonah—'And God had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah.'\"\n\"Shipmates, this book, containing only four chapters—four yarns—is one of the smallest strands in the mighty cable of the Scriptures. Yet what depths of the soul does Jonah's deep sealine sound! what a pregnant lesson to us is this prophet! What a noble thing is that canticle in the fish's belly! How billow-like and boisterously grand! We feel the floods surging over us; we sound with him to the kelpy bottom of the waters; sea-weed and all the slime of the sea is about us! But what is this lesson that the book of Jonah teaches? Shipmates, it is a two-stranded lesson; a lesson to us all as sinful men, and a lesson to me as a pilot of the living God. As sinful men, it is a lesson to us all, because it is a story of the sin, hard-heartedness, suddenly awakened fears, the swift punishment, repentance, prayers, and finally the deliverance and joy of Jonah. As with all sinners among men, the sin of this son of Amittai was in his wilful disobedience of the command of God—never mind now what that command was, or how conveyed—which he found a hard command. But all the things that God would have us do are hard for us to do—remember that—and hence, he oftener commands us than endeavors to persuade. And if we obey God, we must disobey ourselves; and it is in this disobeying ourselves, wherein the hardness of obeying God consists.\n\"With this sin of disobedience in him, Jonah still further flouts at God, by seeking to flee from Him. He thinks that a ship made by men will carry him into countries where God does not reign, but only the Captains of this earth. He skulks about the wharves of Joppa, and seeks a ship that's bound for Tarshish. There lurks, perhaps, a hitherto unheeded meaning here. By all accounts Tarshish could have been no other city than the modern Cadiz. That's the opinion of learned men. And where is Cadiz, shipmates? Cadiz is in Spain; as far by water, from Joppa, as Jonah could possibly have sailed in those ancient days, when the Atlantic was an almost unknown sea. Because Joppa, the modern Jaffa, shipmates, is on the most easterly coast of the Mediterranean, the Syrian; and Tarshish or Cadiz more than two thousand miles to the westward from that, just outside the Straits of Gibraltar. See ye not then, shipmates, that Jonah sought to flee world-wide from God? Miserable man! Oh! most contemptible and worthy of all scorn; with slouched hat and guilty eye, skulking from his God; prowling among the shipping like a vile burglar hastening to cross the seas. So disordered, self-condemning is his look, that had there been policemen in those days, Jonah, on the mere suspicion of something wrong, had been arrested ere he touched a deck. How plainly he's a fugitive! no baggage, not a hat-box, valise, or carpet-bag,—no friends accompany him to the wharf with their adieux. At last, after much dodging search, he finds the Tarshish ship receiving the last items of her cargo; and as he steps on board to see its Captain in the cabin, all the sailors for the moment desist from hoisting in the goods, to mark the stranger's evil eye. Jonah sees this; but in vain he tries to look all ease and confidence; in vain essays his wretched smile. Strong intuitions of the man assure the mariners he can be no innocent. In their gamesome but still serious way, one whispers to the other—\"Jack, he's robbed a widow;\" or, \"Joe, do you mark him; he's a bigamist;\" or, \"Harry lad, I guess he's the adulterer that broke jail in old Gomorrah, or belike, one of the missing murderers from Sodom.\" Another runs to read the bill that's stuck against the spile upon the wharf to which the ship is moored, offering five hundred gold coins for the apprehension of a parricide, and containing a description of his person. He reads, and looks from Jonah to the bill; while all his sympathetic shipmates now crowd round Jonah, prepared to lay their hands upon him. Frighted Jonah trembles, and summoning all his boldness to his face, only looks so much the more a coward. He will not confess himself suspected; but that itself is strong suspicion. So he makes the best of it; and when the sailors find him not to be the man that is advertised, they let him pass, and he descends into the cabin.\n\"'Who's there?' cries the Captain at his busy desk, hurriedly making out his papers for the Customs—'Who's there?' Oh! how that harmless question mangles Jonah! For the instant he almost turns to flee again. But he rallies. 'I seek a passage in this ship to Tarshish; how soon sail ye, sir?' Thus far the busy Captain had not looked up to Jonah, though the man now stands before him; but no sooner does he hear that hollow voice, than he darts a scrutinizing glance. 'We sail with the next coming tide,' at last he slowly answered, still intently eyeing him. 'No sooner, sir?'—'Soon enough for any honest man that goes a passenger.' Ha! Jonah, that's another stab. But he swiftly calls away the Captain from that scent. 'I'll sail with ye,'—he says,—'the passage money how much is that?—I'll pay now.' For it is particularly written, shipmates, as if it were a thing not to be overlooked in this history, 'that he paid the fare thereof' ere the craft did sail. And taken with the context, this is full of meaning.", "chosen": "meaning", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nmeaning\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-009-00-38a6b2bd", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nConceit is the finest armor that a man can wear. Upon its smooth, impenetrable surface the puny dagger-thrusts of spite and envy glance harmlessly aside. Without that breast-plate the sword of talent cannot force its way through the battle of life, for blows have to be borne as well as dealt. I do not, of course, speak of the conceit that displays itself in an elevated nose and a falsetto voice. That is not real conceit--that is only playing at being conceited; like children play at being kings and queens and go strutting about with feathers and long trains. Genuine conceit does not make a man objectionable. On the contrary, it tends to make him genial, kind-hearted, and simple. He has no need of affectation--he is far too well satisfied with his own character; and his pride is too deep-seated to appear at all on the outside. Careless alike of praise or blame, he can afford to be truthful. Too far, in fancy, above the rest of mankind to trouble about their petty distinctions, he is equally at home with duke or costermonger. And valuing no one's standard but his own, he is never tempted to practice that miserable pretense that less self-reliant people offer up as an hourly sacrifice to the god of their neighbor's opinion.\nThe shy man, on the other hand, is humble--modest of his own judgment and over-anxious concerning that of others. But this in the case of a young man is surely right enough. His character is unformed. It is slowly evolving itself out of a chaos of doubt and disbelief. Before the growing insight and experience the diffidence recedes. A man rarely carries his shyness past the hobbledehoy period. Even if his own inward strength does not throw it off, the rubbings of the world generally smooth it down. You scarcely ever meet a really shy man--except in novels or on the stage, where, by the bye, he is much admired, especially by the women.\nThere, in that supernatural land, he appears as a fair-haired and saintlike young man--fair hair and goodness always go together on the stage. No respectable audience would believe in one without the other. I knew an actor who mislaid his wig once and had to rush on to play the hero in his own hair, which was jet-black, and the gallery howled at all his noble sentiments under the impression that he was the villain. He--the shy young man--loves the heroine, oh so devotedly (but only in asides, for he dare not tell her of it), and he is so noble and unselfish, and speaks in such a low voice, and is so good to his mother; and the bad people in the play, they laugh at him and jeer at him, but he takes it all so gently, and in the end it transpires that he is such a clever man, though nobody knew it, and then the heroine tells him she loves him, and he is so surprised, and oh, so happy! and everybody loves him and asks him to forgive them, which he does in a few well-chosen and sarcastic words, and blesses them; and he seems to have generally such a good time of it that all the young fellows who are not shy long to be shy. But the really shy man knows better. He knows that it is not quite so pleasant in reality. He is not quite so interesting there as in the fiction. He is a little more clumsy and stupid and a little less devoted and gentle, and his hair is much darker, which, taken altogether, considerably alters the aspect of the case.\nThe point where he does resemble his ideal is in his faithfulness. I am fully prepared to allow the shy young man that virtue: he is constant in his love. But the reason is not far to seek. The fact is it exhausts all his stock of courage to look one woman in the face, and it would be simply impossible for him to go through the ordeal with a second. He stands in far too much dread of the whole female sex to want to go gadding about with many of them. One is quite enough for him.\nNow, it is different with the young man who is not shy. He has temptations which his bashful brother never encounters. He looks around and everywhere sees roguish eyes and laughing lips. What more natural than that amid so many roguish eyes and laughing lips he should become confused and, forgetting for the moment which particular pair of roguish ayes and laughing lips it is that he belongs to, go off making love to the wrong set. The shy man, who never looks at anything but his own boots, sees not and is not tempted. Happy shy man!\nNot but what the shy man himself would much rather not be happy in that way. He longs to \"go it\" with the others, and curses himself every day for not being able to. He will now and again, screwing up his courage by a tremendous effort, plunge into roguishness. But it is always a terrible fiasco, and after one or two feeble flounders he crawls out again, limp and pitiable.\nI say \"pitiable,\" though I am afraid he never is pitied. There are certain misfortunes which, while inflicting a vast amount of suffering upon their victims, gain for them no sympathy. Losing an umbrella, falling in love, toothache, black eyes, and having your hat sat upon may be mentioned as a few examples, but the chief of them all is shyness. The shy man is regarded as an animate joke. His tortures are the sport of the drawing-room arena and are pointed out and discussed with much gusto.\n\"Look,\" cry his tittering audience to each other; \"he's blushing!\"\n\"Just watch his legs,\" says one.\n\"Do you notice how he is sitting?\" adds another: \"right on the edge of the chair.\"\n\"Seems to have plenty of color,\" sneers a military-looking gentleman.\n\"Pity he's got so many hands,\" murmurs an elderly lady, with her own calmly folded on her lap. \"They quite confuse him.\"\n\"A yard or two off his feet wouldn't be a disadvantage,\" chimes in the comic man, \"especially as he seems so anxious to hide them.\"\nAnd then another suggests that with such a voice he ought to have been a sea-captain. Some draw attention to the desperate way in which he is grasping his hat. Some comment upon his limited powers of conversation. Others remark upon the troublesome nature of his cough. And so on, until his peculiarities and the company are both thoroughly exhausted.\nHis friends and relations make matters still more unpleasant for the poor boy (friends and relations are privileged to be more disagreeable than other people). Not content with making fun of him among themselves, they insist on his seeing the joke. They mimic and caricature him for his own edification. One, pretending to imitate him, goes outside and comes in again in a ludicrously nervous manner, explaining to him afterward that that is the way he--meaning the shy fellow--walks into a room; or, turning to him with \"This is the way you shake hands,\" proceeds to go through a comic pantomime with the rest of the room, taking hold of every one's hand as if it were a hot plate and flabbily dropping it again. And then they ask him why he blushes, and why he stammers, and why he always speaks in an almost inaudible tone, as if they thought he did it on purpose. Then one of them, sticking out his chest and strutting about the room like a pouter-pigeon, suggests quite seriously that that is the style he should adopt. The old man slaps him on the back and says: \"Be bold, my boy. Don't be afraid of any one.\" The mother says, \"Never do anything that you need be ashamed of, Algernon, and then you never need be ashamed of anything you do,\" and, beaming mildly at him, seems surprised at the clearness of her own logic. The boys tell him that he's \"worse than a girl,\" and the girls repudiate the implied slur upon their sex by indignantly exclaiming that they are sure no girl would be half as bad.", "chosen": "[\"Look\", \"Just\", \"Seems\", \"Pity\", \"Never\", \"Algernon\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Look\", \"Just\", \"Seems\", \"Pity\", \"Never\", \"Algernon\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-849-009-01-61563fef", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nLydgate's private opinion was that Mr. Chichely might be the very coroner without bias as to the coats of the stomach, but he had not meant to be personal. This was one of the difficulties of moving in good Middlemarch society: it was dangerous to insist on knowledge as a qualification for any salaried office. Fred Vincy had called Lydgate a prig, and now Mr. Chichely was inclined to call him prick-eared; especially when, in the drawing-room, he seemed to be making himself eminently agreeable to Rosamond, whom he had easily monopolized in a tête-à-tête, since Mrs. Vincy herself sat at the tea-table. She resigned no domestic function to her daughter; and the matron's blooming good-natured face, with the two volatile pink strings floating from her fine throat, and her cheery manners to husband and children, was certainly among the great attractions of the Vincy house—attractions which made it all the easier to fall in love with the daughter. The tinge of unpretentious, inoffensive vulgarity in Mrs. Vincy gave more effect to Rosamond's refinement, which was beyond what Lydgate had expected.\nCertainly, small feet and perfectly turned shoulders aid the impression of refined manners, and the right thing said seems quite astonishingly right when it is accompanied with exquisite curves of lip and eyelid. And Rosamond could say the right thing; for she was clever with that sort of cleverness which catches every tone except the humorous. Happily she never attempted to joke, and this perhaps was the most decisive mark of her cleverness.\nShe and Lydgate readily got into conversation. He regretted that he had not heard her sing the other day at Stone Court. The only pleasure he allowed himself during the latter part of his stay in Paris was to go and hear music.\n\"You have studied music, probably?\" said Rosamond.\n\"No, I know the notes of many birds, and I know many melodies by ear; but the music that I don't know at all, and have no notion about, delights me—affects me. How stupid the world is that it does not make more use of such a pleasure within its reach!\"\n\"Yes, and you will find Middlemarch very tuneless. There are hardly any good musicians. I only know two gentlemen who sing at all well.\"\n\"I suppose it is the fashion to sing comic songs in a rhythmic way, leaving you to fancy the tune—very much as if it were tapped on a drum?\"\n\"Ah, you have heard Mr. Bowyer,\" said Rosamond, with one of her rare smiles. \"But we are speaking very ill of our neighbors.\"\nLydgate was almost forgetting that he must carry on the conversation, in thinking how lovely this creature was, her garment seeming to be made out of the faintest blue sky, herself so immaculately blond, as if the petals of some gigantic flower had just opened and disclosed her; and yet with this infantine blondness showing so much ready, self-possessed grace. Since he had had the memory of Laure, Lydgate had lost all taste for large-eyed silence: the divine cow no longer attracted him, and Rosamond was her very opposite. But he recalled himself.\n\"You will let me hear some music to-night, I hope.\"\n\"I will let you hear my attempts, if you like,\" said Rosamond. \"Papa is sure to insist on my singing. But I shall tremble before you, who have heard the best singers in Paris. I have heard very little: I have only once been to London. But our organist at St. Peter's is a good musician, and I go on studying with him.\"\n\"Tell me what you saw in London.\"\n\"Very little.\" (A more naive girl would have said, \"Oh, everything!\" But Rosamond knew better.) \"A few of the ordinary sights, such as raw country girls are always taken to.\"\n\"Do you call yourself a raw country girl?\" said Lydgate, looking at her with an involuntary emphasis of admiration, which made Rosamond blush with pleasure. But she remained simply serious, turned her long neck a little, and put up her hand to touch her wondrous hair-plaits—an habitual gesture with her as pretty as any movements of a kitten's paw. Not that Rosamond was in the least like a kitten: she was a sylph caught young and educated at Mrs. Lemon's.\n\"I assure you my mind is raw,\" she said immediately; \"I pass at Middlemarch. I am not afraid of talking to our old neighbors. But I am really afraid of you.\"\n\"An accomplished woman almost always knows more than we men, though her knowledge is of a different sort. I am sure you could teach me a thousand things—as an exquisite bird could teach a bear if there were any common language between them. Happily, there is a common language between women and men, and so the bears can get taught.\"\n\"Ah, there is Fred beginning to strum! I must go and hinder him from jarring all your nerves,\" said Rosamond, moving to the other side of the room, where Fred having opened the piano, at his father's desire, that Rosamond might give them some music, was parenthetically performing \"Cherry Ripe!\" with one hand. Able men who have passed their examinations will do these things sometimes, not less than the plucked Fred.\n\"Fred, pray defer your practising till to-morrow; you will make Mr. Lydgate ill,\" said Rosamond. \"He has an ear.\"\nFred laughed, and went on with his tune to the end.\nRosamond turned to Lydgate, smiling gently, and said, \"You perceive, the bears will not always be taught.\"\n\"Now then, Rosy!\" said Fred, springing from the stool and twisting it upward for her, with a hearty expectation of enjoyment. \"Some good rousing tunes first.\"\nRosamond played admirably. Her master at Mrs. Lemon's school (close to a county town with a memorable history that had its relics in church and castle) was one of those excellent musicians here and there to be found in our provinces, worthy to compare with many a noted Kapellmeister in a country which offers more plentiful conditions of musical celebrity. Rosamond, with the executant's instinct, had seized his manner of playing, and gave forth his large rendering of noble music with the precision of an echo. It was almost startling, heard for the first time. A hidden soul seemed to be flowing forth from Rosamond's fingers; and so indeed it was, since souls live on in perpetual echoes, and to all fine expression there goes somewhere an originating activity, if it be only that of an interpreter. Lydgate was taken possession of, and began to believe in her as something exceptional. After all, he thought, one need not be surprised to find the rare conjunctions of nature under circumstances apparently unfavorable: come where they may, they always depend on conditions that are not obvious. He sat looking at her, and did not rise to pay her any compliments, leaving that to others, now that his admiration was deepened.\nHer singing was less remarkable, but also well trained, and sweet to hear as a chime perfectly in tune. It is true she sang \"Meet me by moonlight,\" and \"I've been roaming\"; for mortals must share the fashions of their time, and none but the ancients can be always classical. But Rosamond could also sing \"Black-eyed Susan\" with effect, or Haydn's canzonets, or \"Voi, che sapete,\" or \"Batti, batti\"—she only wanted to know what her audience liked.", "chosen": "Lydgate's, Chichely, This, Fred, Chichely, Vincy, She, The, Vincy, Certainly,, And, Happily, She, He, The, You, No,, How, There, I, Bowyer,\", But, Since, But, You, Papa, But, I, But, Peter's, But, Not, Lemon's., I, I, But, I, Happily,, I, Able, Fred,, Lydgate, He, Rosamond, Some, Her, Lemon's, Rosamond,, It, A, Lydgate, After, He, Her, It, But", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nLydgate's, Chichely, This, Fred, Chichely, Vincy, She, The, Vincy, Certainly,, And, Happily, She, He, The, You, No,, How, There, I, Bowyer,\", But, Since, But, You, Papa, But, I, But, Peter's, But, Not, Lemon's., I, I, But, I, Happily,, I, Able, Fred,, Lydgate, He, Rosamond, Some, Her, Lemon's, Rosamond,, It, A, Lydgate, After, He, Her, It, But\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-017-01-a943a863", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nWell, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage and a curtain and a row of candles for footlights; and that night the house was jam full of men in no time. When the place couldn't hold no more, the duke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come on to the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech, and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest one that ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and about Edmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the main principal part in it; and at last when he'd got everybody's expectations up high enough, he rolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-prancing out on all fours, naked; and he was painted all over, ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as a rainbow. And—but never mind the rest of his outfit; it was just wild, but it was awful funny. The people most killed themselves laughing; and when the king got done capering and capered off behind the scenes, they roared and clapped and stormed and haw-hawed till he come back and done it over again, and after that they made him do it another time. Well, it would make a cow laugh to see the shines that old idiot cut.\nThen the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, and says the great tragedy will be performed only two nights more, on accounts of pressing London engagements, where the seats is all sold already for it in Drury Lane; and then he makes them another bow, and says if he has succeeded in pleasing them and instructing them, he will be deeply obleeged if they will mention it to their friends and get them to come and see it.\nTwenty people sings out:\n\"What, is it over? Is that all?\"\nThe duke says yes. Then there was a fine time. Everybody sings out, \"Sold!\" and rose up mad, and was a-going for that stage and them tragedians. But a big, fine looking man jumps up on a bench and shouts:\n\"Hold on! Just a word, gentlemen.\" They stopped to listen. \"We are sold—mighty badly sold. But we don't want to be the laughing stock of this whole town, I reckon, and never hear the last of this thing as long as we live. No. What we want is to go out of here quiet, and talk this show up, and sell the rest of the town! Then we'll all be in the same boat. Ain't that sensible?\" (\"You bet it is!—the jedge is right!\" everybody sings out.) \"All right, then—not a word about any sell. Go along home, and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy.\"\nNext day you couldn't hear nothing around that town but how splendid that show was. House was jammed again that night, and we sold this crowd the same way. When me and the king and the duke got home to the raft we all had a supper; and by-and-by, about midnight, they made Jim and me back her out and float her down the middle of the river, and fetch her in and hide her about two mile below town.\nThe third night the house was crammed again—and they warn't new-comers this time, but people that was at the show the other two nights. I stood by the duke at the door, and I see that every man that went in had his pockets bulging, or something muffled up under his coat—and I see it warn't no perfumery, neither, not by a long sight. I smelt sickly eggs by the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things; and if I know the signs of a dead cat being around, and I bet I do, there was sixty-four of them went in. I shoved in there for a minute, but it was too various for me; I couldn't stand it. Well, when the place couldn't hold no more people the duke he give a fellow a quarter and told him to tend door for him a minute, and then he started around for the stage door, I after him; but the minute we turned the corner and was in the dark he says:\n\"Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for the raft like the dickens was after you!\"\nI done it, and he done the same. We struck the raft at the same time, and in less than two seconds we was gliding down stream, all dark and still, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a word. I reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with the audience, but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under the wigwam, and says:\n\"Well, how'd the old thing pan out this time, duke?\"\nHe hadn't been up town at all.\nWe never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village. Then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairly laughed their bones loose over the way they'd served them people. The duke says:\n\"Greenhorns, flatheads! I knew the first house would keep mum and let the rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they'd lay for us the third night, and consider it was their turn now. Well, it is their turn, and I'd give something to know how much they'd take for it. I would just like to know how they're putting in their opportunity. They can turn it into a picnic if they want to—they brought plenty provisions.\"\nThem rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in that three nights. I never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like that before. By-and-by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says:\n\"Don't it s'prise you de way dem kings carries on, Huck?\"\n\"No,\" I says, \"it don't.\"\n\"Why don't it, Huck?\"\n\"Well, it don't, because it's in the breed. I reckon they're all alike.\"\n\"But, Huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat's jist what dey is; dey's reglar rapscallions.\"\n\"Well, that's what I'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as fur as I can make out.\"\n\"Is dat so?\"", "chosen": "38", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n38\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-76-023-00-984567d4", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Yes; and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning the marriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by honour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I accept him?\"\n\"Because honour, decorum, prudence--nay, interest--forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his family or friends, if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us.\"\n\"These are heavy misfortunes,\" replied Elizabeth. \"But the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine.\"\n\"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that score? Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.\"\n\"That will make your Ladyship's situation at present more pitiable; but it will have no effect on me.\"\n\"I will not be interrupted! Hear me in silence. My daughter and my nephew are formed for each other. They are descended, on the maternal side, from the same noble line; and, on the father's, from respectable, honourable, and ancient, though untitled, families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses; and what is to divide them?--the upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune! Is this to be endured? But it must not, shall not be! If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up.\"\n\"In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman's daughter; so far we are equal.\"\n\"True. You are a gentleman's daughter. But what was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition.\"\n\"Whatever my connections may be,\" said Elizabeth, \"if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you.\"\n\"Tell me, once for all, are you engaged to him?\"\nThough Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but say, after a moment's deliberation,--\n\"I am not.\"\nLady Catherine seemed pleased.\n\"And will you promise me never to enter into such an engagement?\"\n\"I will make no promise of the kind.\"\n\"Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require.\"\n\"And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your Ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for promise make their marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no further on the subject.\"\n\"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the objections I have already urged I have still another to add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister's infamous elopement. I know it all; that the young man's marrying her was a patched-up business, at the expense of your father and uncle. And is such a girl to be my nephew's sister? Is her husband, who is the son of his late father's steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth!--of what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?\"\n\"You can now have nothing further to say,\" she resentfully answered. \"You have insulted me, in every possible method. I must beg to return to the house.\"\nAnd she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned back. Her Ladyship was highly incensed.\n\"You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew! Unfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider that a connection with you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?\"\n\"Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments.\"\n\"You are then resolved to have him?\"\n\"I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.\"\n\"It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world.\"\n\"Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude,\" replied Elizabeth, \"has any possible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either would be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy. And with regard to the resentment of his family, or the indignation of the world, if the former were excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment's concern--and the world in general would have too much sense to join in the scorn.\"\n\"And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but depend upon it I will carry my point.\"\nIn this manner Lady Catherine talked on till they were at the door of the carriage, when, turning hastily round, she added,--\n\"I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.\"\nElizabeth made no answer; and without attempting to persuade her Ladyship to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She heard the carriage drive away as she proceeded upstairs. Her mother impatiently met her at the door of her dressing-room, to ask why Lady Catherine would not come in again and rest herself.\n\"She did not choose it,\" said her daughter; \"she would go.\"\n\"She is a very fine-looking woman! and her calling here was prodigiously civil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the Collinses were well. She is on her road somewhere, I dare say; and so, passing through Meryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?\"\nElizabeth was forced to give in to a little falsehood here; for to acknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible.", "chosen": "Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition.\"\n\"Whatever my connections may be,\" said Elizabeth, \"if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you.\"\n\"Tell me, once for all, are you engaged to him?\"\nThough Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but say, after a moment's deliberation,--\n\"I am not.\"\nLady Catherine seemed pleased.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nDo not imagine me ignorant of their condition.\"\n\"Whatever my connections may be,\" said Elizabeth, \"if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you.\"\n\"Tell me, once for all, are you engaged to him?\"\nThough Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but say, after a moment's deliberation,--\n\"I am not.\"\nLady Catherine seemed pleased.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-1342-056-01-436fa44c", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"And Grigory—Grigory Vassilyevitch—sticks to his story that the door was open, persists that he saw it—there's no shaking him. I went and talked to him myself. He's rude about it, too.\"\n\"Yes, that's perhaps the strongest evidence against him,\" said Alyosha.\n\"And as for Mitya's being mad, he certainly seems like it now,\" Grushenka began with a peculiarly anxious and mysterious air. \"Do you know, Alyosha, I've been wanting to talk to you about it for a long time. I go to him every day and simply wonder at him. Tell me, now, what do you suppose he's always talking about? He talks and talks and I can make nothing of it. I fancied he was talking of something intellectual that I couldn't understand in my foolishness. Only he suddenly began talking to me about a babe—that is, about some child. 'Why is the babe poor?' he said. 'It's for that babe I am going to Siberia now. I am not a murderer, but I must go to Siberia!' What that meant, what babe, I couldn't tell for the life of me. Only I cried when he said it, because he said it so nicely. He cried himself, and I cried, too. He suddenly kissed me and made the sign of the cross over me. What did it mean, Alyosha, tell me? What is this babe?\"\n\"It must be Rakitin, who's been going to see him lately,\" smiled Alyosha, \"though ... that's not Rakitin's doing. I didn't see Mitya yesterday. I'll see him to-day.\"\n\"No, it's not Rakitin; it's his brother Ivan Fyodorovitch upsetting him. It's his going to see him, that's what it is,\" Grushenka began, and suddenly broke off. Alyosha gazed at her in amazement.\n\"Ivan's going? Has he been to see him? Mitya told me himself that Ivan hasn't been once.\"\n\"There ... there! What a girl I am! Blurting things out!\" exclaimed Grushenka, confused and suddenly blushing. \"Stay, Alyosha, hush! Since I've said so much I'll tell the whole truth—he's been to see him twice, the first directly he arrived. He galloped here from Moscow at once, of course, before I was taken ill; and the second time was a week ago. He told Mitya not to tell you about it, under any circumstances; and not to tell any one, in fact. He came secretly.\"\nAlyosha sat plunged in thought, considering something. The news evidently impressed him.\n\"Ivan doesn't talk to me of Mitya's case,\" he said slowly. \"He's said very little to me these last two months. And whenever I go to see him, he seems vexed at my coming, so I've not been to him for the last three weeks. H'm!... if he was there a week ago ... there certainly has been a change in Mitya this week.\"\n\"There has been a change,\" Grushenka assented quickly. \"They have a secret, they have a secret! Mitya told me himself there was a secret, and such a secret that Mitya can't rest. Before then, he was cheerful—and, indeed, he is cheerful now—but when he shakes his head like that, you know, and strides about the room and keeps pulling at the hair on his right temple with his right hand, I know there is something on his mind worrying him.... I know! He was cheerful before, though, indeed, he is cheerful to-day.\"\n\"But you said he was worried.\"\n\"Yes, he is worried and yet cheerful. He keeps on being irritable for a minute and then cheerful and then irritable again. And you know, Alyosha, I am constantly wondering at him—with this awful thing hanging over him, he sometimes laughs at such trifles as though he were a baby himself.\"\n\"And did he really tell you not to tell me about Ivan? Did he say, 'Don't tell him'?\"\n\"Yes, he told me, 'Don't tell him.' It's you that Mitya's most afraid of. Because it's a secret: he said himself it was a secret. Alyosha, darling, go to him and find out what their secret is and come and tell me,\" Grushenka besought him with sudden eagerness. \"Set my mind at rest that I may know the worst that's in store for me. That's why I sent for you.\"\n\"You think it's something to do with you? If it were, he wouldn't have told you there was a secret.\"\n\"I don't know. Perhaps he wants to tell me, but doesn't dare to. He warns me. There is a secret, he tells me, but he won't tell me what it is.\"\n\"What do you think yourself?\"\n\"What do I think? It's the end for me, that's what I think. They all three have been plotting my end, for Katerina's in it. It's all Katerina, it all comes from her. She is this and that, and that means that I am not. He tells me that beforehand—warns me. He is planning to throw me over, that's the whole secret. They've planned it together, the three of them—Mitya, Katerina, and Ivan Fyodorovitch. Alyosha, I've been wanting to ask you a long time. A week ago he suddenly told me that Ivan was in love with Katerina, because he often goes to see her. Did he tell me the truth or not? Tell me, on your conscience, tell me the worst.\"\n\"I won't tell you a lie. Ivan is not in love with Katerina Ivanovna, I think.\"\n\"Oh, that's what I thought! He is lying to me, shameless deceiver, that's what it is! And he was jealous of me just now, so as to put the blame on me afterwards. He is stupid, he can't disguise what he is doing; he is so open, you know.... But I'll give it to him, I'll give it to him! 'You believe I did it,' he said. He said that to me, to me. He reproached me with that! God forgive him! You wait, I'll make it hot for Katerina at the trial! I'll just say a word then ... I'll tell everything then!\"\nAnd again she cried bitterly.\n\"This I can tell you for certain, Grushenka,\" Alyosha said, getting up. \"First, that he loves you, loves you more than any one in the world, and you only, believe me. I know. I do know. The second thing is that I don't want to worm his secret out of him, but if he'll tell me of himself to-day, I shall tell him straight out that I have promised to tell you. Then I'll come to you to-day, and tell you. Only ... I fancy ... Katerina Ivanovna has nothing to do with it, and that the secret is about something else. That's certain. It isn't likely it's about Katerina Ivanovna, it seems to me. Good-by for now.\"\nAlyosha shook hands with her. Grushenka was still crying. He saw that she put little faith in his consolation, but she was better for having had her sorrow out, for having spoken of it. He was sorry to leave her in such a state of mind, but he was in haste. He had a great many things to do still.", "chosen": "[\"And Grigory\\u2014Grigory Vassilyevitch\\u2014sticks to his story that the door was open, persists that he saw it\\u2014there's no shaking him. I went and talked to him myself. He's rude about it, too.\", \"Yes, that's perhaps the strongest evidence against him,\", \"And as for Mitya's being mad, he certainly seems like it now,\", \"It must be Rakitin, who's been going to see him lately,\", \"though ... that's not Rakitin's doing. I didn't see Mitya yesterday. I'll see him to-day.\", \"No, it's not Rakitin; it's his brother Ivan Fyodorovitch upsetting him. It's his going to see him, that's what it is,\", \"Ivan's going? Has he been to see him? Mitya told me himself that Ivan hasn't been once.\", \"There ... there! What a girl I am! Blurting things out!\", \"\\nAlyosha sat plunged in thought, considering something. The news evidently impressed him.\\n\", \" he said slowly. \", \"There has been a change,\", \"But you said he was worried.\", \"And did he really tell you not to tell me about Ivan? Did he say, 'Don't tell him'?\", \" Grushenka besought him with sudden eagerness. \", \"You think it's something to do with you? If it were, he wouldn't have told you there was a secret.\", \"I don't know. Perhaps he wants to tell me, but doesn't dare to. He warns me. There is a secret, he tells me, but he won't tell me what it is.\", \"What do you think yourself?\", \"I won't tell you a lie. Ivan is not in love with Katerina Ivanovna, I think.\", \"\\nAnd again she cried bitterly.\\n\", \" Alyosha said, getting up. \"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"And Grigory\\u2014Grigory Vassilyevitch\\u2014sticks to his story that the door was open, persists that he saw it\\u2014there's no shaking him. I went and talked to him myself. He's rude about it, too.\", \"Yes, that's perhaps the strongest evidence against him,\", \"And as for Mitya's being mad, he certainly seems like it now,\", \"It must be Rakitin, who's been going to see him lately,\", \"though ... that's not Rakitin's doing. I didn't see Mitya yesterday. I'll see him to-day.\", \"No, it's not Rakitin; it's his brother Ivan Fyodorovitch upsetting him. It's his going to see him, that's what it is,\", \"Ivan's going? Has he been to see him? Mitya told me himself that Ivan hasn't been once.\", \"There ... there! What a girl I am! Blurting things out!\", \"\\nAlyosha sat plunged in thought, considering something. The news evidently impressed him.\\n\", \" he said slowly. \", \"There has been a change,\", \"But you said he was worried.\", \"And did he really tell you not to tell me about Ivan? Did he say, 'Don't tell him'?\", \" Grushenka besought him with sudden eagerness. \", \"You think it's something to do with you? If it were, he wouldn't have told you there was a secret.\", \"I don't know. Perhaps he wants to tell me, but doesn't dare to. He warns me. There is a secret, he tells me, but he won't tell me what it is.\", \"What do you think yourself?\", \"I won't tell you a lie. Ivan is not in love with Katerina Ivanovna, I think.\", \"\\nAnd again she cried bitterly.\\n\", \" Alyosha said, getting up. \"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-068-02-4d32a91c", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nWe got an old tin lantern, and a butcher-knife without any handle, and a bran-new Barlow knife worth two bits in any store, and a lot of tallow candles, and a tin candlestick, and a gourd, and a tin cup, and a ratty old bedquilt off the bed, and a reticule with needles and pins and beeswax and buttons and thread and all such truck in it, and a hatchet and some nails, and a fishline as thick as my little finger with some monstrous hooks on it, and a roll of buckskin, and a leather dog-collar, and a horseshoe, and some vials of medicine that didn't have no label on them; and just as we was leaving I found a tolerable good curry-comb, and Jim he found a ratty old fiddle-bow, and a wooden leg. The straps was broke off of it, but, barring that, it was a good enough leg, though it was too long for me and not long enough for Jim, and we couldn't find the other one, though we hunted all around.\nAnd so, take it all around, we made a good haul. When we was ready to shove off we was a quarter of a mile below the island, and it was pretty broad day; so I made Jim lay down in the canoe and cover up with the quilt, because if he set up people could tell he was a nigger a good ways off. I paddled over to the Illinois shore, and drifted down most a half a mile doing it. I crept up the dead water under the bank, and hadn't no accidents and didn't see nobody. We got home all safe.", "chosen": "safe", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nsafe\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-009-01-9955e989", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nSyme was as certain that he had stuck his blade into his enemy as a gardener that he has stuck his spade into the ground. Yet the Marquis sprang back from the stroke without a stagger, and Syme stood staring at his own sword-point like an idiot. There was no blood on it at all.\nThere was an instant of rigid silence, and then Syme in his turn fell furiously on the other, filled with a flaming curiosity. The Marquis was probably, in a general sense, a better fencer than he, as he had surmised at the beginning, but at the moment the Marquis seemed distraught and at a disadvantage. He fought wildly and even weakly, and he constantly looked away at the railway line, almost as if he feared the train more than the pointed steel. Syme, on the other hand, fought fiercely but still carefully, in an intellectual fury, eager to solve the riddle of his own bloodless sword. For this purpose, he aimed less at the Marquis's body, and more at his throat and head. A minute and a half afterwards he felt his point enter the man's neck below the jaw. It came out clean. Half mad, he thrust again, and made what should have been a bloody scar on the Marquis's cheek. But there was no scar.\nFor one moment the heaven of Syme again grew black with supernatural terrors. Surely the man had a charmed life. But this new spiritual dread was a more awful thing than had been the mere spiritual topsy-turvydom symbolised by the paralytic who pursued him. The Professor was only a goblin; this man was a devil—perhaps he was the Devil! Anyhow, this was certain, that three times had a human sword been driven into him and made no mark. When Syme had that thought he drew himself up, and all that was good in him sang high up in the air as a high wind sings in the trees. He thought of all the human things in his story—of the Chinese lanterns in Saffron Park, of the girl's red hair in the garden, of the honest, beer-swilling sailors down by the dock, of his loyal companions standing by. Perhaps he had been chosen as a champion of all these fresh and kindly things to cross swords with the enemy of all creation. \"After all,\" he said to himself, \"I am more than a devil; I am a man. I can do the one thing which Satan himself cannot do—I can die,\" and as the word went through his head, he heard a faint and far-off hoot, which would soon be the roar of the Paris train.\nHe fell to fighting again with a supernatural levity, like a Mohammedan panting for Paradise. As the train came nearer and nearer he fancied he could see people putting up the floral arches in Paris; he joined in the growing noise and the glory of the great Republic whose gate he was guarding against Hell. His thoughts rose higher and higher with the rising roar of the train, which ended, as if proudly, in a long and piercing whistle. The train stopped.\nSuddenly, to the astonishment of everyone the Marquis sprang back quite out of sword reach and threw down his sword. The leap was wonderful, and not the less wonderful because Syme had plunged his sword a moment before into the man's thigh.\n\"Stop!\" said the Marquis in a voice that compelled a momentary obedience. \"I want to say something.\"\n\"What is the matter?\" asked Colonel Ducroix, staring. \"Has there been foul play?\"\n\"There has been foul play somewhere,\" said Dr. Bull, who was a little pale. \"Our principal has wounded the Marquis four times at least, and he is none the worse.\"\nThe Marquis put up his hand with a curious air of ghastly patience.\n\"Please let me speak,\" he said. \"It is rather important. Mr. Syme,\" he continued, turning to his opponent, \"we are fighting today, if I remember right, because you expressed a wish (which I thought irrational) to pull my nose. Would you oblige me by pulling my nose now as quickly as possible? I have to catch a train.\"\n\"I protest that this is most irregular,\" said Dr. Bull indignantly.\n\"It is certainly somewhat opposed to precedent,\" said Colonel Ducroix, looking wistfully at his principal. \"There is, I think, one case on record (Captain Bellegarde and the Baron Zumpt) in which the weapons were changed in the middle of the encounter at the request of one of the combatants. But one can hardly call one's nose a weapon.\"\n\"Will you or will you not pull my nose?\" said the Marquis in exasperation. \"Come, come, Mr. Syme! You wanted to do it, do it! You can have no conception of how important it is to me. Don't be so selfish! Pull my nose at once, when I ask you!\" and he bent slightly forward with a fascinating smile. The Paris train, panting and groaning, had grated into a little station behind the neighbouring hill.\nSyme had the feeling he had more than once had in these adventures—the sense that a horrible and sublime wave lifted to heaven was just toppling over. Walking in a world he half understood, he took two paces forward and seized the Roman nose of this remarkable nobleman. He pulled it hard, and it came off in his hand.\nHe stood for some seconds with a foolish solemnity, with the pasteboard proboscis still between his fingers, looking at it, while the sun and the clouds and the wooded hills looked down upon this imbecile scene.\nThe Marquis broke the silence in a loud and cheerful voice.\n\"If anyone has any use for my left eyebrow,\" he said, \"he can have it. Colonel Ducroix, do accept my left eyebrow! It's the kind of thing that might come in useful any day,\" and he gravely tore off one of his swarthy Assyrian brows, bringing about half his brown forehead with it, and politely offered it to the Colonel, who stood crimson and speechless with rage.\n\"If I had known,\" he spluttered, \"that I was acting for a poltroon who pads himself to fight—\"\n\"Oh, I know, I know!\" said the Marquis, recklessly throwing various parts of himself right and left about the field. \"You are making a mistake; but it can't be explained just now. I tell you the train has come into the station!\"\n\"Yes,\" said Dr. Bull fiercely, \"and the train shall go out of the station. It shall go out without you. We know well enough for what devil's work—\"\nThe mysterious Marquis lifted his hands with a desperate gesture. He was a strange scarecrow standing there in the sun with half his old face peeled off, and half another face glaring and grinning from underneath.\n\"Will you drive me mad?\" he cried. \"The train—\"\n\"You shall not go by the train,\" said Syme firmly, and grasped his sword.\nThe wild figure turned towards Syme, and seemed to be gathering itself for a sublime effort before speaking.\n\"You great fat, blasted, blear-eyed, blundering, thundering, brainless, Godforsaken, doddering, damned fool!\" he said without taking breath. \"You great silly, pink-faced, towheaded turnip! You—\"\n\"You shall not go by this train,\" repeated Syme.\n\"And why the infernal blazes,\" roared the other, \"should I want to go by the train?\"\n\"We know all,\" said the Professor sternly. \"You are going to Paris to throw a bomb!\"\n\"Going to Jericho to throw a Jabberwock!\" cried the other, tearing his hair, which came off easily. \"Have you all got softening of the brain, that you don't realise what I am? Did you really think I wanted to catch that train? Twenty Paris trains might go by for me. Damn Paris trains!\"\n\"Then what did you care about?\" began the Professor.\n\"What did I care about? I didn't care about catching the train; I cared about whether the train caught me, and now, by God! it has caught me.\"", "chosen": "[\"Marquis\", \"Syme\", \"Professor\", \"Devil\", \"Chinese\", \"Saffron\", \"Park\", \"After\", \"Satan\", \"Paris\", \"Mohammedan\", \"Paradise\", \"Republic\", \"Hell\", \"Stop\", \"Colonel\", \"Ducroix\", \"Has\", \"Our\", \"Please\", \"Bellegarde\", \"Baron\", \"Zumpt\", \"Will\", \"Come\", \"Roman\", \"Assyrian\", \"Godforsaken\", \"Going\", \"Jericho\", \"Jabberwock\", \"Have\", \"God\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Marquis\", \"Syme\", \"Professor\", \"Devil\", \"Chinese\", \"Saffron\", \"Park\", \"After\", \"Satan\", \"Paris\", \"Mohammedan\", \"Paradise\", \"Republic\", \"Hell\", \"Stop\", \"Colonel\", \"Ducroix\", \"Has\", \"Our\", \"Please\", \"Bellegarde\", \"Baron\", \"Zumpt\", \"Will\", \"Come\", \"Roman\", \"Assyrian\", \"Godforsaken\", \"Going\", \"Jericho\", \"Jabberwock\", \"Have\", \"God\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1695-010-02-7a2ff668", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe Miss Dashwoods had now been rather more than two months in town, and Marianne's impatience to be gone increased every day. She sighed for the air, the liberty, the quiet of the country; and fancied that if any place could give her ease, Barton must do it. Elinor was hardly less anxious than herself for their removal, and only so much less bent on its being effected immediately, as that she was conscious of the difficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be brought to acknowledge. She began, however, seriously to turn her thoughts towards its accomplishment, and had already mentioned their wishes to their kind hostess, who resisted them with all the eloquence of her good-will, when a plan was suggested, which, though detaining them from home yet a few weeks longer, appeared to Elinor altogether much more eligible than any other. The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland about the end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, with both her friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte to go with them. This would not, in itself, have been sufficient for the delicacy of Miss Dashwood;--but it was enforced with so much real politeness by Mr. Palmer himself, as, joined to the very great amendment of his manners towards them since her sister had been known to be unhappy, induced her to accept it with pleasure.\nWhen she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was not very auspicious.\n\"Cleveland!\"--she cried, with great agitation. \"No, I cannot go to Cleveland.\"--\n\"You forget,\" said Elinor gently, \"that its situation is not--that it is not in the neighbourhood of--\"\n\"But it is in Somersetshire. I cannot go into Somersetshire. There, where I looked forward to going;--no, Elinor, you cannot expect me to go there.\"\nElinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such feelings;--she only endeavoured to counteract them by working on others;--represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the time of her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to see, in a more eligible, more comfortable manner, than any other plan could do, and perhaps without any greater delay. From Cleveland, which was within a few miles of Bristol, the distance to Barton was not beyond one day, though a long day's journey; and their mother's servant might easily come there to attend them down; and as there could be no occasion of their staying above a week at Cleveland, they might now be at home in little more than three weeks' time. As Marianne's affection for her mother was sincere, it must triumph with little difficulty, over the imaginary evils she had started.\nMrs. Jennings was so far from being weary of her guest, that she pressed them very earnestly to return with her again from Cleveland. Elinor was grateful for the attention, but it could not alter her design; and their mother's concurrence being readily gained, every thing relative to their return was arranged as far as it could be;--and Marianne found some relief in drawing up a statement of the hours that were yet to divide her from Barton.\n\"Ah! Colonel, I do not know what you and I shall do without the Miss Dashwoods;\"--was Mrs. Jennings's address to him when he first called on her, after their leaving her was settled--\"for they are quite resolved upon going home from the Palmers;--and how forlorn we shall be, when I come back!--Lord! we shall sit and gape at one another as dull as two cats.\"\nPerhaps Mrs. Jennings was in hopes, by this vigorous sketch of their future ennui, to provoke him to make that offer, which might give himself an escape from it; and if so, she had soon afterwards good reason to think her object gained; for, on Elinor's moving to the window to take more expeditiously the dimensions of a print, which she was going to copy for her friend, he followed her to it with a look of particular meaning, and conversed with her there for several minutes. The effect of his discourse on the lady too, could not escape her observation, for though she was too honorable to listen, and had even changed her seat, on purpose that she might not hear, to one close by the piano forte on which Marianne was playing, she could not keep herself from seeing that Elinor changed colour, attended with agitation, and was too intent on what he said to pursue her employment. Still farther in confirmation of her hopes, in the interval of Marianne's turning from one lesson to another, some words of the Colonel's inevitably reached her ear, in which he seemed to be apologising for the badness of his house. This set the matter beyond a doubt. She wondered, indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so; but supposed it to be the proper etiquette. What Elinor said in reply she could not distinguish, but judged from the motion of her lips, that she did not think that any material objection;--and Mrs. Jennings commended her in her heart for being so honest. They then talked on for a few minutes longer without her catching a syllable, when another lucky stop in Marianne's performance brought her these words in the Colonel's calm voice,--\n\"I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.\"\nAstonished and shocked at so unlover-like a speech, she was almost ready to cry out, \"Lord! what should hinder it?\"--but checking her desire, confined herself to this silent ejaculation.\n\"This is very strange!--sure he need not wait to be older.\"\nThis delay on the Colonel's side, however, did not seem to offend or mortify his fair companion in the least, for on their breaking up the conference soon afterwards, and moving different ways, Mrs. Jennings very plainly heard Elinor say, and with a voice which showed her to feel what she said--\n\"I shall always think myself very much obliged to you.\"\nMrs. Jennings was delighted with her gratitude, and only wondered that after hearing such a sentence, the Colonel should be able to take leave of them, as he immediately did, with the utmost sang-froid, and go away without making her any reply!--She had not thought her old friend could have made so indifferent a suitor.\nWhat had really passed between them was to this effect.\n\"I have heard,\" said he, with great compassion, \"of the injustice your friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for if I understand the matter right, he has been entirely cast off by them for persevering in his engagement with a very deserving young woman. Have I been rightly informed?--Is it so?--\"\nElinor told him that it was.\n\"The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,\"--he replied, with great feeling,--\"of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached to each other, is terrible. Mrs. Ferrars does not know what she may be doing--what she may drive her son to. I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more. I understand that he intends to take orders. Will you be so good as to tell him that the living of Delaford, now just vacant, as I am informed by this day's post, is his, if he think it worth his acceptance--but that, perhaps, so unfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be nonsense to appear to doubt; I only wish it were more valuable. It is a rectory, but a small one; the late incumbent, I believe, did not make more than 200 L per annum, and though it is certainly capable of improvement, I fear, not to such an amount as to afford him a very comfortable income. Such as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting him to it, will be very great. Pray assure him of it.\"", "chosen": "The, She, Elinor, She, The, Jennings,, This, Palmer, When, Cleveland!\"--she, No,, I, There,, From, As, Mrs., Jennings, Elinor, Ah!, Colonel,, Jennings's, we, Jennings, The, Still, This, She, What, Jennings, They, what, This, Jennings, Jennings, What, I, Ferrars, Have, The, Mrs., Ferrars, I, Ferrars, He, I, Will, It, Such, Pray", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nThe, She, Elinor, She, The, Jennings,, This, Palmer, When, Cleveland!\"--she, No,, I, There,, From, As, Mrs., Jennings, Elinor, Ah!, Colonel,, Jennings's, we, Jennings, The, Still, This, She, What, Jennings, They, what, This, Jennings, Jennings, What, I, Ferrars, Have, The, Mrs., Ferrars, I, Ferrars, He, I, Will, It, Such, Pray\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-039-00-83b48d27", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n'I aim at nothing less than the dignity and office of Astronomer Royal, if I live. Perhaps I shall not live.'\n'I don't see why you should suppose that,' said she. 'How long are you going to make this your observatory?'\n'About a year longer--till I have obtained a practical familiarity with the heavens. Ah, if I only had a good equatorial!'\n'What is that?'\n'A proper instrument for my pursuit. But time is short, and science is infinite,--how infinite only those who study astronomy fully realize,--and perhaps I shall be worn out before I make my mark.'\nShe seemed to be greatly struck by the odd mixture in him of scientific earnestness and melancholy mistrust of all things human. Perhaps it was owing to the nature of his studies.\n'You are often on this tower alone at night?' she said.\n'Yes; at this time of the year particularly, and while there is no moon. I observe from seven or eight till about two in the morning, with a view to my great work on variable stars. But with such a telescope as this--well, I must put up with it!'\n'Can you see Saturn's ring and Jupiter's moons?'\nHe said drily that he could manage to do that, not without some contempt for the state of her knowledge.\n'I have never seen any planet or star through a telescope.'\n'If you will come the first clear night, Lady Constantine, I will show you any number. I mean, at your express wish; not otherwise.'\n'I should like to come, and possibly may at some time. These stars that vary so much--sometimes evening stars, sometimes morning stars, sometimes in the east, and sometimes in the west--have always interested me.'\n'Ah--now there is a reason for your not coming. Your ignorance of the realities of astronomy is so satisfactory that I will not disturb it except at your serious request.'\n'But I wish to be enlightened.'\n'Let me caution you against it.'\n'Is enlightenment on the subject, then, so terrible?'\n'Yes, indeed.'\nShe laughingly declared that nothing could have so piqued her curiosity as his statement, and turned to descend. He helped her down the stairs and through the briers. He would have gone further and crossed the open corn-land with her, but she preferred to go alone. He then retraced his way to the top of the column, but, instead of looking longer at the sun, watched her diminishing towards the distant fence, behind which waited the carriage. When in the midst of the field, a dark spot on an area of brown, there crossed her path a moving figure, whom it was as difficult to distinguish from the earth he trod as the caterpillar from its leaf, by reason of the excellent match between his clothes and the clods. He was one of a dying-out generation who retained the principle, nearly unlearnt now, that a man's habiliments should be in harmony with his environment. Lady Constantine and this figure halted beside each other for some minutes; then they went on their several ways.\nThe brown person was a labouring man known to the world of Welland as Haymoss (the encrusted form of the word Amos, to adopt the phrase of philologists). The reason of the halt had been some inquiries addressed to him by Lady Constantine.\n'Who is that--Amos Fry, I think?' she had asked.\n'Yes my lady,' said Haymoss; 'a homely barley driller, born under the eaves of your ladyship's outbuildings, in a manner of speaking,--though your ladyship was neither born nor 'tempted at that time.'\n'Who lives in the old house behind the plantation?'\n'Old Gammer Martin, my lady, and her grandson.'\n'He has neither father nor mother, then?'\n'Not a single one, my lady.'\n'Where was he educated?'\n'At Warborne,--a place where they draw up young gam'sters' brains like rhubarb under a ninepenny pan, my lady, excusing my common way. They hit so much larning into en that 'a could talk like the day of Pentecost; which is a wonderful thing for a simple boy, and his mother only the plainest ciphering woman in the world. Warborne Grammar School--that's where 'twas 'a went to. His father, the reverent Pa'son St. Cleeve, made a terrible bruckle hit in 's marrying, in the sight of the high. He were the curate here, my lady, for a length o' time.'\n'Oh, curate,' said Lady Constantine. 'It was before I knew the village.'\n'Ay, long and merry ago! And he married Farmer Martin's daughter--Giles Martin, a limberish man, who used to go rather bad upon his lags, if you can mind. I knowed the man well enough; who should know en better! The maid was a poor windling thing, and, though a playward piece o' flesh when he married her, 'a socked and sighed, and went out like a snoff! Yes, my lady. Well, when Pa'son St. Cleeve married this homespun woman the toppermost folk wouldn't speak to his wife. Then he dropped a cuss or two, and said he'd no longer get his living by curing their twopenny souls o' such d--- nonsense as that (excusing my common way), and he took to farming straightway, and then 'a dropped down dead in a nor'-west thunderstorm; it being said--hee-hee!--that Master God was in tantrums wi'en for leaving his service,--hee-hee! I give the story as I heard it, my lady, but be dazed if I believe in such trumpery about folks in the sky, nor anything else that's said on 'em, good or bad. Well, Swithin, the boy, was sent to the grammar school, as I say for; but what with having two stations of life in his blood he's good for nothing, my lady. He mopes about--sometimes here, and sometimes there; nobody troubles about en.'\nLady Constantine thanked her informant, and proceeded onward. To her, as a woman, the most curious feature in the afternoon's incident was that this lad, of striking beauty, scientific attainments, and cultivated bearing, should be linked, on the maternal side, with a local agricultural family through his father's matrimonial eccentricity. A more attractive feature in the case was that the same youth, so capable of being ruined by flattery, blandishment, pleasure, even gross prosperity, should be at present living on in a primitive Eden of unconsciousness, with aims towards whose accomplishment a Caliban shape would have been as effective as his own.", "chosen": "42", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n42\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-3146-001-02-b29e03a3", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nBut I came away from the theater that night disappointed and offended; for I had had no glimpse of my hero, and his name was not in the bills. I met him on the street the next morning, and before I could speak, he asked--\n'Did you see me?'\n'No, you weren't there.'\nHe looked surprised and disappointed. He said--\n'Yes, I was. Indeed I was. I was a Roman soldier.'\n'Which one?'\n'Why didn't you see them Roman soldiers that stood back there in a rank, and sometimes marched in procession around the stage?'\n'Do you mean the Roman army?--those six sandaled roustabouts in nightshirts, with tin shields and helmets, that marched around treading on each other's heels, in charge of a spider-legged consumptive dressed like themselves?'\n'That's it! that's it! I was one of them Roman soldiers. I was the next to the last one. A half a year ago I used to always be the last one; but I've been promoted.'\nWell, they told me that that poor fellow remained a Roman soldier to the last--a matter of thirty-four years. Sometimes they cast him for a 'speaking part,' but not an elaborate one. He could be trusted to go and say, 'My lord, the carriage waits,' but if they ventured to add a sentence or two to this, his memory felt the strain and he was likely to miss fire. Yet, poor devil, he had been patiently studying the part of Hamlet for more than thirty years, and he lived and died in the belief that some day he would be invited to play it!\nAnd this is what came of that fleeting visit of those young Englishmen to our village such ages and ages ago! What noble horseshoes this man might have made, but for those Englishmen; and what an inadequate Roman soldier he _did _make!\nA day or two after we reached St. Louis, I was walking along Fourth Street when a grizzly-headed man gave a sort of start as he passed me, then stopped, came back, inspected me narrowly, with a clouding brow, and finally said with deep asperity--\n'Look here, have you got that drink yet?'\nA maniac, I judged, at first. But all in a flash I recognized him. I made an effort to blush that strained every muscle in me, and answered as sweetly and winningly as ever I knew how--\n'Been a little slow, but am just this minute closing in on the place where they keep it. Come in and help.'\nHe softened, and said make it a bottle of champagne and he was agreeable. He said he had seen my name in the papers, and had put all his affairs aside and turned out, resolved to find me or die; and make me answer that question satisfactorily, or kill me; though the most of his late asperity had been rather counterfeit than otherwise.\nThis meeting brought back to me the St. Louis riots of about thirty years ago. I spent a week there, at that time, in a boarding-house, and had this young fellow for a neighbor across the hall. We saw some of the fightings and killings; and by and by we went one night to an armory where two hundred young men had met, upon call, to be armed and go forth against the rioters, under command of a military man. We drilled till about ten o'clock at night; then news came that the mob were in great force in the lower end of the town, and were sweeping everything before them. Our column moved at once. It was a very hot night, and my musket was very heavy. We marched and marched; and the nearer we approached the seat of war, the hotter I grew and the thirstier I got. I was behind my friend; so, finally, I asked him to hold my musket while I dropped out and got a drink. Then I branched off and went home. I was not feeling any solicitude about him of course, because I knew he was so well armed, now, that he could take care of himself without any trouble. If I had had any doubts about that, I would have borrowed another musket for him. I left the city pretty early the next morning, and if this grizzled man had not happened to encounter my name in the papers the other day in St. Louis, and felt moved to seek me out, I should have carried to my grave a heart-torturing uncertainty as to whether he ever got out of the riots all right or not. I ought to have inquired, thirty years ago; I know that. And I would have inquired, if I had had the muskets; but, in the circumstances, he seemed better fixed to conduct the investigations than I was.\nOne Monday, near the time of our visit to St. Louis, the 'Globe-Democrat' came out with a couple of pages of Sunday statistics, whereby it appeared that 119,448 St. Louis people attended the morning and evening church services the day before, and 23,102 children attended Sunday-school. Thus 142,550 persons, out of the city's total of 400,000 population, respected the day religious-wise. I found these statistics, in a condensed form, in a telegram of the Associated Press, and preserved them. They made it apparent that St. Louis was in a higher state of grace than she could have claimed to be in my time. But now that I canvass the figures narrowly, I suspect that the telegraph mutilated them. It cannot be that there are more than 150,000 Catholics in the town; the other 250,000 must be classified as Protestants. Out of these 250,000, according to this questionable telegram, only 26,362 attended church and Sunday-school, while out of the 150,000 Catholics, 116,188 went to church and Sunday-school.", "chosen": "I was a Roman soldier.'\n'Which one?'\n'Why didn't you see them Roman soldiers that stood back there in a rank, and sometimes marched in procession around the stage?'\n'Do you mean the Roman army?--those six sandaled roustabouts in nightshirts, with tin shields and helmets, that marched around treading on each other's heels, in charge of a spider-legged consumptive dressed like themselves?'\n'That's it!", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nI was a Roman soldier.'\n'Which one?'\n'Why didn't you see them Roman soldiers that stood back there in a rank, and sometimes marched in procession around the stage?'\n'Do you mean the Roman army?--those six sandaled roustabouts in nightshirts, with tin shields and helmets, that marched around treading on each other's heels, in charge of a spider-legged consumptive dressed like themselves?'\n'That's it!\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-245-050-01-c251daba", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nBut something silenced the word on his lips. A sort of passionate honesty in her made it inconceivable that he should try to draw her into that familiar trap. \"If I were to let her come,\" he said to himself, \"I should have to let her go again.\" And that was not to be imagined.\nBut he saw the shadow of the lashes on her wet cheek, and wavered.\n\"After all,\" he began again, \"we have lives of our own.... There's no use attempting the impossible. You're so unprejudiced about some things, so used, as you say, to looking at the Gorgon, that I don't know why you're afraid to face our case, and see it as it really is--unless you think the sacrifice is not worth making.\"\nShe stood up also, her lips tightening under a rapid frown.\n\"Call it that, then--I must go,\" she said, drawing her little watch from her bosom.\nShe turned away, and he followed and caught her by the wrist. \"Well, then: come to me once,\" he said, his head turning suddenly at the thought of losing her; and for a second or two they looked at each other almost like enemies.\n\"When?\" he insisted. \"Tomorrow?\"\nShe hesitated. \"The day after.\"\n\"Dearest--!\" he said again.\nShe had disengaged her wrist; but for a moment they continued to hold each other's eyes, and he saw that her face, which had grown very pale, was flooded with a deep inner radiance. His heart beat with awe: he felt that he had never before beheld love visible.\n\"Oh, I shall be late--good-bye. No, don't come any farther than this,\" she cried, walking hurriedly away down the long room, as if the reflected radiance in his eyes had frightened her. When she reached the door she turned for a moment to wave a quick farewell.\nArcher walked home alone. Darkness was falling when he let himself into his house, and he looked about at the familiar objects in the hall as if he viewed them from the other side of the grave.\nThe parlour-maid, hearing his step, ran up the stairs to light the gas on the upper landing.\n\"Is Mrs. Archer in?\"\n\"No, sir; Mrs. Archer went out in the carriage after luncheon, and hasn't come back.\"\nWith a sense of relief he entered the library and flung himself down in his armchair. The parlour-maid followed, bringing the student lamp and shaking some coals onto the dying fire. When she left he continued to sit motionless, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his clasped hands, his eyes fixed on the red grate.\nHe sat there without conscious thoughts, without sense of the lapse of time, in a deep and grave amazement that seemed to suspend life rather than quicken it. \"This was what had to be, then ... this was what had to be,\" he kept repeating to himself, as if he hung in the clutch of doom. What he had dreamed of had been so different that there was a mortal chill in his rapture.\nThe door opened and May came in.\n\"I'm dreadfully late--you weren't worried, were you?\" she asked, laying her hand on his shoulder with one of her rare caresses.\nHe looked up astonished. \"Is it late?\"\n\"After seven. I believe you've been asleep!\" She laughed, and drawing out her hat pins tossed her velvet hat on the sofa. She looked paler than usual, but sparkling with an unwonted animation.\n\"I went to see Granny, and just as I was going away Ellen came in from a walk; so I stayed and had a long talk with her. It was ages since we'd had a real talk....\" She had dropped into her usual armchair, facing his, and was running her fingers through her rumpled hair. He fancied she expected him to speak.\n\"A really good talk,\" she went on, smiling with what seemed to Archer an unnatural vividness. \"She was so dear--just like the old Ellen. I'm afraid I haven't been fair to her lately. I've sometimes thought--\"\nArcher stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece, out of the radius of the lamp.\n\"Yes, you've thought--?\" he echoed as she paused.\n\"Well, perhaps I haven't judged her fairly. She's so different--at least on the surface. She takes up such odd people--she seems to like to make herself conspicuous. I suppose it's the life she's led in that fast European society; no doubt we seem dreadfully dull to her. But I don't want to judge her unfairly.\"\nShe paused again, a little breathless with the unwonted length of her speech, and sat with her lips slightly parted and a deep blush on her cheeks.\nArcher, as he looked at her, was reminded of the glow which had suffused her face in the Mission Garden at St. Augustine. He became aware of the same obscure effort in her, the same reaching out toward something beyond the usual range of her vision.\n\"She hates Ellen,\" he thought, \"and she's trying to overcome the feeling, and to get me to help her to overcome it.\"\nThe thought moved him, and for a moment he was on the point of breaking the silence between them, and throwing himself on her mercy.\n\"You understand, don't you,\" she went on, \"why the family have sometimes been annoyed? We all did what we could for her at first; but she never seemed to understand. And now this idea of going to see Mrs. Beaufort, of going there in Granny's carriage! I'm afraid she's quite alienated the van der Luydens ...\"\n\"Ah,\" said Archer with an impatient laugh. The open door had closed between them again.\n\"It's time to dress; we're dining out, aren't we?\" he asked, moving from the fire.\nShe rose also, but lingered near the hearth. As he walked past her she moved forward impulsively, as though to detain him: their eyes met, and he saw that hers were of the same swimming blue as when he had left her to drive to Jersey City.\nShe flung her arms about his neck and pressed her cheek to his.\n\"You haven't kissed me today,\" she said in a whisper; and he felt her tremble in his arms.\n\"At the court of the Tuileries,\" said Mr. Sillerton Jackson with his reminiscent smile, \"such things were pretty openly tolerated.\"\nThe scene was the van der Luydens' black walnut dining-room in Madison Avenue, and the time the evening after Newland Archer's visit to the Museum of Art. Mr. and Mrs. van der Luyden had come to town for a few days from Skuytercliff, whither they had precipitately fled at the announcement of Beaufort's failure. It had been represented to them that the disarray into which society had been thrown by this deplorable affair made their presence in town more necessary than ever. It was one of the occasions when, as Mrs. Archer put it, they \"owed it to society\" to show themselves at the Opera, and even to open their own doors.\n\"It will never do, my dear Louisa, to let people like Mrs. Lemuel Struthers think they can step into Regina's shoes. It is just at such times that new people push in and get a footing. It was owing to the epidemic of chicken-pox in New York the winter Mrs. Struthers first appeared that the married men slipped away to her house while their wives were in the nursery. You and dear Henry, Louisa, must stand in the breach as you always have.\"\nMr. and Mrs. van der Luyden could not remain deaf to such a call, and reluctantly but heroically they had come to town, unmuffled the house, and sent out invitations for two dinners and an evening reception.\nOn this particular evening they had invited Sillerton Jackson, Mrs. Archer and Newland and his wife to go with them to the Opera, where Faust was being sung for the first time that winter. Nothing was done without ceremony under the van der Luyden roof, and though there were but four guests the repast had begun at seven punctually, so that the proper sequence of courses might be served without haste before the gentlemen settled down to their cigars.", "chosen": "cigars", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\ncigars\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-541-014-02-3b8500b0", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe thing that reminded me of it now, when I was alone at the wheel, was the spectacle of this young fellow standing in the pilot-house door, with the knob in his hand, silently and severely inspecting me. I don't know when I have seen anybody look so injured as he did. He did not say anything--simply stood there and looked; reproachfully looked and pondered. Finally he shut the door, and started away; halted on the texas a minute; came slowly back and stood in the door again, with that grieved look in his face; gazed upon me awhile in meek rebuke, then said--\n'You let me learn you all about a steamboat, didn't you?'\n'Yes,' I confessed.\n'Yes, you did--didn't you?'\n'Yes.'\n'You are the feller that--that--'\nLanguage failed. Pause--impotent struggle for further words--then he gave it up, choked out a deep, strong oath, and departed for good. Afterward I saw him several times below during the trip; but he was cold--would not look at me. Idiot, if he had not been in such a sweat to play his witless practical joke upon me, in the beginning, I would have persuaded his thoughts into some other direction, and saved him from committing that wanton and silly impoliteness.\nI had myself called with the four o'clock watch, mornings, for one cannot see too many summer sunrises on the Mississippi. They are enchanting. First, there is the eloquence of silence; for a deep hush broods everywhere. Next, there is the haunting sense of loneliness, isolation, remoteness from the worry and bustle of the world. The dawn creeps in stealthily; the solid walls of black forest soften to gray, and vast stretches of the river open up and reveal themselves; the water is glass-smooth, gives off spectral little wreaths of white mist, there is not the faintest breath of wind, nor stir of leaf; the tranquillity is profound and infinitely satisfying. Then a bird pipes up, another follows, and soon the pipings develop into a jubilant riot of music. You see none of the birds; you simply move through an atmosphere of song which seems to sing itself. When the light has become a little stronger, you have one of the fairest and softest pictures imaginable. You have the intense green of the massed and crowded foliage near by; you see it paling shade by shade in front of you; upon the next projecting cape, a mile off or more, the tint has lightened to the tender young green of spring; the cape beyond that one has almost lost color, and the furthest one, miles away under the horizon, sleeps upon the water a mere dim vapor, and hardly separable from the sky above it and about it. And all this stretch of river is a mirror, and you have the shadowy reflections of the leafage and the curving shores and the receding capes pictured in it. Well, that is all beautiful; soft and rich and beautiful; and when the sun gets well up, and distributes a pink flush here and a powder of gold yonder and a purple haze where it will yield the best effect, you grant that you have seen something that is worth remembering.\nWe had the Kentucky Bend country in the early morning--scene of a strange and tragic accident in the old times, Captain Poe had a small stern-wheel boat, for years the home of himself and his wife. One night the boat struck a snag in the head of Kentucky Bend, and sank with astonishing suddenness; water already well above the cabin floor when the captain got aft. So he cut into his wife's state-room from above with an ax; she was asleep in the upper berth, the roof a flimsier one than was supposed; the first blow crashed down through the rotten boards and clove her skull.\nThis bend is all filled up now--result of a cut-off; and the same agent has taken the great and once much-frequented Walnut Bend, and set it away back in a solitude far from the accustomed track of passing steamers.\nHelena we visited, and also a town I had not heard of before, it being of recent birth--Arkansas City. It was born of a railway; the Little Rock, Mississippi River and Texas Railroad touches the river there. We asked a passenger who belonged there what sort of a place it was. 'Well,' said he, after considering, and with the air of one who wishes to take time and be accurate, 'It's a hell of a place.' A description which was photographic for exactness. There were several rows and clusters of shabby frame-houses, and a supply of mud sufficient to insure the town against a famine in that article for a hundred years; for the overflow had but lately subsided. There were stagnant ponds in the streets, here and there, and a dozen rude scows were scattered about, lying aground wherever they happened to have been when the waters drained off and people could do their visiting and shopping on foot once more. Still, it is a thriving place, with a rich country behind it, an elevator in front of it, and also a fine big mill for the manufacture of cotton-seed oil. I had never seen this kind of a mill before.\nCotton-seed was comparatively valueless in my time; but it is worth $12 or $13 a ton now, and none of it is thrown away. The oil made from it is colorless, tasteless, and almost if not entirely odorless. It is claimed that it can, by proper manipulation, be made to resemble and perform the office of any and all oils, and be produced at a cheaper rate than the cheapest of the originals. Sagacious people shipped it to Italy, doctored it, labeled it, and brought it back as olive oil. This trade grew to be so formidable that Italy was obliged to put a prohibitory impost upon it to keep it from working serious injury to her oil industry.\nHelena occupies one of the prettiest situations on the Mississippi. Her perch is the last, the southernmost group of hills which one sees on that side of the river. In its normal condition it is a pretty town; but the flood (or possibly the seepage) had lately been ravaging it; whole streets of houses had been invaded by the muddy water, and the outsides of the buildings were still belted with a broad stain extending upwards from the foundations. Stranded and discarded scows lay all about; plank sidewalks on stilts four feet high were still standing; the board sidewalks on the ground level were loose and ruinous,--a couple of men trotting along them could make a blind man think a cavalry charge was coming; everywhere the mud was black and deep, and in many places malarious pools of stagnant water were standing. A Mississippi inundation is the next most wasting and desolating infliction to a fire.\nWe had an enjoyable time here, on this sunny Sunday: two full hours' liberty ashore while the boat discharged freight. In the back streets but few white people were visible, but there were plenty of colored folk--mainly women and girls; and almost without exception upholstered in bright new clothes of swell and elaborate style and cut--a glaring and hilarious contrast to the mournful mud and the pensive puddles.\nHelena is the second town in Arkansas, in point of population--which is placed at five thousand. The country about it is exceptionally productive. Helena has a good cotton trade; handles from forty to sixty thousand bales annually; she has a large lumber and grain commerce; has a foundry, oil mills, machine shops and wagon factories--in brief has $1,000,000 invested in manufacturing industries. She has two railways, and is the commercial center of a broad and prosperous region. Her gross receipts of money, annually, from all sources, are placed by the New Orleans 'Times-Democrat' at $4,000,000.", "chosen": "[\"Mississippi\", \"Kentucky\", \"Bend\", \"Poe\", \"Walnut\", \"City\", \"Little\", \"Rock\", \"River\", \"Texas\", \"Railroad\", \"Italy\", \"Sunday\", \"Arkansas\", \"New\", \"Orleans\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Mississippi\", \"Kentucky\", \"Bend\", \"Poe\", \"Walnut\", \"City\", \"Little\", \"Rock\", \"River\", \"Texas\", \"Railroad\", \"Italy\", \"Sunday\", \"Arkansas\", \"New\", \"Orleans\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-245-030-01-d3ee735c", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe old man was uptown again before breakfast, but couldn't get no track of Tom; and both of them set at the table thinking, and not saying nothing, and looking mournful, and their coffee getting cold, and not eating anything. And by-and-by the old man says:\n\"Did I give you the letter?\"\n\"What letter?\"\n\"The one I got yesterday out of the post-office.\"\n\"No, you didn't give me no letter.\"\n\"Well, I must a forgot it.\"\nSo he rummaged his pockets, and then went off somewheres where he had laid it down, and fetched it, and give it to her. She says:\n\"Why, it's from St. Petersburg—it's from Sis.\"\nI allowed another walk would do me good; but I couldn't stir. But before she could break it open she dropped it and run—for she see something. And so did I. It was Tom Sawyer on a mattress; and that old doctor; and Jim, in her calico dress, with his hands tied behind him; and a lot of people. I hid the letter behind the first thing that come handy, and rushed. She flung herself at Tom, crying, and says:\n\"Oh, he's dead, he's dead, I know he's dead!\"\nAnd Tom he turned his head a little, and muttered something or other, which showed he warn't in his right mind; then she flung up her hands, and says:\n\"He's alive, thank God! And that's enough!\" and she snatched a kiss of him, and flew for the house to get the bed ready, and scattering orders right and left at the niggers and everybody else, as fast as her tongue could go, every jump of the way.\nI followed the men to see what they was going to do with Jim; and the old doctor and Uncle Silas followed after Tom into the house. The men was very huffy, and some of them wanted to hang Jim for an example to all the other niggers around there, so they wouldn't be trying to run away like Jim done, and making such a raft of trouble, and keeping a whole family scared most to death for days and nights. But the others said, don't do it, it wouldn't answer at all; he ain't our nigger, and his owner would turn up and make us pay for him, sure. So that cooled them down a little, because the people that's always the most anxious for to hang a nigger that hain't done just right is always the very ones that ain't the most anxious to pay for him when they've got their satisfaction out of him.\nThey cussed Jim considerble, though, and give him a cuff or two side the head once in a while, but Jim never said nothing, and he never let on to know me, and they took him to the same cabin, and put his own clothes on him, and chained him again, and not to no bed-leg this time, but to a big staple drove into the bottom log, and chained his hands, too, and both legs, and said he warn't to have nothing but bread and water to eat after this till his owner come, or he was sold at auction because he didn't come in a certain length of time, and filled up our hole, and said a couple of farmers with guns must stand watch around about the cabin every night, and a bulldog tied to the door in the daytime; and about this time they was through with the job and was tapering off with a kind of generl good-bye cussing, and then the old doctor comes and takes a look, and says:\n\"Don't be no rougher on him than you're obleeged to, because he ain't a bad nigger. When I got to where I found the boy I see I couldn't cut the bullet out without some help, and he warn't in no condition for me to leave to go and get help; and he got a little worse and a little worse, and after a long time he went out of his head, and wouldn't let me come a-nigh him any more, and said if I chalked his raft he'd kill me, and no end of wild foolishness like that, and I see I couldn't do anything at all with him; so I says, I got to have help somehow; and the minute I says it out crawls this nigger from somewheres and says he'll help, and he done it, too, and done it very well. Of course I judged he must be a runaway nigger, and there I was! and there I had to stick right straight along all the rest of the day and all night. It was a fix, I tell you! I had a couple of patients with the chills, and of course I'd of liked to run up to town and see them, but I dasn't, because the nigger might get away, and then I'd be to blame; and yet never a skiff come close enough for me to hail. So there I had to stick plumb until daylight this morning; and I never see a nigger that was a better nuss or faithfuller, and yet he was risking his freedom to do it, and was all tired out, too, and I see plain enough he'd been worked main hard lately. I liked the nigger for that; I tell you, gentlemen, a nigger like that is worth a thousand dollars—and kind treatment, too. I had everything I needed, and the boy was doing as well there as he would a done at home—better, maybe, because it was so quiet; but there I was, with both of 'm on my hands, and there I had to stick till about dawn this morning; then some men in a skiff come by, and as good luck would have it the nigger was setting by the pallet with his head propped on his knees sound asleep; so I motioned them in quiet, and they slipped up on him and grabbed him and tied him before he knowed what he was about, and we never had no trouble. And the boy being in a kind of a flighty sleep, too, we muffled the oars and hitched the raft on, and towed her over very nice and quiet, and the nigger never made the least row nor said a word from the start. He ain't no bad nigger, gentlemen; that's what I think about him.\"\nSomebody says:\n\"Well, it sounds very good, doctor, I'm obleeged to say.\"\nThen the others softened up a little, too, and I was mighty thankful to that old doctor for doing Jim that good turn; and I was glad it was according to my judgment of him, too; because I thought he had a good heart in him and was a good man the first time I see him. Then they all agreed that Jim had acted very well, and was deserving to have some notice took of it, and reward. So every one of them promised, right out and hearty, that they wouldn't cuss him no more.\nThen they come out and locked him up. I hoped they was going to say he could have one or two of the chains took off, because they was rotten heavy, or could have meat and greens with his bread and water; but they didn't think of it, and I reckoned it warn't best for me to mix in, but I judged I'd get the doctor's yarn to Aunt Sally somehow or other as soon as I'd got through the breakers that was laying just ahead of me—explanations, I mean, of how I forgot to mention about Sid being shot when I was telling how him and me put in that dratted night paddling around hunting the runaway nigger.\nBut I had plenty time. Aunt Sally she stuck to the sick-room all day and all night, and every time I see Uncle Silas mooning around I dodged him.", "chosen": "The, And, She, Petersburg—it's, But, And, It, I, She, And, I, The, But, So, They, When, Of, and, It, I, So, I, I, And, He, Then, So, Then, I, But, Aunt", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nThe, And, She, Petersburg—it's, But, And, It, I, She, And, I, The, But, So, They, When, Of, and, It, I, So, I, I, And, He, Then, So, Then, I, But, Aunt\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-042-00-a202d18e", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nTwo or three days and nights went by; I reckon I might say they swum by, they slid along so quiet and smooth and lovely. Here is the way we put in the time. It was a monstrous big river down there—sometimes a mile and a half wide; we run nights, and laid up and hid daytimes; soon as night was most gone we stopped navigating and tied up—nearly always in the dead water under a tow-head; and then cut young cottonwoods and willows, and hid the raft with them. Then we set out the lines. Next we slid into the river and had a swim, so as to freshen up and cool off; then we set down on the sandy bottom where the water was about knee deep, and watched the daylight come. Not a sound anywheres—perfectly still—just like the whole world was asleep, only sometimes the bullfrogs a-cluttering, maybe. The first thing to see, looking away over the water, was a kind of dull line—that was the woods on t'other side; you couldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more paleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and warn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots drifting along ever so far away—trading scows, and such things; and long black streaks—rafts; sometimes you could hear a sweep screaking; or jumbled up voices, it was so still, and sounds come so far; and by-and-by you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the streak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it and makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off of the water, and the east reddens up, and the river, and you make out a log-cabin in the edge of the woods, away on the bank on t'other side of the river, being a woodyard, likely, and piled by them cheats so you can throw a dog through it anywheres; then the nice breeze springs up, and comes fanning you from over there, so cool and fresh and sweet to smell on account of the woods and the flowers; but sometimes not that way, because they've left dead fish laying around, gars and such, and they do get pretty rank; and next you've got the full day, and everything smiling in the sun, and the song-birds just going it!\nA little smoke couldn't be noticed now, so we would take some fish off of the lines and cook up a hot breakfast. And afterwards we would watch the lonesomeness of the river, and kind of lazy along, and by-and-by lazy off to sleep. Wake up by-and-by, and look to see what done it, and maybe see a steamboat coughing along up-stream, so far off towards the other side you couldn't tell nothing about her only whether she was a stern-wheel or side-wheel; then for about an hour there wouldn't be nothing to hear nor nothing to see—just solid lonesomeness. Next you'd see a raft sliding by, away off yonder, and maybe a galoot on it chopping, because they're most always doing it on a raft; you'd see the axe flash and come down—you don't hear nothing; you see that axe go up again, and by the time it's above the man's head then you hear the k'chunk!—it had took all that time to come over the water. So we would put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness. Once there was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating tin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them. A scow or a raft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and laughing—heard them plain; but we couldn't see no sign of them; it made you feel crawly; it was like spirits carrying on that way in the air. Jim said he believed it was spirits; but I says:\n\"No; spirits wouldn't say, 'Dern the dern fog.'\"\nSoon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the middle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted her to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and talked about all kinds of things—we was always naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes would let us—the new clothes Buck's folks made for me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I didn't go much on clothes, nohow.\nSometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark—which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two—on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened; I judged it would have took too long to make so many. Jim said the moon could a laid them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I didn't say nothing against it, because I've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it could be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down. Jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the nest.\nOnce or twice of a night we would see a steamboat slipping along in the dark, and now and then she would belch a whole world of sparks up out of her chimbleys, and they would rain down in the river and look awful pretty; then she would turn a corner and her lights would wink out and her powwow shut off and leave the river still again; and by-and-by her waves would get to us, a long time after she was gone, and joggle the raft a bit, and after that you wouldn't hear nothing for you couldn't tell how long, except maybe frogs or something.\nAfter midnight the people on shore went to bed, and then for two or three hours the shores was black—no more sparks in the cabin windows. These sparks was our clock—the first one that showed again meant morning was coming, so we hunted a place to hide and tie up right away.\nOne morning about daybreak I found a canoe and crossed over a chute to the main shore—it was only two hundred yards—and paddled about a mile up a crick amongst the cypress woods, to see if I couldn't get some berries. Just as I was passing a place where a kind of a cowpath crossed the crick, here comes a couple of men tearing up the path as tight as they could foot it. I thought I was a goner, for whenever anybody was after anybody I judged it was me—or maybe Jim. I was about to dig out from there in a hurry, but they was pretty close to me then, and sung out and begged me to save their lives—said they hadn't been doing nothing, and was being chased for it—said there was men and dogs a-coming. They wanted to jump right in, but I says:\n\"Don't you do it. I don't hear the dogs and horses yet; you've got time to crowd through the brush and get up the crick a little ways; then you take to the water and wade down to me and get in—that'll throw the dogs off the scent.\"", "chosen": "32", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n32\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-76-019-00-f2c13d54", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nLong ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as a youth of great promise, he had followed his father to the grave. His mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at his father's grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing on high above him. \"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.\"\nIn a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and for to-morrow's victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to-morrow's and to-morrow's, the chain of association that brought the words home, like a rusty old ship's anchor from the deep, might have been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and went on.\nWith a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets.\nFew coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to be suspected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on heavy shoes, and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people poured cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of the theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for a way across the street through the mud. He carried the child over, and before the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a kiss.\n\"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.\"\nNow, that the streets were quiet, and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.\nThe night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death's dominion.\nBut, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.\nThe strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial friend, in the morning stillness. He walked by the stream, far from the houses, and in the light and warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank. When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until the stream absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea.--\"Like me.\"\nA trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf, then glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its silent track in the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart for a merciful consideration of all his poor blindnesses and errors, ended in the words, \"I am the resurrection and the life.\"\nMr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to surmise where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and changed to refresh himself, went out to the place of trial.\nThe court was all astir and a-buzz, when the black sheep--whom many fell away from in dread--pressed him into an obscure corner among the crowd. Mr. Lorry was there, and Doctor Manette was there. She was there, sitting beside her father.\nWhen her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him, so sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring love and pitying tenderness, yet so courageous for his sake, that it called the healthy blood into his face, brightened his glance, and animated his heart. If there had been any eyes to notice the influence of her look, on Sydney Carton, it would have been seen to be the same influence exactly.\nBefore that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of procedure, ensuring to any accused person any reasonable hearing. There could have been no such Revolution, if all laws, forms, and ceremonies, had not first been so monstrously abused, that the suicidal vengeance of the Revolution was to scatter them all to the winds.\nEvery eye was turned to the jury. The same determined patriots and good republicans as yesterday and the day before, and to-morrow and the day after. Eager and prominent among them, one man with a craving face, and his fingers perpetually hovering about his lips, whose appearance gave great satisfaction to the spectators. A life-thirsting, cannibal-looking, bloody-minded juryman, the Jacques Three of St. Antoine. The whole jury, as a jury of dogs empannelled to try the deer.\nEvery eye then turned to the five judges and the public prosecutor. No favourable leaning in that quarter to-day. A fell, uncompromising, murderous business-meaning there. Every eye then sought some other eye in the crowd, and gleamed at it approvingly; and heads nodded at one another, before bending forward with a strained attention.\nCharles Evrémonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. Reaccused and retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him last night. Suspected and Denounced enemy of the Republic, Aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, one of a race proscribed, for that they had used their abolished privileges to the infamous oppression of the people. Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, in right of such proscription, absolutely Dead in Law.\nTo this effect, in as few or fewer words, the Public Prosecutor.\nThe President asked, was the Accused openly denounced or secretly?\n\"Openly, President.\"\n\"By whom?\"\n\"Three voices. Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor of St. Antoine.\"\n\"Good.\"\n\"Thérèse Defarge, his wife.\"\n\"Good.\"\n\"Alexandre Manette, physician.\"\nA great uproar took place in the court, and in the midst of it, Doctor Manette was seen, pale and trembling, standing where he had been seated.\n\"President, I indignantly protest to you that this is a forgery and a fraud. You know the accused to be the husband of my daughter. My daughter, and those dear to her, are far dearer to me than my life. Who and where is the false conspirator who says that I denounce the husband of my child!\"\n\"Citizen Manette, be tranquil. To fail in submission to the authority of the Tribunal would be to put yourself out of Law. As to what is dearer to you than life, nothing can be so dear to a good citizen as the Republic.\"\nLoud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President rang his bell, and with warmth resumed.\n\"If the Republic should demand of you the sacrifice of your child herself, you would have no duty but to sacrifice her. Listen to what is to follow. In the meanwhile, be silent!\"", "chosen": "With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nWith a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-98-039-02-e06c386f", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"You don't know, but you see God? No, you are not some one apart, you are myself, you are I and nothing more! You are rubbish, you are my fancy!\"\n\"Well, if you like, I have the same philosophy as you, that would be true. Je pense, donc je suis, I know that for a fact; all the rest, all these worlds, God and even Satan—all that is not proved, to my mind. Does all that exist of itself, or is it only an emanation of myself, a logical development of my ego which alone has existed for ever: but I make haste to stop, for I believe you will be jumping up to beat me directly.\"\n\"You'd better tell me some anecdote!\" said Ivan miserably.\n\"There is an anecdote precisely on our subject, or rather a legend, not an anecdote. You reproach me with unbelief, you see, you say, yet you don't believe. But, my dear fellow, I am not the only one like that. We are all in a muddle over there now and all through your science. Once there used to be atoms, five senses, four elements, and then everything hung together somehow. There were atoms in the ancient world even, but since we've learned that you've discovered the chemical molecule and protoplasm and the devil knows what, we had to lower our crest. There's a regular muddle, and, above all, superstition, scandal; there's as much scandal among us as among you, you know; a little more in fact, and spying, indeed, for we have our secret police department where private information is received. Well, this wild legend belongs to our middle ages—not yours, but ours—and no one believes it even among us, except the old ladies of eighteen stone, not your old ladies I mean, but ours. We've everything you have, I am revealing one of our secrets out of friendship for you; though it's forbidden. This legend is about Paradise. There was, they say, here on earth a thinker and philosopher. He rejected everything, 'laws, conscience, faith,' and, above all, the future life. He died; he expected to go straight to darkness and death and he found a future life before him. He was astounded and indignant. 'This is against my principles!' he said. And he was punished for that ... that is, you must excuse me, I am just repeating what I heard myself, it's only a legend ... he was sentenced to walk a quadrillion kilometers in the dark (we've adopted the metric system, you know) and when he has finished that quadrillion, the gates of heaven would be opened to him and he'll be forgiven—\"\n\"And what tortures have you in the other world besides the quadrillion kilometers?\" asked Ivan, with a strange eagerness.\n\"What tortures? Ah, don't ask. In old days we had all sorts, but now they have taken chiefly to moral punishments—'the stings of conscience' and all that nonsense. We got that, too, from you, from the softening of your manners. And who's the better for it? Only those who have got no conscience, for how can they be tortured by conscience when they have none? But decent people who have conscience and a sense of honor suffer for it. Reforms, when the ground has not been prepared for them, especially if they are institutions copied from abroad, do nothing but mischief! The ancient fire was better. Well, this man, who was condemned to the quadrillion kilometers, stood still, looked round and lay down across the road. 'I won't go, I refuse on principle!' Take the soul of an enlightened Russian atheist and mix it with the soul of the prophet Jonah, who sulked for three days and nights in the belly of the whale, and you get the character of that thinker who lay across the road.\"\n\"What did he lie on there?\"\n\"Well, I suppose there was something to lie on. You are not laughing?\"\n\"Bravo!\" cried Ivan, still with the same strange eagerness. Now he was listening with an unexpected curiosity. \"Well, is he lying there now?\"\n\"That's the point, that he isn't. He lay there almost a thousand years and then he got up and went on.\"\n\"What an ass!\" cried Ivan, laughing nervously and still seeming to be pondering something intently. \"Does it make any difference whether he lies there for ever or walks the quadrillion kilometers? It would take a billion years to walk it?\"\n\"Much more than that. I haven't got a pencil and paper or I could work it out. But he got there long ago, and that's where the story begins.\"\n\"What, he got there? But how did he get the billion years to do it?\"\n\"Why, you keep thinking of our present earth! But our present earth may have been repeated a billion times. Why, it's become extinct, been frozen; cracked, broken to bits, disintegrated into its elements, again 'the water above the firmament,' then again a comet, again a sun, again from the sun it becomes earth—and the same sequence may have been repeated endlessly and exactly the same to every detail, most unseemly and insufferably tedious—\"\n\"Well, well, what happened when he arrived?\"\n\"Why, the moment the gates of Paradise were open and he walked in, before he had been there two seconds, by his watch (though to my thinking his watch must have long dissolved into its elements on the way), he cried out that those two seconds were worth walking not a quadrillion kilometers but a quadrillion of quadrillions, raised to the quadrillionth power! In fact, he sang 'hosannah' and overdid it so, that some persons there of lofty ideas wouldn't shake hands with him at first—he'd become too rapidly reactionary, they said. The Russian temperament. I repeat, it's a legend. I give it for what it's worth. So that's the sort of ideas we have on such subjects even now.\"\n\"I've caught you!\" Ivan cried, with an almost childish delight, as though he had succeeded in remembering something at last. \"That anecdote about the quadrillion years, I made up myself! I was seventeen then, I was at the high school. I made up that anecdote and told it to a schoolfellow called Korovkin, it was at Moscow.... The anecdote is so characteristic that I couldn't have taken it from anywhere. I thought I'd forgotten it ... but I've unconsciously recalled it—I recalled it myself—it was not you telling it! Thousands of things are unconsciously remembered like that even when people are being taken to execution ... it's come back to me in a dream. You are that dream! You are a dream, not a living creature!\"\n\"From the vehemence with which you deny my existence,\" laughed the gentleman, \"I am convinced that you believe in me.\"\n\"Not in the slightest! I haven't a hundredth part of a grain of faith in you!\"\n\"But you have the thousandth of a grain. Homeopathic doses perhaps are the strongest. Confess that you have faith even to the ten-thousandth of a grain.\"\n\"Not for one minute,\" cried Ivan furiously. \"But I should like to believe in you,\" he added strangely.\n\"Aha! There's an admission! But I am good-natured. I'll come to your assistance again. Listen, it was I caught you, not you me. I told you your anecdote you'd forgotten, on purpose, so as to destroy your faith in me completely.\"\n\"You are lying. The object of your visit is to convince me of your existence!\"", "chosen": "[\"You don't know, but you see God? No, you are not some one apart, you are myself, you are I and nothing more! You are rubbish, you are my fancy!\", \"You'd better tell me some anecdote!\", \"And what tortures have you in the other world besides the quadrillion kilometers?\", \"What did he lie on there?\", \"Well, I suppose there was something to lie on. You are not laughing?\", \"Bravo!\", \"Well, is he lying there now?\", \"That's the point, that he isn't. He lay there almost a thousand years and then he got up and went on.\", \"What an ass!\", \"Does it make any difference whether he lies there for ever or walks the quadrillion kilometers? It would take a billion years to walk it?\", \"Much more than that. I haven't got a pencil and paper or I could work it out. But he got there long ago, and that's where the story begins.\", \"What, he got there? But how did he get the billion years to do it?\", \"Well, well, what happened when he arrived?\", \"I've caught you!\", \"From the vehemence with which you deny my existence,\", \"I am convinced that you believe in me.\", \"Not in the slightest! I haven't a hundredth part of a grain of faith in you!\", \"But you have the thousandth of a grain. Homeopathic doses perhaps are the strongest. Confess that you have faith even to the ten-thousandth of a grain.\", \"Not for one minute,\", \"But I should like to believe in you,\", \"You are lying. The object of your visit is to convince me of your existence!\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"You don't know, but you see God? No, you are not some one apart, you are myself, you are I and nothing more! You are rubbish, you are my fancy!\", \"You'd better tell me some anecdote!\", \"And what tortures have you in the other world besides the quadrillion kilometers?\", \"What did he lie on there?\", \"Well, I suppose there was something to lie on. You are not laughing?\", \"Bravo!\", \"Well, is he lying there now?\", \"That's the point, that he isn't. He lay there almost a thousand years and then he got up and went on.\", \"What an ass!\", \"Does it make any difference whether he lies there for ever or walks the quadrillion kilometers? It would take a billion years to walk it?\", \"Much more than that. I haven't got a pencil and paper or I could work it out. But he got there long ago, and that's where the story begins.\", \"What, he got there? But how did he get the billion years to do it?\", \"Well, well, what happened when he arrived?\", \"I've caught you!\", \"From the vehemence with which you deny my existence,\", \"I am convinced that you believe in me.\", \"Not in the slightest! I haven't a hundredth part of a grain of faith in you!\", \"But you have the thousandth of a grain. Homeopathic doses perhaps are the strongest. Confess that you have faith even to the ten-thousandth of a grain.\", \"Not for one minute,\", \"But I should like to believe in you,\", \"You are lying. The object of your visit is to convince me of your existence!\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-076-03-06a94677", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nMr. Bulstrode, hoping that the peculiar mixture of joviality and sneering in Raffles' manner was a good deal the effect of drink, had determined to wait till he was quite sober before he spent more words upon him. But he rode home with a terribly lucid vision of the difficulty there would be in arranging any result that could be permanently counted on with this man. It was inevitable that he should wish to get rid of John Raffles, though his reappearance could not be regarded as lying outside the divine plan. The spirit of evil might have sent him to threaten Mr. Bulstrode's subversion as an instrument of good; but the threat must have been permitted, and was a chastisement of a new kind. It was an hour of anguish for him very different from the hours in which his struggle had been securely private, and which had ended with a sense that his secret misdeeds were pardoned and his services accepted. Those misdeeds even when committed—had they not been half sanctified by the singleness of his desire to devote himself and all he possessed to the furtherance of the divine scheme? And was he after all to become a mere stone of stumbling and a rock of offence? For who would understand the work within him? Who would not, when there was the pretext of casting disgrace upon him, confound his whole life and the truths he had espoused, in one heap of obloquy?\nIn his closest meditations the life-long habit of Mr. Bulstrode's mind clad his most egoistic terrors in doctrinal references to superhuman ends. But even while we are talking and meditating about the earth's orbit and the solar system, what we feel and adjust our movements to is the stable earth and the changing day. And now within all the automatic succession of theoretic phrases—distinct and inmost as the shiver and the ache of oncoming fever when we are discussing abstract pain, was the forecast of disgrace in the presence of his neighbors and of his own wife. For the pain, as well as the public estimate of disgrace, depends on the amount of previous profession. To men who only aim at escaping felony, nothing short of the prisoner's dock is disgrace. But Mr. Bulstrode had aimed at being an eminent Christian.\nIt was not more than half-past seven in the morning when he again reached Stone Court. The fine old place never looked more like a delightful home than at that moment; the great white lilies were in flower, the nasturtiums, their pretty leaves all silvered with dew, were running away over the low stone wall; the very noises all around had a heart of peace within them. But everything was spoiled for the owner as he walked on the gravel in front and awaited the descent of Mr. Raffles, with whom he was condemned to breakfast.\nIt was not long before they were seated together in the wainscoted parlor over their tea and toast, which was as much as Raffles cared to take at that early hour. The difference between his morning and evening self was not so great as his companion had imagined that it might be; the delight in tormenting was perhaps even the stronger because his spirits were rather less highly pitched. Certainly his manners seemed more disagreeable by the morning light.\n\"As I have little time to spare, Mr. Raffles,\" said the banker, who could hardly do more than sip his tea and break his toast without eating it, \"I shall be obliged if you will mention at once the ground on which you wished to meet with me. I presume that you have a home elsewhere and will be glad to return to it.\"\n\"Why, if a man has got any heart, doesn't he want to see an old friend, Nick?—I must call you Nick—we always did call you young Nick when we knew you meant to marry the old widow. Some said you had a handsome family likeness to old Nick, but that was your mother's fault, calling you Nicholas. Aren't you glad to see me again? I expected an invite to stay with you at some pretty place. My own establishment is broken up now my wife's dead. I've no particular attachment to any spot; I would as soon settle hereabout as anywhere.\"\n\"May I ask why you returned from America? I considered that the strong wish you expressed to go there, when an adequate sum was furnished, was tantamount to an engagement that you would remain there for life.\"\n\"Never knew that a wish to go to a place was the same thing as a wish to stay. But I did stay a matter of ten years; it didn't suit me to stay any longer. And I'm not going again, Nick.\" Here Mr. Raffles winked slowly as he looked at Mr. Bulstrode.\n\"Do you wish to be settled in any business? What is your calling now?\"\n\"Thank you, my calling is to enjoy myself as much as I can. I don't care about working any more. If I did anything it would be a little travelling in the tobacco line—or something of that sort, which takes a man into agreeable company. But not without an independence to fall back upon. That's what I want: I'm not so strong as I was, Nick, though I've got more color than you. I want an independence.\"\n\"That could be supplied to you, if you would engage to keep at a distance,\" said Mr. Bulstrode, perhaps with a little too much eagerness in his undertone.\n\"That must be as it suits my convenience,\" said Raffles coolly. \"I see no reason why I shouldn't make a few acquaintances hereabout. I'm not ashamed of myself as company for anybody. I dropped my portmanteau at the turnpike when I got down—change of linen—genuine—honor bright—more than fronts and wristbands; and with this suit of mourning, straps and everything, I should do you credit among the nobs here.\" Mr. Raffles had pushed away his chair and looked down at himself, particularly at his straps. His chief intention was to annoy Bulstrode, but he really thought that his appearance now would produce a good effect, and that he was not only handsome and witty, but clad in a mourning style which implied solid connections.\n\"If you intend to rely on me in any way, Mr. Raffles,\" said Bulstrode, after a moment's pause, \"you will expect to meet my wishes.\"\n\"Ah, to be sure,\" said Raffles, with a mocking cordiality. \"Didn't I always do it? Lord, you made a pretty thing out of me, and I got but little. I've often thought since, I might have done better by telling the old woman that I'd found her daughter and her grandchild: it would have suited my feelings better; I've got a soft place in my heart. But you've buried the old lady by this time, I suppose—it's all one to her now. And you've got your fortune out of that profitable business which had such a blessing on it. You've taken to being a nob, buying land, being a country bashaw. Still in the Dissenting line, eh? Still godly? Or taken to the Church as more genteel?\"\nThis time Mr. Raffles' slow wink and slight protrusion of his tongue was worse than a nightmare, because it held the certitude that it was not a nightmare, but a waking misery. Mr. Bulstrode felt a shuddering nausea, and did not speak, but was considering diligently whether he should not leave Raffles to do as he would, and simply defy him as a slanderer. The man would soon show himself disreputable enough to make people disbelieve him. \"But not when he tells any ugly-looking truth about you,\" said discerning consciousness. And again: it seemed no wrong to keep Raffles at a distance, but Mr. Bulstrode shrank from the direct falsehood of denying true statements. It was one thing to look back on forgiven sins, nay, to explain questionable conformity to lax customs, and another to enter deliberately on the necessity of falsehood.\nBut since Bulstrode did not speak, Raffles ran on, by way of using time to the utmost.", "chosen": "utmost", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nutmost\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-053-02-ca25a954", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Never take it your own way. It ain't good for trade, and it ain't good for you. Where's my ink-bottle, and where's my thimble, and where's my little spoon? He's going to take it in a artful form now, my deary dear!\"\nEntering on her process, and beginning to bubble and blow at the faint spark enclosed in the hollow of her hands, she speaks from time to time, in a tone of snuffling satisfaction, without leaving off. When he speaks, he does so without looking at her, and as if his thoughts were already roaming away by anticipation.\n\"I've got a pretty many smokes ready for you, first and last, haven't I, chuckey?\"\n\"A good many.\"\n\"When you first come, you was quite new to it; warn't ye?\"\n\"Yes, I was easily disposed of, then.\"\n\"But you got on in the world, and was able by-and-by to take your pipe with the best of 'em, warn't ye?\"\n\"Ah; and the worst.\"\n\"It's just ready for you. What a sweet singer you was when you first come! Used to drop your head, and sing yourself off like a bird! It's ready for you now, deary.\"\nHe takes it from her with great care, and puts the mouthpiece to his lips. She seats herself beside him, ready to refill the pipe.\nAfter inhaling a few whiffs in silence, he doubtingly accosts her with:\n\"Is it as potent as it used to be?\"\n\"What do you speak of, deary?\"\n\"What should I speak of, but what I have in my mouth?\"\n\"It's just the same. Always the identical same.\"\n\"It doesn't taste so. And it's slower.\"\n\"You've got more used to it, you see.\"\n\"That may be the cause, certainly. Look here.\" He stops, becomes dreamy, and seems to forget that he has invited her attention. She bends over him, and speaks in his ear.\n\"I'm attending to you. Says you just now, Look here. Says I now, I'm attending to ye. We was talking just before of your being used to it.\"\n\"I know all that. I was only thinking. Look here. Suppose you had something in your mind; something you were going to do.\"\n\"Yes, deary; something I was going to do?\"\n\"But had not quite determined to do.\"\n\"Yes, deary.\"\n\"Might or might not do, you understand.\"\n\"Yes.\" With the point of a needle she stirs the contents of the bowl.\n\"Should you do it in your fancy, when you were lying here doing this?\"\nShe nods her head. \"Over and over again.\"\n\"Just like me! I did it over and over again. I have done it hundreds of thousands of times in this room.\"\n\"It's to be hoped it was pleasant to do, deary.\"\n\"It was pleasant to do!\"\nHe says this with a savage air, and a spring or start at her. Quite unmoved she retouches and replenishes the contents of the bowl with her little spatula. Seeing her intent upon the occupation, he sinks into his former attitude.\n\"It was a journey, a difficult and dangerous journey. That was the subject in my mind. A hazardous and perilous journey, over abysses where a slip would be destruction. Look down, look down! You see what lies at the bottom there?\"\nHe has darted forward to say it, and to point at the ground, as though at some imaginary object far beneath. The woman looks at him, as his spasmodic face approaches close to hers, and not at his pointing. She seems to know what the influence of her perfect quietude would be; if so, she has not miscalculated it, for he subsides again.\n\"Well; I have told you I did it here hundreds of thousands of times. What do I say? I did it millions and billions of times. I did it so often, and through such vast expanses of time, that when it was really done, it seemed not worth the doing, it was done so soon.\"\n\"That's the journey you have been away upon,\" she quietly remarks.\nHe glares at her as he smokes; and then, his eyes becoming filmy, answers: \"That's the journey.\"\nSilence ensues. His eyes are sometimes closed and sometimes open. The woman sits beside him, very attentive to the pipe, which is all the while at his lips.\n\"I'll warrant,\" she observes, when he has been looking fixedly at her for some consecutive moments, with a singular appearance in his eyes of seeming to see her a long way off, instead of so near him: \"I'll warrant you made the journey in a many ways, when you made it so often?\"\n\"No, always in one way.\"\n\"Always in the same way?\"\n\"Ay.\"\n\"In the way in which it was really made at last?\"\n\"Ay.\"\n\"And always took the same pleasure in harping on it?\"\n\"Ay.\"\nFor the time he appears unequal to any other reply than this lazy monosyllabic assent. Probably to assure herself that it is not the assent of a mere automaton, she reverses the form of her next sentence.\n\"Did you never get tired of it, deary, and try to call up something else for a change?\"\nHe struggles into a sitting posture, and retorts upon her: \"What do you mean? What did I want? What did I come for?\"\nShe gently lays him back again, and before returning him the instrument he has dropped, revives the fire in it with her own breath; then says to him, coaxingly:\n\"Sure, sure, sure! Yes, yes, yes! Now I go along with you. You was too quick for me. I see now. You come o' purpose to take the journey. Why, I might have known it, through its standing by you so.\"\nHe answers first with a laugh, and then with a passionate setting of his teeth: \"Yes, I came on purpose. When I could not bear my life, I came to get the relief, and I got it. It WAS one! It WAS one!\" This repetition with extraordinary vehemence, and the snarl of a wolf.\nShe observes him very cautiously, as though mentally feeling her way to her next remark. It is: \"There was a fellow-traveller, deary.\"\n\"Ha, ha, ha!\" He breaks into a ringing laugh, or rather yell.\n\"To think,\" he cries, \"how often fellow-traveller, and yet not know it! To think how many times he went the journey, and never saw the road!\"\nThe woman kneels upon the floor, with her arms crossed on the coverlet of the bed, close by him, and her chin upon them. In this crouching attitude she watches him. The pipe is falling from his mouth. She puts it back, and laying her hand upon his chest, moves him slightly from side to side. Upon that he speaks, as if she had spoken.\n\"Yes! I always made the journey first, before the changes of colours and the great landscapes and glittering processions began. They couldn't begin till it was off my mind. I had no room till then for anything else.\"\nOnce more he lapses into silence. Once more she lays her hand upon his chest, and moves him slightly to and fro, as a cat might stimulate a half-slain mouse. Once more he speaks, as if she had spoken.\n\"What? I told you so. When it comes to be real at last, it is so short that it seems unreal for the first time. Hark!\"\n\"Yes, deary. I'm listening.\"\n\"Time and place are both at hand.\"\nHe is on his feet, speaking in a whisper, and as if in the dark.\n\"Time, place, and fellow-traveller,\" she suggests, adopting his tone, and holding him softly by the arm.\n\"How could the time be at hand unless the fellow-traveller was? Hush! The journey's made. It's over.\"\n\"So soon?\"\n\"That's what I said to you. So soon. Wait a little. This is a vision. I shall sleep it off. It has been too short and easy. I must have a better vision than this; this is the poorest of all. No struggle, no consciousness of peril, no entreaty—and yet I never saw that before.\" With a start.\n\"Saw what, deary?\"\n\"Look at it! Look what a poor, mean, miserable thing it is! That must be real. It's over.\"", "chosen": "[\"Never\", \"Look\", \"Might\", \"With\", \"Should\", \"Over\", \"Just\", \"Always\", \"Did\", \"Sure\", \"Time\", \"Saw\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Never\", \"Look\", \"Might\", \"With\", \"Should\", \"Over\", \"Just\", \"Always\", \"Did\", \"Sure\", \"Time\", \"Saw\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-564-023-01-0a1dc157", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nBut things are not what they seem. A responsive love for Edward Springrove had made its appearance in Cytherea's bosom with all the fascinating attributes of a first experience, not succeeding to or displacing other emotions, as in older hearts, but taking up entirely new ground; as when gazing just after sunset at the pale blue sky we see a star come into existence where nothing was before.\nHis parting words, 'Don't forget me,' she repeated to herself a hundred times, and though she thought their import was probably commonplace, she could not help toying with them,--looking at them from all points, and investing them with meanings of love and faithfulness,--ostensibly entertaining such meanings only as fables wherewith to pass the time, yet in her heart admitting, for detached instants, a possibility of their deeper truth. And thus, for hours after he had left her, her reason flirted with her fancy as a kitten will sport with a dove, pleasantly and smoothly through easy attitudes, but disclosing its cruel and unyielding nature at crises.\nTo turn now to the more material media through which this story moves, it so happened that the very next morning brought round a circumstance which, slight in itself, took up a relevant and important position between the past and the future of the persons herein concerned.\nAt breakfast time, just as Cytherea had again seen the postman pass without bringing her an answer to the advertisement, as she had fully expected he would do, Owen entered the room.\n'Well,' he said, kissing her, 'you have not been alarmed, of course. Springrove told you what I had done, and you found there was no train?'\n'Yes, it was all clear. But what is the lameness owing to?'\n'I don't know--nothing. It has quite gone off now... Cytherea, I hope you like Springrove. Springrove's a nice fellow, you know.'\n'Yes. I think he is, except that--'\n'It happened just to the purpose that I should meet him there, didn't it? And when I reached the station and learnt that I could not get on by train my foot seemed better. I started off to walk home, and went about five miles along a path beside the railway. It then struck me that I might not be fit for anything to-day if I walked and aggravated the bothering foot, so I looked for a place to sleep at. There was no available village or inn, and I eventually got the keeper of a gate-house, where a lane crossed the line, to take me in.'\nThey proceeded with their breakfast. Owen yawned.\n'You didn't get much sleep at the gate-house last night, I'm afraid, Owen,' said his sister.\n'To tell the truth, I didn't. I was in such very close and narrow quarters. Those gate-houses are such small places, and the man had only his own bed to offer me. Ah, by-the-bye, Cythie, I have such an extraordinary thing to tell you in connection with this man!--by Jove, I had nearly forgotten it! But I'll go straight on. As I was saying, he had only his own bed to offer me, but I could not afford to be fastidious, and as he had a hearty manner, though a very queer one, I agreed to accept it, and he made a rough pallet for himself on the floor close beside me. Well, I could not sleep for my life, and I wished I had not stayed there, though I was so tired. For one thing, there were the luggage trains rattling by at my elbow the early part of the night. But worse than this, he talked continually in his sleep, and occasionally struck out with his limbs at something or another, knocking against the post of the bedstead and making it tremble. My condition was altogether so unsatisfactory that at last I awoke him, and asked him what he had been dreaming about for the previous hour, for I could get no sleep at all. He begged my pardon for disturbing me, but a name I had casually let fall that evening had led him to think of another stranger he had once had visit him, who had also accidentally mentioned the same name, and some very strange incidents connected with that meeting. The affair had occurred years and years ago; but what I had said had made him think and dream about it as if it were but yesterday. What was the word? I said. \"Cytherea,\" he said. What was the story? I asked then. He then told me that when he was a young man in London he borrowed a few pounds to add to a few he had saved up, and opened a little inn at Hammersmith. One evening, after the inn had been open about a couple of months, every idler in the neighbourhood ran off to Westminster. The Houses of Parliament were on fire.\n'Not a soul remained in his parlour besides himself, and he began picking up the pipes and glasses his customers had hastily relinquished. At length a young lady about seventeen or eighteen came in. She asked if a woman was there waiting for herself--Miss Jane Taylor. He said no; asked the young lady if she would wait, and showed her into the small inner room. There was a glass-pane in the partition dividing this room from the bar to enable the landlord to see if his visitors, who sat there, wanted anything. A curious awkwardness and melancholy about the behaviour of the girl who called, caused my informant to look frequently at her through the partition. She seemed weary of her life, and sat with her face buried in her hands, evidently quite out of her element in such a house. Then a woman much older came in and greeted Miss Taylor by name. The man distinctly heard the following words pass between them:--\n'\"Why have you not brought him?\"\n'\"He is ill; he is not likely to live through the night.\"\n'At this announcement from the elderly woman, the young lady fell to the floor in a swoon, apparently overcome by the news. The landlord ran in and lifted her up. Well, do what they would they could not for a long time bring her back to consciousness, and began to be much alarmed. \"Who is she?\" the innkeeper said to the other woman. \"I know her,\" the other said, with deep meaning in her tone. The elderly and young woman seemed allied, and yet strangers.\n'She now showed signs of life, and it struck him (he was plainly of an inquisitive turn), that in her half-bewildered state he might get some information from her. He stooped over her, put his mouth to her ear, and said sharply, \"What's your name?\" \"To catch a woman napping is difficult, even when she's half dead; but I did it,\" says the gatekeeper. When he asked her her name, she said immediately--\n'\"Cytherea\"--and stopped suddenly.'\n'My own name!' said Cytherea.\n'Yes--your name. Well, the gateman thought at the time it might be equally with Jane a name she had invented for the occasion, that they might not trace her; but I think it was truth unconsciously uttered, for she added directly afterwards: \"O, what have I said!\" and was quite overcome again--this time with fright. Her vexation that the woman now doubted the genuineness of her other name was very much greater than that the innkeeper did, and it is evident that to blind the woman was her main object. He also learnt from words the elderly woman casually dropped, that meetings of the same kind had been held before, and that the falseness of the soi-disant Miss Jane Taylor's name had never been suspected by this dependent or confederate till then.", "chosen": "But, A, His, And, To, At, Well,', Springrove, But, It, Cytherea,, Springrove's, I, And, I, It, There, Owen, You, To, I, Those, Ah,, But, As, Well,, For, But, My, He, The, What, I, Cytherea,\", What, I, He, One, The, Not, At, She, He, There, A, She, Then, The, The, Well,, Who, I, The, She, He, When, Yes--your, Well,, Her, He", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nBut, A, His, And, To, At, Well,', Springrove, But, It, Cytherea,, Springrove's, I, And, I, It, There, Owen, You, To, I, Those, Ah,, But, As, Well,, For, But, My, He, The, What, I, Cytherea,\", What, I, He, One, The, Not, At, She, He, There, A, She, Then, The, The, Well,, Who, I, The, She, He, When, Yes--your, Well,, Her, He\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-3044-003-00-87475c45", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nI had not been seated very long ere a man of a certain venerable robustness entered; immediately as the storm-pelted door flew back upon admitting him, a quick regardful eyeing of him by all the congregation, sufficiently attested that this fine old man was the chaplain. Yes, it was the famous Father Mapple, so called by the whalemen, among whom he was a very great favourite. He had been a sailor and a harpooneer in his youth, but for many years past had dedicated his life to the ministry. At the time I now write of, Father Mapple was in the hardy winter of a healthy old age; that sort of old age which seems merging into a second flowering youth, for among all the fissures of his wrinkles, there shone certain mild gleams of a newly developing bloom—the spring verdure peeping forth even beneath February's snow. No one having previously heard his history, could for the first time behold Father Mapple without the utmost interest, because there were certain engrafted clerical peculiarities about him, imputable to that adventurous maritime life he had led. When he entered I observed that he carried no umbrella, and certainly had not come in his carriage, for his tarpaulin hat ran down with melting sleet, and his great pilot cloth jacket seemed almost to drag him to the floor with the weight of the water it had absorbed. However, hat and coat and overshoes were one by one removed, and hung up in a little space in an adjacent corner; when, arrayed in a decent suit, he quietly approached the pulpit.\nLike most old fashioned pulpits, it was a very lofty one, and since a regular stairs to such a height would, by its long angle with the floor, seriously contract the already small area of the chapel, the architect, it seemed, had acted upon the hint of Father Mapple, and finished the pulpit without a stairs, substituting a perpendicular side ladder, like those used in mounting a ship from a boat at sea. The wife of a whaling captain had provided the chapel with a handsome pair of red worsted man-ropes for this ladder, which, being itself nicely headed, and stained with a mahogany colour, the whole contrivance, considering what manner of chapel it was, seemed by no means in bad taste. Halting for an instant at the foot of the ladder, and with both hands grasping the ornamental knobs of the man-ropes, Father Mapple cast a look upwards, and then with a truly sailor-like but still reverential dexterity, hand over hand, mounted the steps as if ascending the main-top of his vessel.\nThe perpendicular parts of this side ladder, as is usually the case with swinging ones, were of cloth-covered rope, only the rounds were of wood, so that at every step there was a joint. At my first glimpse of the pulpit, it had not escaped me that however convenient for a ship, these joints in the present instance seemed unnecessary. For I was not prepared to see Father Mapple after gaining the height, slowly turn round, and stooping over the pulpit, deliberately drag up the ladder step by step, till the whole was deposited within, leaving him impregnable in his little Quebec.\nI pondered some time without fully comprehending the reason for this. Father Mapple enjoyed such a wide reputation for sincerity and sanctity, that I could not suspect him of courting notoriety by any mere tricks of the stage. No, thought I, there must be some sober reason for this thing; furthermore, it must symbolize something unseen. Can it be, then, that by that act of physical isolation, he signifies his spiritual withdrawal for the time, from all outward worldly ties and connexions? Yes, for replenished with the meat and wine of the word, to the faithful man of God, this pulpit, I see, is a self-containing stronghold—a lofty Ehrenbreitstein, with a perennial well of water within the walls.\nBut the side ladder was not the only strange feature of the place, borrowed from the chaplain's former sea-farings. Between the marble cenotaphs on either hand of the pulpit, the wall which formed its back was adorned with a large painting representing a gallant ship beating against a terrible storm off a lee coast of black rocks and snowy breakers. But high above the flying scud and dark-rolling clouds, there floated a little isle of sunlight, from which beamed forth an angel's face; and this bright face shed a distinct spot of radiance upon the ship's tossed deck, something like that silver plate now inserted into the Victory's plank where Nelson fell. \"Ah, noble ship,\" the angel seemed to say, \"beat on, beat on, thou noble ship, and bear a hardy helm; for lo! the sun is breaking through; the clouds are rolling off—serenest azure is at hand.\"\nNor was the pulpit itself without a trace of the same sea-taste that had achieved the ladder and the picture. Its panelled front was in the likeness of a ship's bluff bows, and the Holy Bible rested on a projecting piece of scroll work, fashioned after a ship's fiddle-headed beak.\nWhat could be more full of meaning?—for the pulpit is ever this earth's foremost part; all the rest comes in its rear; the pulpit leads the world. From thence it is the storm of God's quick wrath is first descried, and the bow must bear the earliest brunt. From thence it is the God of breezes fair or foul is first invoked for favourable winds. Yes, the world's a ship on its passage out, and not a voyage complete; and the pulpit is its prow.", "chosen": "28", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n28\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-008-00-030e29d1", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nHe was welcomed by them all with great cordiality, but especially by Marianne, who showed more warmth of regard in her reception of him than even Elinor herself. To Marianne, indeed, the meeting between Edward and her sister was but a continuation of that unaccountable coldness which she had often observed at Norland in their mutual behaviour. On Edward's side, more particularly, there was a deficiency of all that a lover ought to look and say on such an occasion. He was confused, seemed scarcely sensible of pleasure in seeing them, looked neither rapturous nor gay, said little but what was forced from him by questions, and distinguished Elinor by no mark of affection. Marianne saw and listened with increasing surprise. She began almost to feel a dislike of Edward; and it ended, as every feeling must end with her, by carrying back her thoughts to Willoughby, whose manners formed a contrast sufficiently striking to those of his brother elect.\nAfter a short silence which succeeded the first surprise and enquiries of meeting, Marianne asked Edward if he came directly from London. No, he had been in Devonshire a fortnight.\n\"A fortnight!\" she repeated, surprised at his being so long in the same county with Elinor without seeing her before.\nHe looked rather distressed as he added, that he had been staying with some friends near Plymouth.\n\"Have you been lately in Sussex?\" said Elinor.\n\"I was at Norland about a month ago.\"\n\"And how does dear, dear Norland look?\" cried Marianne.\n\"Dear, dear Norland,\" said Elinor, \"probably looks much as it always does at this time of the year--the woods and walks thickly covered with dead leaves.\"\n\"Oh,\" cried Marianne, \"with what transporting sensation have I formerly seen them fall! How have I delighted, as I walked, to see them driven in showers about me by the wind! What feelings have they, the season, the air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to regard them. They are seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as possible from the sight.\"\n\"It is not every one,\" said Elinor, \"who has your passion for dead leaves.\"\n\"No; my feelings are not often shared, not often understood. But sometimes they are.\" As she said this, she sunk into a reverie for a few moments; but rousing herself again, \"Now, Edward,\" said she, calling his attention to the prospect, \"here is Barton valley. Look up to it, and be tranquil if you can. Look at those hills! Did you ever see their equals? To the left is Barton park, amongst those woods and plantations. You may see the end of the house. And there, beneath that farthest hill, which rises with such grandeur, is our cottage.\"\n\"It is a beautiful country,\" he replied; \"but these bottoms must be dirty in winter.\"\n\"How can you think of dirt, with such objects before you?\"\n\"Because,\" replied he, smiling, \"among the rest of the objects before me, I see a very dirty lane.\"\n\"How strange!\" said Marianne to herself as she walked on.\n\"Have you an agreeable neighbourhood here? Are the Middletons pleasant people?\"\n\"No, not all,\" answered Marianne; \"we could not be more unfortunately situated.\"\n\"Marianne,\" cried her sister, \"how can you say so? How can you be so unjust? They are a very respectable family, Mr. Ferrars; and towards us have behaved in the friendliest manner. Have you forgot, Marianne, how many pleasant days we have owed to them?\"\n\"No,\" said Marianne, in a low voice, \"nor how many painful moments.\"\nElinor took no notice of this; and directing her attention to their visitor, endeavoured to support something like discourse with him, by talking of their present residence, its conveniences, &c. extorting from him occasional questions and remarks. His coldness and reserve mortified her severely; she was vexed and half angry; but resolving to regulate her behaviour to him by the past rather than the present, she avoided every appearance of resentment or displeasure, and treated him as she thought he ought to be treated from the family connection.", "chosen": "And there, beneath that farthest hill, which rises with such grandeur, is our cottage.\"\n\"It is a beautiful country,\" he replied; \"but these bottoms must be dirty in winter.\"\n\"How can you think of dirt, with such objects before you?\"\n\"Because,\" replied he, smiling, \"among the rest of the objects before me, I see a very dirty lane.\"\n\"How strange!\" said Marianne to herself as she walked on.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nAnd there, beneath that farthest hill, which rises with such grandeur, is our cottage.\"\n\"It is a beautiful country,\" he replied; \"but these bottoms must be dirty in winter.\"\n\"How can you think of dirt, with such objects before you?\"\n\"Because,\" replied he, smiling, \"among the rest of the objects before me, I see a very dirty lane.\"\n\"How strange!\" said Marianne to herself as she walked on.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21839-016-01-23f2fd73", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nAt this juncture Orchis was heard of. Orchis, it seemed had returned from his travels, and clandestinely married, and, in a kind of queer way, was living in Pennsylvania among his wife's relations, who, among other things, had induced him to join a church, or rather semi-religious school, of Come-Outers; and what was still more, Orchis, without coming to the spot himself, had sent word to his agent to dispose of some of his property in Marietta, and remit him the proceeds. Within a year after, China Aster received a letter from Orchis, commending him for his punctuality in paying the first year's interest, and regretting the necessity that he (Orchis) was now under of using all his dividends; so he relied upon China Aster's paying the next six months' interest, and of course with the back interest. Not more surprised than alarmed, China Aster thought of taking steamboat to go and see Orchis, but he was saved that expense by the unexpected arrival in Marietta of Orchis in person, suddenly called there by that strange kind of capriciousness lately characterizing him. No sooner did China Aster hear of his old friend's arrival than he hurried to call upon him. He found him curiously rusty in dress, sallow in cheek, and decidedly less gay and cordial in manner, which the more surprised China Aster, because, in former days, he had more than once heard Orchis, in his light rattling way, declare that all he (Orchis) wanted to make him a perfectly happy, hilarious, and benignant man, was a voyage to Europe and a wife, with a free development of his inmost nature.\n\"Upon China Aster's stating his case, his trusted friend was silent for a time; then, in an odd way, said that he would not crowd China Aster, but still his (Orchis') necessities were urgent. Could not China Aster mortgage the candlery? He was honest, and must have moneyed friends; and could he not press his sales of candles? Could not the market be forced a little in that particular? The profits on candles must be very great. Seeing, now, that Orchis had the notion that the candle-making business was a very profitable one, and knowing sorely enough what an error was here, China Aster tried to undeceive him. But he could not drive the truth into Orchis--Orchis being very obtuse here, and, at the same time, strange to say, very melancholy. Finally, Orchis glanced off from so unpleasing a subject into the most unexpected reflections, taken from a religious point of view, upon the unstableness and deceitfulness of the human heart. But having, as he thought, experienced something of that sort of thing, China Aster did not take exception to his friend's observations, but still refrained from so doing, almost as much for the sake of sympathetic sociality as anything else. Presently, Orchis, without much ceremony, rose, and saying he must write a letter to his wife, bade his friend good-bye, but without warmly shaking him by the hand as of old.\n\"In much concern at the change, China Aster made earnest inquiries in suitable quarters, as to what things, as yet unheard of, had befallen Orchis, to bring about such a revolution; and learned at last that, besides traveling, and getting married, and joining the sect of Come-Outers, Orchis had somehow got a bad dyspepsia, and lost considerable property through a breach of trust on the part of a factor in New York. Telling these things to Old Plain Talk, that man of some knowledge of the world shook his old head, and told China Aster that, though he hoped it might prove otherwise, yet it seemed to him that all he had communicated about Orchis worked together for bad omens as to his future forbearance--especially, he added with a grim sort of smile, in view of his joining the sect of Come-Outers; for, if some men knew what was their inmost natures, instead of coming out with it, they would try their best to keep it in, which, indeed, was the way with the prudent sort. In all which sour notions Old Prudence, as usual, chimed in.\n\"When interest-day came again, China Aster, by the utmost exertions, could only pay Orchis' agent a small part of what was due, and a part of that was made up by his children's gift money (bright tenpenny pieces and new quarters, kept in their little money-boxes), and pawning his best clothes, with those of his wife and children, so that all were subjected to the hardship of staying away from church. And the old usurer, too, now beginning to be obstreperous, China Aster paid him his interest and some other pressing debts with money got by, at last, mortgaging the candlery.\n\"When next interest-day came round for Orchis, not a penny could be raised. With much grief of heart, China Aster so informed Orchis' agent. Meantime, the note to the old usurer fell due, and nothing from China Aster was ready to meet it; yet, as heaven sends its rain on the just and unjust alike, by a coincidence not unfavorable to the old farmer, the well-to-do uncle, the tanner, having died, the usurer entered upon possession of such part of his property left by will to the wife of China Aster. When still the next interest-day for Orchis came round, it found China Aster worse off than ever; for, besides his other troubles, he was now weak with sickness. Feebly dragging himself to Orchis' agent, he met him in the street, told him just how it was; upon which the agent, with a grave enough face, said that he had instructions from his employer not to crowd him about the interest at present, but to say to him that about the time the note would mature, Orchis would have heavy liabilities to meet, and therefore the note must at that time be certainly paid, and, of course, the back interest with it; and not only so, but, as Orchis had had to allow the interest for good part of the time, he hoped that, for the back interest, China Aster would, in reciprocation, have no objections to allowing interest on the interest annually. To be sure, this was not the law; but, between friends who accommodate each other, it was the custom.\n\"Just then, Old Plain Talk with Old Prudence turned the corner, coming plump upon China Aster as the agent left him; and whether it was a sun-stroke, or whether they accidentally ran against him, or whether it was his being so weak, or whether it was everything together, or how it was exactly, there is no telling, but poor China Aster fell to the earth, and, striking his head sharply, was picked up senseless. It was a day in July; such a light and heat as only the midsummer banks of the inland Ohio know. China Aster was taken home on a door; lingered a few days with a wandering mind, and kept wandering on, till at last, at dead of night, when nobody was aware, his spirit wandered away into the other world.\n\"Old Plain Talk and Old Prudence, neither of whom ever omitted attending any funeral, which, indeed, was their chief exercise--these two were among the sincerest mourners who followed the remains of the son of their ancient friend to the grave.\n\"It is needless to tell of the executions that followed; how that the candlery was sold by the mortgagee; how Orchis never got a penny for his loan; and how, in the case of the poor widow, chastisement was tempered with mercy; for, though she was left penniless, she was not left childless. Yet, unmindful of the alleviation, a spirit of complaint, at what she impatiently called the bitterness of her lot and the hardness of the world, so preyed upon her, as ere long to hurry her from the obscurity of indigence to the deeper shades of the tomb.", "chosen": "tomb", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\ntomb\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-21816-036-03-bb056d63", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThere was something about Aunt Polly's manner, when she kissed Tom, that swept away his low spirits and made him lighthearted and happy again. He started to school and had the luck of coming upon Becky Thatcher at the head of Meadow Lane. His mood always determined his manner. Without a moment's hesitation he ran to her and said:\n\"I acted mighty mean today, Becky, and I'm so sorry. I won't ever, ever do that way again, as long as ever I live—please make up, won't you?\"\nThe girl stopped and looked him scornfully in the face:\n\"I'll thank you to keep yourself to yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer. I'll never speak to you again.\"\nShe tossed her head and passed on. Tom was so stunned that he had not even presence of mind enough to say \"Who cares, Miss Smarty?\" until the right time to say it had gone by. So he said nothing. But he was in a fine rage, nevertheless. He moped into the schoolyard wishing she were a boy, and imagining how he would trounce her if she were. He presently encountered her and delivered a stinging remark as he passed. She hurled one in return, and the angry breach was complete. It seemed to Becky, in her hot resentment, that she could hardly wait for school to \"take in,\" she was so impatient to see Tom flogged for the injured spelling-book. If she had had any lingering notion of exposing Alfred Temple, Tom's offensive fling had driven it entirely away.\nPoor girl, she did not know how fast she was nearing trouble herself. The master, Mr. Dobbins, had reached middle age with an unsatisfied ambition. The darling of his desires was, to be a doctor, but poverty had decreed that he should be nothing higher than a village schoolmaster. Every day he took a mysterious book out of his desk and absorbed himself in it at times when no classes were reciting. He kept that book under lock and key. There was not an urchin in school but was perishing to have a glimpse of it, but the chance never came. Every boy and girl had a theory about the nature of that book; but no two theories were alike, and there was no way of getting at the facts in the case. Now, as Becky was passing by the desk, which stood near the door, she noticed that the key was in the lock! It was a precious moment. She glanced around; found herself alone, and the next instant she had the book in her hands. The titlepage—Professor Somebody's Anatomy—carried no information to her mind; so she began to turn the leaves. She came at once upon a handsomely engraved and colored frontispiece—a human figure, stark naked. At that moment a shadow fell on the page and Tom Sawyer stepped in at the door and caught a glimpse of the picture. Becky snatched at the book to close it, and had the hard luck to tear the pictured page half down the middle. She thrust the volume into the desk, turned the key, and burst out crying with shame and vexation.\n\"Tom Sawyer, you are just as mean as you can be, to sneak up on a person and look at what they're looking at.\"\n\"How could I know you was looking at anything?\"\n\"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom Sawyer; you know you're going to tell on me, and oh, what shall I do, what shall I do! I'll be whipped, and I never was whipped in school.\"\nThen she stamped her little foot and said:\n\"Be so mean if you want to! I know something that's going to happen. You just wait and you'll see! Hateful, hateful, hateful!\"—and she flung out of the house with a new explosion of crying.\nTom stood still, rather flustered by this onslaught. Presently he said to himself:\n\"What a curious kind of a fool a girl is! Never been licked in school! Shucks! What's a licking! That's just like a girl—they're so thin-skinned and chicken-hearted. Well, of course I ain't going to tell old Dobbins on this little fool, because there's other ways of getting even on her, that ain't so mean; but what of it? Old Dobbins will ask who it was tore his book. Nobody'll answer. Then he'll do just the way he always does—ask first one and then t'other, and when he comes to the right girl he'll know it, without any telling. Girls' faces always tell on them. They ain't got any backbone. She'll get licked. Well, it's a kind of a tight place for Becky Thatcher, because there ain't any way out of it.\" Tom conned the thing a moment longer, and then added: \"All right, though; she'd like to see me in just such a fix—let her sweat it out!\"\nTom joined the mob of skylarking scholars outside. In a few moments the master arrived and school \"took in.\" Tom did not feel a strong interest in his studies. Every time he stole a glance at the girls' side of the room Becky's face troubled him. Considering all things, he did not want to pity her, and yet it was all he could do to help it. He could get up no exultation that was really worthy the name. Presently the spelling-book discovery was made, and Tom's mind was entirely full of his own matters for a while after that. Becky roused up from her lethargy of distress and showed good interest in the proceedings. She did not expect that Tom could get out of his trouble by denying that he spilt the ink on the book himself; and she was right. The denial only seemed to make the thing worse for Tom. Becky supposed she would be glad of that, and she tried to believe she was glad of it, but she found she was not certain. When the worst came to the worst, she had an impulse to get up and tell on Alfred Temple, but she made an effort and forced herself to keep still—because, said she to herself, \"he'll tell about me tearing the picture sure. I wouldn't say a word, not to save his life!\"\nTom took his whipping and went back to his seat not at all broken-hearted, for he thought it was possible that he had unknowingly upset the ink on the spelling-book himself, in some skylarking bout—he had denied it for form's sake and because it was custom, and had stuck to the denial from principle.\nA whole hour drifted by, the master sat nodding in his throne, the air was drowsy with the hum of study. By and by, Mr. Dobbins straightened himself up, yawned, then unlocked his desk, and reached for his book, but seemed undecided whether to take it out or leave it. Most of the pupils glanced up languidly, but there were two among them that watched his movements with intent eyes. Mr. Dobbins fingered his book absently for a while, then took it out and settled himself in his chair to read! Tom shot a glance at Becky. He had seen a hunted and helpless rabbit look as she did, with a gun levelled at its head. Instantly he forgot his quarrel with her. Quick—something must be done! done in a flash, too! But the very imminence of the emergency paralyzed his invention. Good!—he had an inspiration! He would run and snatch the book, spring through the door and fly. But his resolution shook for one little instant, and the chance was lost—the master opened the volume. If Tom only had the wasted opportunity back again! Too late. There was no help for Becky now, he said. The next moment the master faced the school. Every eye sank under his gaze. There was that in it which smote even the innocent with fear. There was silence while one might count ten—the master was gathering his wrath. Then he spoke: \"Who tore this book?\"\nThere was not a sound. One could have heard a pin drop. The stillness continued; the master searched face after face for signs of guilt.\n\"Benjamin Rogers, did you tear this book?\"\nA denial. Another pause.\n\"Joseph Harper, did you?\"", "chosen": "[\"Polly\", \"Tom\", \"Becky\", \"Thatcher\", \"Meadow\", \"Lane\", \"Sawyer\", \"Smarty\", \"Alfred\", \"Temple\", \"Somebody\", \"Anatomy\", \"Dobbins\", \"All\", \"Benjamin\", \"Rogers\", \"Joseph\", \"Harper\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Polly\", \"Tom\", \"Becky\", \"Thatcher\", \"Meadow\", \"Lane\", \"Sawyer\", \"Smarty\", \"Alfred\", \"Temple\", \"Somebody\", \"Anatomy\", \"Dobbins\", \"All\", \"Benjamin\", \"Rogers\", \"Joseph\", \"Harper\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-74-020-00-02e3261a", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nMrs. Cadwallader said nothing, but gave her husband three significant nods, with a very sarcastic expression in her dark eyes.\nDorothea quietly persisted in spite of remonstrance and persuasion. So by the end of June the shutters were all opened at Lowick Manor, and the morning gazed calmly into the library, shining on the rows of note-books as it shines on the weary waste planted with huge stones, the mute memorial of a forgotten faith; and the evening laden with roses entered silently into the blue-green boudoir where Dorothea chose oftenest to sit. At first she walked into every room, questioning the eighteen months of her married life, and carrying on her thoughts as if they were a speech to be heard by her husband. Then, she lingered in the library and could not be at rest till she had carefully ranged all the note-books as she imagined that he would wish to see them, in orderly sequence. The pity which had been the restraining compelling motive in her life with him still clung about his image, even while she remonstrated with him in indignant thought and told him that he was unjust. One little act of hers may perhaps be smiled at as superstitious. The Synoptical Tabulation for the use of Mrs. Casaubon, she carefully enclosed and sealed, writing within the envelope, \"I could not use it. Do you not see now that I could not submit my soul to yours, by working hopelessly at what I have no belief in—Dorothea?\" Then she deposited the paper in her own desk.\nThat silent colloquy was perhaps only the more earnest because underneath and through it all there was always the deep longing which had really determined her to come to Lowick. The longing was to see Will Ladislaw. She did not know any good that could come of their meeting: she was helpless; her hands had been tied from making up to him for any unfairness in his lot. But her soul thirsted to see him. How could it be otherwise? If a princess in the days of enchantment had seen a four-footed creature from among those which live in herds come to her once and again with a human gaze which rested upon her with choice and beseeching, what would she think of in her journeying, what would she look for when the herds passed her? Surely for the gaze which had found her, and which she would know again. Life would be no better than candle-light tinsel and daylight rubbish if our spirits were not touched by what has been, to issues of longing and constancy. It was true that Dorothea wanted to know the Farebrothers better, and especially to talk to the new rector, but also true that remembering what Lydgate had told her about Will Ladislaw and little Miss Noble, she counted on Will's coming to Lowick to see the Farebrother family. The very first Sunday, before she entered the church, she saw him as she had seen him the last time she was there, alone in the clergyman's pew; but when she entered his figure was gone.\nIn the week-days when she went to see the ladies at the Rectory, she listened in vain for some word that they might let fall about Will; but it seemed to her that Mrs. Farebrother talked of every one else in the neighborhood and out of it.\n\"Probably some of Mr. Farebrother's Middlemarch hearers may follow him to Lowick sometimes. Do you not think so?\" said Dorothea, rather despising herself for having a secret motive in asking the question.\n\"If they are wise they will, Mrs. Casaubon,\" said the old lady. \"I see that you set a right value on my son's preaching. His grandfather on my side was an excellent clergyman, but his father was in the law:—most exemplary and honest nevertheless, which is a reason for our never being rich. They say Fortune is a woman and capricious. But sometimes she is a good woman and gives to those who merit, which has been the case with you, Mrs. Casaubon, who have given a living to my son.\"\nMrs. Farebrother recurred to her knitting with a dignified satisfaction in her neat little effort at oratory, but this was not what Dorothea wanted to hear. Poor thing! she did not even know whether Will Ladislaw was still at Middlemarch, and there was no one whom she dared to ask, unless it were Lydgate. But just now she could not see Lydgate without sending for him or going to seek him. Perhaps Will Ladislaw, having heard of that strange ban against him left by Mr. Casaubon, had felt it better that he and she should not meet again, and perhaps she was wrong to wish for a meeting that others might find many good reasons against. Still \"I do wish it\" came at the end of those wise reflections as naturally as a sob after holding the breath. And the meeting did happen, but in a formal way quite unexpected by her.\nOne morning, about eleven, Dorothea was seated in her boudoir with a map of the land attached to the manor and other papers before her, which were to help her in making an exact statement for herself of her income and affairs. She had not yet applied herself to her work, but was seated with her hands folded on her lap, looking out along the avenue of limes to the distant fields. Every leaf was at rest in the sunshine, the familiar scene was changeless, and seemed to represent the prospect of her life, full of motiveless ease—motiveless, if her own energy could not seek out reasons for ardent action. The widow's cap of those times made an oval frame for the face, and had a crown standing up; the dress was an experiment in the utmost laying on of crape; but this heavy solemnity of clothing made her face look all the younger, with its recovered bloom, and the sweet, inquiring candor of her eyes.\nHer reverie was broken by Tantripp, who came to say that Mr. Ladislaw was below, and begged permission to see Madam if it were not too early.\n\"I will see him,\" said Dorothea, rising immediately. \"Let him be shown into the drawing-room.\"\nThe drawing-room was the most neutral room in the house to her—the one least associated with the trials of her married life: the damask matched the wood-work, which was all white and gold; there were two tall mirrors and tables with nothing on them—in brief, it was a room where you had no reason for sitting in one place rather than in another. It was below the boudoir, and had also a bow-window looking out on the avenue. But when Pratt showed Will Ladislaw into it the window was open; and a winged visitor, buzzing in and out now and then without minding the furniture, made the room look less formal and uninhabited.\n\"Glad to see you here again, sir,\" said Pratt, lingering to adjust a blind.\n\"I am only come to say good-by, Pratt,\" said Will, who wished even the butler to know that he was too proud to hang about Mrs. Casaubon now she was a rich widow.\n\"Very sorry to hear it, sir,\" said Pratt, retiring. Of course, as a servant who was to be told nothing, he knew the fact of which Ladislaw was still ignorant, and had drawn his inferences; indeed, had not differed from his betrothed Tantripp when she said, \"Your master was as jealous as a fiend—and no reason. Madam would look higher than Mr. Ladislaw, else I don't know her. Mrs. Cadwallader's maid says there's a lord coming who is to marry her when the mourning's over.\"", "chosen": "Mrs., Cadwallader, Dorothea, So, At, Then,, The, One, The, Casaubon,, Do, That, The, She, But, How, If, Surely, Life, It, The, In, Farebrother, Probably, Farebrother's, Do, If, Casaubon,\", I, His, They, But, Casaubon,, Farebrother, Poor, she, But, Perhaps, Casaubon,, Still, And, One, She, Every, The, Her, Ladislaw, I, Let, It, But, Glad, I, Casaubon, Very, Of, Madam, Ladislaw,, Mrs., Cadwallader's", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nMrs., Cadwallader, Dorothea, So, At, Then,, The, One, The, Casaubon,, Do, That, The, She, But, How, If, Surely, Life, It, The, In, Farebrother, Probably, Farebrother's, Do, If, Casaubon,\", I, His, They, But, Casaubon,, Farebrother, Poor, she, But, Perhaps, Casaubon,, Still, And, One, She, Every, The, Her, Ladislaw, I, Let, It, But, Glad, I, Casaubon, Very, Of, Madam, Ladislaw,, Mrs., Cadwallader's\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-054-01-6b5e2c26", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nSouthern Sports\nIN the North one hears the war mentioned, in social conversation, once a month; sometimes as often as once a week; but as a distinct subject for talk, it has long ago been relieved of duty. There are sufficient reasons for this. Given a dinner company of six gentlemen to-day, it can easily happen that four of them--and possibly five--were not in the field at all. So the chances are four to two, or five to one, that the war will at no time during the evening become the topic of conversation; and the chances are still greater that if it become the topic it will remain so but a little while. If you add six ladies to the company, you have added six people who saw so little of the dread realities of the war that they ran out of talk concerning them years ago, and now would soon weary of the war topic if you brought it up.\nThe case is very different in the South. There, every man you meet was in the war; and every lady you meet saw the war. The war is the great chief topic of conversation. The interest in it is vivid and constant; the interest in other topics is fleeting. Mention of the war will wake up a dull company and set their tongues going, when nearly any other topic would fail. In the South, the war is what A.D. is elsewhere: they date from it. All day long you hear things 'placed' as having happened since the waw; or du'in' the waw; or befo' the waw; or right aftah the waw; or 'bout two yeahs or five yeahs or ten yeahs befo' the waw or aftah the waw. It shows how intimately every individual was visited, in his own person, by that tremendous episode. It gives the inexperienced stranger a better idea of what a vast and comprehensive calamity invasion is than he can ever get by reading books at the fireside.\nAt a club one evening, a gentleman turned to me and said, in an aside--\n'You notice, of course, that we are nearly always talking about the war. It isn't because we haven't anything else to talk about, but because nothing else has so strong an interest for us. And there is another reason: In the war, each of us, in his own person, seems to have sampled all the different varieties of human experience; as a consequence, you can't mention an outside matter of any sort but it will certainly remind some listener of something that happened during the war--and out he comes with it. Of course that brings the talk back to the war. You may try all you want to, to keep other subjects before the house, and we may all join in and help, but there can be but one result: the most random topic would load every man up with war reminiscences, and shut him up, too; and talk would be likely to stop presently, because you can't talk pale inconsequentialities when you've got a crimson fact or fancy in your head that you are burning to fetch out.'\nThe poet was sitting some little distance away; and presently he began to speak--about the moon.\nThe gentleman who had been talking to me remarked in an 'aside:' 'There, the moon is far enough from the seat of war, but you will see that it will suggest something to somebody about the war; in ten minutes from now the moon, as a topic, will be shelved.'\nThe poet was saying he had noticed something which was a surprise to him; had had the impression that down here, toward the equator, the moonlight was much stronger and brighter than up North; had had the impression that when he visited New Orleans, many years ago, the moon--\nInterruption from the other end of the room--\n'Let me explain that. Reminds me of an anecdote. Everything is changed since the war, for better or for worse; but you'll find people down here born grumblers, who see no change except the change for the worse. There was an old negro woman of this sort. A young New-Yorker said in her presence, \"What a wonderful moon you have down here!\" She sighed and said, \"Ah, bless yo' heart, honey, you ought to seen dat moon befo' de waw!\"'\nThe new topic was dead already. But the poet resurrected it, and gave it a new start.\nA brief dispute followed, as to whether the difference between Northern and Southern moonlight really existed or was only imagined. Moonlight talk drifted easily into talk about artificial methods of dispelling darkness. Then somebody remembered that when Farragut advanced upon Port Hudson on a dark night--and did not wish to assist the aim of the Confederate gunners--he carried no battle-lanterns, but painted the decks of his ships white, and thus created a dim but valuable light, which enabled his own men to grope their way around with considerable facility. At this point the war got the floor again--the ten minutes not quite up yet.\nI was not sorry, for war talk by men who have been in a war is always interesting; whereas moon talk by a poet who has not been in the moon is likely to be dull.\nWe went to a cockpit in New Orleans on a Saturday afternoon. I had never seen a cock-fight before. There were men and boys there of all ages and all colors, and of many languages and nationalities. But I noticed one quite conspicuous and surprising absence: the traditional brutal faces. There were no brutal faces. With no cock-fighting going on, you could have played the gathering on a stranger for a prayer-meeting; and after it began, for a revival--provided you blindfolded your stranger--for the shouting was something prodigious.\nA negro and a white man were in the ring; everybody else outside. The cocks were brought in in sacks; and when time was called, they were taken out by the two bottle-holders, stroked, caressed, poked toward each other, and finally liberated. The big black cock plunged instantly at the little gray one and struck him on the head with his spur. The gray responded with spirit. Then the Babel of many-tongued shoutings broke out, and ceased not thenceforth. When the cocks had been fighting some little time, I was expecting them momently to drop dead, for both were blind, red with blood, and so exhausted that they frequently fell down. Yet they would not give up, neither would they die. The negro and the white man would pick them up every few seconds, wipe them off, blow cold water on them in a fine spray, and take their heads in their mouths and hold them there a moment--to warm back the perishing life perhaps; I do not know. Then, being set down again, the dying creatures would totter gropingly about, with dragging wings, find each other, strike a guesswork blow or two, and fall exhausted once more.\nI did not see the end of the battle. I forced myself to endure it as long as I could, but it was too pitiful a sight; so I made frank confession to that effect, and we retired. We heard afterward that the black cock died in the ring, and fighting to the last.\nEvidently there is abundant fascination about this 'sport' for such as have had a degree of familiarity with it. I never saw people enjoy anything more than this gathering enjoyed this fight. The case was the same with old gray-heads and with boys of ten. They lost themselves in frenzies of delight. The 'cocking-main' is an inhuman sort of entertainment, there is no question about that; still, it seems a much more respectable and far less cruel sport than fox-hunting--for the cocks like it; they experience, as well as confer enjoyment; which is not the fox's case.", "chosen": "54", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n54\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-245-044-00-fe3f6b4a", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nAvailing himself of the mild, summer-cool weather that now reigned in these latitudes, and in preparation for the peculiarly active pursuits shortly to be anticipated, Perth, the begrimed, blistered old blacksmith, had not removed his portable forge to the hold again, after concluding his contributory work for Ahab's leg, but still retained it on deck, fast lashed to ringbolts by the foremast; being now almost incessantly invoked by the headsmen, and harpooneers, and bowsmen to do some little job for them; altering, or repairing, or new shaping their various weapons and boat furniture. Often he would be surrounded by an eager circle, all waiting to be served; holding boat-spades, pike-heads, harpoons, and lances, and jealously watching his every sooty movement, as he toiled. Nevertheless, this old man's was a patient hammer wielded by a patient arm. No murmur, no impatience, no petulance did come from him. Silent, slow, and solemn; bowing over still further his chronically broken back, he toiled away, as if toil were life itself, and the heavy beating of his hammer the heavy beating of his heart. And so it was.—Most miserable!\nA peculiar walk in this old man, a certain slight but painful appearing yawing in his gait, had at an early period of the voyage excited the curiosity of the mariners. And to the importunity of their persisted questionings he had finally given in; and so it came to pass that every one now knew the shameful story of his wretched fate.\nBelated, and not innocently, one bitter winter's midnight, on the road running between two country towns, the blacksmith half-stupidly felt the deadly numbness stealing over him, and sought refuge in a leaning, dilapidated barn. The issue was, the loss of the extremities of both feet. Out of this revelation, part by part, at last came out the four acts of the gladness, and the one long, and as yet uncatastrophied fifth act of the grief of his life's drama.\nHe was an old man, who, at the age of nearly sixty, had postponedly encountered that thing in sorrow's technicals called ruin. He had been an artisan of famed excellence, and with plenty to do; owned a house and garden; embraced a youthful, daughter-like, loving wife, and three blithe, ruddy children; every Sunday went to a cheerful-looking church, planted in a grove. But one night, under cover of darkness, and further concealed in a most cunning disguisement, a desperate burglar slid into his happy home, and robbed them all of everything. And darker yet to tell, the blacksmith himself did ignorantly conduct this burglar into his family's heart. It was the Bottle Conjuror! Upon the opening of that fatal cork, forth flew the fiend, and shrivelled up his home. Now, for prudent, most wise, and economic reasons, the blacksmith's shop was in the basement of his dwelling, but with a separate entrance to it; so that always had the young and loving healthy wife listened with no unhappy nervousness, but with vigorous pleasure, to the stout ringing of her young-armed old husband's hammer; whose reverberations, muffled by passing through the floors and walls, came up to her, not unsweetly, in her nursery; and so, to stout Labor's iron lullaby, the blacksmith's infants were rocked to slumber.\nOh, woe on woe! Oh, Death, why canst thou not sometimes be timely? Hadst thou taken this old blacksmith to thyself ere his full ruin came upon him, then had the young widow had a delicious grief, and her orphans a truly venerable, legendary sire to dream of in their after years; and all of them a care-killing competency. But Death plucked down some virtuous elder brother, on whose whistling daily toil solely hung the responsibilities of some other family, and left the worse than useless old man standing, till the hideous rot of life should make him easier to harvest.\nWhy tell the whole? The blows of the basement hammer every day grew more and more between; and each blow every day grew fainter than the last; the wife sat frozen at the window, with tearless eyes, glitteringly gazing into the weeping faces of her children; the bellows fell; the forge choked up with cinders; the house was sold; the mother dived down into the long church-yard grass; her children twice followed her thither; and the houseless, familyless old man staggered off a vagabond in crape; his every woe unreverenced; his grey head a scorn to flaxen curls!\nDeath seems the only desirable sequel for a career like this; but Death is only a launching into the region of the strange Untried; it is but the first salutation to the possibilities of the immense Remote, the Wild, the Watery, the Unshored; therefore, to the death-longing eyes of such men, who still have left in them some interior compunctions against suicide, does the all-contributed and all-receptive ocean alluringly spread forth his whole plain of unimaginable, taking terrors, and wonderful, new-life adventures; and from the hearts of infinite Pacifics, the thousand mermaids sing to them—\"Come hither, broken-hearted; here is another life without the guilt of intermediate death; here are wonders supernatural, without dying for them. Come hither! bury thyself in a life which, to your now equally abhorred and abhorring, landed world, is more oblivious than death. Come hither! put up thy gravestone, too, within the churchyard, and come hither, till we marry thee!\"\nHearkening to these voices, East and West, by early sunrise, and by fall of eve, the blacksmith's soul responded, Aye, I come! And so Perth went a-whaling.", "chosen": "Death seems the only desirable sequel for a career like this; but Death is only a launching into the region of the strange Untried; it is but the first salutation to the possibilities of the immense Remote, the Wild, the Watery, the Unshored; therefore, to the death-longing eyes of such men, who still have left in them some interior compunctions against suicide, does the all-contributed and all-receptive ocean alluringly spread forth his whole plain of unimaginable, taking terrors, and wonderful, new-life adventures; and from the hearts of infinite Pacifics, the thousand mermaids sing to them—\"Come hither, broken-hearted; here is another life without the guilt of intermediate death; here are wonders supernatural, without dying for them.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nDeath seems the only desirable sequel for a career like this; but Death is only a launching into the region of the strange Untried; it is but the first salutation to the possibilities of the immense Remote, the Wild, the Watery, the Unshored; therefore, to the death-longing eyes of such men, who still have left in them some interior compunctions against suicide, does the all-contributed and all-receptive ocean alluringly spread forth his whole plain of unimaginable, taking terrors, and wonderful, new-life adventures; and from the hearts of infinite Pacifics, the thousand mermaids sing to them—\"Come hither, broken-hearted; here is another life without the guilt of intermediate death; here are wonders supernatural, without dying for them.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2701-098-00-69c81394", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"What are you afraid of?\" asked Mitya, scanning him. \"Well, go to the devil, if that's it!\" he cried, flinging him five roubles. \"Now, Trifon Borissovitch, take me up quietly and let me first get a look at them, so that they don't see me. Where are they? In the blue room?\"\nTrifon Borissovitch looked apprehensively at Mitya, but at once obediently did his bidding. Leading him into the passage, he went himself into the first large room, adjoining that in which the visitors were sitting, and took the light away. Then he stealthily led Mitya in, and put him in a corner in the dark, whence he could freely watch the company without being seen. But Mitya did not look long, and, indeed, he could not see them, he saw her, his heart throbbed violently, and all was dark before his eyes.\nShe was sitting sideways to the table in a low chair, and beside her, on the sofa, was the pretty youth, Kalganov. She was holding his hand and seemed to be laughing, while he, seeming vexed and not looking at her, was saying something in a loud voice to Maximov, who sat the other side of the table, facing Grushenka. Maximov was laughing violently at something. On the sofa sat he, and on a chair by the sofa there was another stranger. The one on the sofa was lolling backwards, smoking a pipe, and Mitya had an impression of a stoutish, broad-faced, short little man, who was apparently angry about something. His friend, the other stranger, struck Mitya as extraordinarily tall, but he could make out nothing more. He caught his breath. He could not bear it for a minute, he put the pistol-case on a chest, and with a throbbing heart he walked, feeling cold all over, straight into the blue room to face the company.\n\"Aie!\" shrieked Grushenka, the first to notice him.", "chosen": "him", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nhim\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-049-02-f137b939", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"You said up there, didn't you? and now look yourself, and see where your tongs are pointing. But, perhaps you expect to get into heaven by crawling through the lubber's hole, cook; but, no, no, cook, you don't get there, except you go the regular way, round by the rigging. It's a ticklish business, but must be done, or else it's no go. But none of us are in heaven yet. Drop your tongs, cook, and hear my orders. Do ye hear? Hold your hat in one hand, and clap t'other a'top of your heart, when I'm giving my orders, cook. What! that your heart, there?—that's your gizzard! Aloft! aloft!—that's it—now you have it. Hold it there now, and pay attention.\"\n\"All 'dention,\" said the old black, with both hands placed as desired, vainly wriggling his grizzled head, as if to get both ears in front at one and the same time.\n\"Well then, cook, you see this whale-steak of yours was so very bad, that I have put it out of sight as soon as possible; you see that, don't you? Well, for the future, when you cook another whale-steak for my private table here, the capstan, I'll tell you what to do so as not to spoil it by overdoing. Hold the steak in one hand, and show a live coal to it with the other; that done, dish it; d'ye hear? And now to-morrow, cook, when we are cutting in the fish, be sure you stand by to get the tips of his fins; have them put in pickle. As for the ends of the flukes, have them soused, cook. There, now ye may go.\"\nBut Fleece had hardly got three paces off, when he was recalled.\n\"Cook, give me cutlets for supper to-morrow night in the mid-watch. D'ye hear? away you sail, then.—Halloa! stop! make a bow before you go.—Avast heaving again! Whale-balls for breakfast—don't forget.\"\n\"Wish, by gor! whale eat him, 'stead of him eat whale. I'm bressed if he ain't more of shark dan Massa Shark hisself,\" muttered the old man, limping away; with which sage ejaculation he went to his hammock.", "chosen": "[\"All\", \"Fleece\", \"Cook\", \"Wish\", \"Massa\", \"Shark\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"All\", \"Fleece\", \"Cook\", \"Wish\", \"Massa\", \"Shark\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-054-02-e0b34d27", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"I do not believe that he will ever live at Netherfield any more.\"\n\"Oh, well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come; though I shall always say that he used my daughter extremely ill; and, if I was her, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart, and then he will be sorry for what he has done.\"\nBut as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such expectation she made no answer.\n\"Well, Lizzy,\" continued her mother, soon afterwards, \"and so the Collinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an excellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as her mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in their housekeeping, I dare say.\"\n\"No, nothing at all.\"\n\"A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes. They will take care not to outrun their income. They will never be distressed for money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn when your father is dead. They look upon it quite as their own, I dare say, whenever that happens.\"\n\"It was a subject which they could not mention before me.\"\n\"No; it would have been strange if they had. But I make no doubt they often talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can be easy with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better. I should be ashamed of having one that was only entailed on me.\"", "chosen": "I, it, Nobody, Well,, Well,, Well,, And, Charlotte, If, There, Yes,, They, They, Well,, And, They, But, Well,, I", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nI, it, Nobody, Well,, Well,, Well,, And, Charlotte, If, There, Yes,, They, They, Well,, And, They, But, Well,, I\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-1342-040-01-862f3374", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Indeed, my dear, I will,\" replied Rosa, in a tone of affectionate childishness that went straight and true to her heart; \"I will be as good a friend as such a mite of a thing can be to such a noble creature as you. And be a friend to me, please; I don't understand myself: and I want a friend who can understand me, very much indeed.\"\nHelena Landless kissed her, and retaining both her hands said:\n\"Who is Mr. Jasper?\"\nRosa turned aside her head in answering: \"Eddy's uncle, and my music-master.\"\n\"You do not love him?\"\n\"Ugh!\" She put her hands up to her face, and shook with fear or horror.\n\"You know that he loves you?\"\n\"O, don't, don't, don't!\" cried Rosa, dropping on her knees, and clinging to her new resource. \"Don't tell me of it! He terrifies me. He haunts my thoughts, like a dreadful ghost. I feel that I am never safe from him. I feel as if he could pass in through the wall when he is spoken of.\" She actually did look round, as if she dreaded to see him standing in the shadow behind her.\n\"Try to tell me more about it, darling.\"\n\"Yes, I will, I will. Because you are so strong. But hold me the while, and stay with me afterwards.\"\n\"My child! You speak as if he had threatened you in some dark way.\"\n\"He has never spoken to me about—that. Never.\"\n\"What has he done?\"\n\"He has made a slave of me with his looks. He has forced me to understand him, without his saying a word; and he has forced me to keep silence, without his uttering a threat. When I play, he never moves his eyes from my hands. When I sing, he never moves his eyes from my lips. When he corrects me, and strikes a note, or a chord, or plays a passage, he himself is in the sounds, whispering that he pursues me as a lover, and commanding me to keep his secret. I avoid his eyes, but he forces me to see them without looking at them. Even when a glaze comes over them (which is sometimes the case), and he seems to wander away into a frightful sort of dream in which he threatens most, he obliges me to know it, and to know that he is sitting close at my side, more terrible to me than ever.\"\n\"What is this imagined threatening, pretty one? What is threatened?\"\n\"I don't know. I have never even dared to think or wonder what it is.\"\n\"And was this all, to-night?\"\n\"This was all; except that to-night when he watched my lips so closely as I was singing, besides feeling terrified I felt ashamed and passionately hurt. It was as if he kissed me, and I couldn't bear it, but cried out. You must never breathe this to any one. Eddy is devoted to him. But you said to-night that you would not be afraid of him, under any circumstances, and that gives me—who am so much afraid of him—courage to tell only you. Hold me! Stay with me! I am too frightened to be left by myself.\"\nThe lustrous gipsy-face drooped over the clinging arms and bosom, and the wild black hair fell down protectingly over the childish form. There was a slumbering gleam of fire in the intense dark eyes, though they were then softened with compassion and admiration. Let whomsoever it most concerned look well to it!", "chosen": "31", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n31\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-564-007-02-faa76d01", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"I suppose you know, ma'am, that Mr. Ferrars is married.\"\nMarianne gave a violent start, fixed her eyes upon Elinor, saw her turning pale, and fell back in her chair in hysterics. Mrs. Dashwood, whose eyes, as she answered the servant's inquiry, had intuitively taken the same direction, was shocked to perceive by Elinor's countenance how much she really suffered, and a moment afterwards, alike distressed by Marianne's situation, knew not on which child to bestow her principal attention.\nThe servant, who saw only that Miss Marianne was taken ill, had sense enough to call one of the maids, who, with Mrs. Dashwood's assistance, supported her into the other room. By that time, Marianne was rather better, and her mother leaving her to the care of Margaret and the maid, returned to Elinor, who, though still much disordered, had so far recovered the use of her reason and voice as to be just beginning an inquiry of Thomas, as to the source of his intelligence. Mrs. Dashwood immediately took all that trouble on herself; and Elinor had the benefit of the information without the exertion of seeking it.\n\"Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?\"\n\"I see Mr. Ferrars myself, ma'am, this morning in Exeter, and his lady too, Miss Steele as was. They was stopping in a chaise at the door of the New London Inn, as I went there with a message from Sally at the Park to her brother, who is one of the post-boys. I happened to look up as I went by the chaise, and so I see directly it was the youngest Miss Steele; so I took off my hat, and she knew me and called to me, and inquired after you, ma'am, and the young ladies, especially Miss Marianne, and bid me I should give her compliments and Mr. Ferrars's, their best compliments and service, and how sorry they was they had not time to come on and see you, but they was in a great hurry to go forwards, for they was going further down for a little while, but however, when they come back, they'd make sure to come and see you.\"\n\"But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?\"\n\"Yes, ma'am. She smiled, and said how she had changed her name since she was in these parts. She was always a very affable and free-spoken young lady, and very civil behaved. So, I made free to wish her joy.\"\n\"Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?\"\n\"Yes, ma'am, I just see him leaning back in it, but he did not look up;--he never was a gentleman much for talking.\"\nElinor's heart could easily account for his not putting himself forward; and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation.\n\"Was there no one else in the carriage?\"\n\"No, ma'am, only they two.\"\n\"Do you know where they came from?\"\n\"They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy--Mrs. Ferrars told me.\"\n\"And are they going farther westward?\"\n\"Yes, ma'am--but not to bide long. They will soon be back again, and then they'd be sure and call here.\"\nMrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor knew better than to expect them. She recognised the whole of Lucy in the message, and was very confident that Edward would never come near them. She observed in a low voice, to her mother, that they were probably going down to Mr. Pratt's, near Plymouth.\nThomas's intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if she wished to hear more.\n\"Did you see them off, before you came away?\"\n\"No, ma'am--the horses were just coming out, but I could not bide any longer; I was afraid of being late.\"\n\"Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?\"\n\"Yes, ma'am, she said how she was very well; and to my mind she was always a very handsome young lady--and she seemed vastly contented.\"\nMrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the tablecloth, now alike needless, were soon afterwards dismissed. Marianne had already sent to say, that she should eat nothing more. Mrs. Dashwood's and Elinor's appetites were equally lost, and Margaret might think herself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as both her sisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had often had to be careless of their meals, she had never been obliged to go without her dinner before.\nWhen the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a similarity of thoughtfulness and silence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to hazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation. She now found that she had erred in relying on Elinor's representation of herself; and justly concluded that every thing had been expressly softened at the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness, suffering as she then had suffered for Marianne. She found that she had been misled by the careful, the considerate attention of her daughter, to think the attachment, which once she had so well understood, much slighter in reality, than she had been wont to believe, or than it was now proved to be. She feared that under this persuasion she had been unjust, inattentive, nay, almost unkind, to her Elinor; that Marianne's affliction, because more acknowledged, more immediately before her, had too much engrossed her tenderness, and led her away to forget that in Elinor she might have a daughter suffering almost as much, certainly with less self-provocation, and greater fortitude.", "chosen": "Ferrars's, their best compliments and service, and how sorry they was they had not time to come on and see you, but they was in a great hurry to go forwards, for they was going further down for a little while, but however, when they come back, they'd make sure to come and see you.\"\n\"But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?\"\n\"Yes, ma'am.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nFerrars's, their best compliments and service, and how sorry they was they had not time to come on and see you, but they was in a great hurry to go forwards, for they was going further down for a little while, but however, when they come back, they'd make sure to come and see you.\"\n\"But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?\"\n\"Yes, ma'am.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21839-047-01-7adc8f04", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nLady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day, or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, \"It is very shocking, indeed!\" and by the means of this continual though gentle vent, was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without recollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the dignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to the interest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather against the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once be a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon as she married.\nColonel Brandon's delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate discussion of her sister's disappointment, by the friendly zeal with which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with confidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion of disclosing past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eye with which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her voice whenever (though it did not often happen) she was obliged, or could oblige herself to speak to him. These assured him that his exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and these gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter; but Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew only that the Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could neither prevail on him to make the offer himself, nor commission her to make it for him, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of Mid-summer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the end of a week that it would not be a match at all. The good understanding between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the honours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all be made over to her; and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to think at all of Mrs. Ferrars.\nEarly in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of Willoughby's letter, Elinor had the painful office of informing her sister that he was married. She had taken care to have the intelligence conveyed to herself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony was over, as she was desirous that Marianne should not receive the first notice of it from the public papers, which she saw her eagerly examining every morning.\nShe received the news with resolute composure; made no observation on it, and at first shed no tears; but after a short time they would burst out, and for the rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less pitiable than when she first learnt to expect the event.\nThe Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married; and Elinor now hoped, as there could be no danger of her seeing either of them, to prevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house since the blow first fell, to go out again by degrees as she had done before.\nAbout this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived at their cousin's house in Bartlett's Buildings, Holborn, presented themselves again before their more grand relations in Conduit and Berkeley Streets; and were welcomed by them all with great cordiality.\nElinor only was sorry to see them. Their presence always gave her pain, and she hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to the overpowering delight of Lucy in finding her still in town.\n\"I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here still,\" said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word. \"But I always thought I should I was almost sure you would not leave London yet awhile; though you told me, you know, at Barton, that you should not stay above a month. But I thought, at the time, that you would most likely change your mind when it came to the point. It would have been such a great pity to have went away before your brother and sister came. And now to be sure you will be in no hurry to be gone. I am amazingly glad you did not keep to your word.\"\nElinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her self-command to make it appear that she did not.\n\"Well, my dear,\" said Mrs. Jennings, \"and how did you travel?\"\n\"Not in the stage, I assure you,\" replied Miss Steele, with quick exultation; \"we came post all the way, and had a very smart beau to attend us. Dr. Davies was coming to town, and so we thought we'd join him in a post-chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten or twelve shillings more than we did.\"\n\"Oh, oh!\" cried Mrs. Jennings; \"very pretty, indeed! and the Doctor is a single man, I warrant you.\"\n\"There now,\" said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, \"everybody laughs at me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think why. My cousins say they are sure I have made a conquest; but for my part I declare I never think about him from one hour's end to another. 'Lord! here comes your beau, Nancy,' my cousin said t'other day, when she saw him crossing the street to the house. My beau, indeed! said I--I cannot think who you mean. The Doctor is no beau of mine.\"\n\"Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking--but it won't do--the Doctor is the man, I see.\"\n\"No, indeed!\" replied her cousin, with affected earnestness, \"and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of.\"\nMrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she certainly would not, and Miss Steele was made completely happy.\n\"I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss Dashwood, when they come to town,\" said Lucy, returning, after a cessation of hostile hints, to the charge.\n\"No, I do not think we shall.\"\n\"Oh, yes, I dare say you will.\"\nElinor would not humour her by farther opposition.\n\"What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for so long a time together!\"\n\"Long a time, indeed!\" interposed Mrs. Jennings. \"Why, their visit is but just begun!\"\nLucy was silenced.\n\"I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood,\" said Miss Steele. \"I am sorry she is not well--\" for Marianne had left the room on their arrival.\n\"You are very good. My sister will be equally sorry to miss the pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with nervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation.\"\n\"Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and me!--I think she might see us; and I am sure we would not speak a word.\"\nElinor, with great civility, declined the proposal. Her sister was perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore not able to come to them.\n\"Oh, if that's all,\" cried Miss Steele, \"we can just as well go and see her.\"\nElinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper; but she was saved the trouble of checking it, by Lucy's sharp reprimand, which now, as on many occasions, though it did not give much sweetness to the manners of one sister, was of advantage in governing those of the other.", "chosen": "[\"It is very shocking, indeed!\", \"I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here still,\", \"\\nElinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her self-command to make it appear that she did not.\\n\", \" said Mrs. Jennings, \", \"Not in the stage, I assure you,\", \"Oh, oh!\", \"very pretty, indeed! and the Doctor is a single man, I warrant you.\", \"There now,\", \"Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking--but it won't do--the Doctor is the man, I see.\", \"No, indeed!\", \"and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of.\", \"I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss Dashwood, when they come to town,\", \"No, I do not think we shall.\", \"Oh, yes, I dare say you will.\", \"What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for so long a time together!\", \"Long a time, indeed!\", \"Why, their visit is but just begun!\", \"I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood,\", \"I am sorry she is not well--\", \"Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and me!--I think she might see us; and I am sure we would not speak a word.\", \"Oh, if that's all,\", \"we can just as well go and see her.\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"It is very shocking, indeed!\", \"I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here still,\", \"\\nElinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her self-command to make it appear that she did not.\\n\", \" said Mrs. Jennings, \", \"Not in the stage, I assure you,\", \"Oh, oh!\", \"very pretty, indeed! and the Doctor is a single man, I warrant you.\", \"There now,\", \"Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking--but it won't do--the Doctor is the man, I see.\", \"No, indeed!\", \"and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of.\", \"I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss Dashwood, when they come to town,\", \"No, I do not think we shall.\", \"Oh, yes, I dare say you will.\", \"What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for so long a time together!\", \"Long a time, indeed!\", \"Why, their visit is but just begun!\", \"I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood,\", \"I am sorry she is not well--\", \"Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and me!--I think she might see us; and I am sure we would not speak a word.\", \"Oh, if that's all,\", \"we can just as well go and see her.\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-21839-032-01-8fe2dbb8", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nAll whaleboats carry certain curious contrivances, originally invented by the Nantucket Indians, called druggs. Two thick squares of wood of equal size are stoutly clenched together, so that they cross each other's grain at right angles; a line of considerable length is then attached to the middle of this block, and the other end of the line being looped, it can in a moment be fastened to a harpoon. It is chiefly among gallied whales that this drugg is used. For then, more whales are close round you than you can possibly chase at one time. But sperm whales are not every day encountered; while you may, then, you must kill all you can. And if you cannot kill them all at once, you must wing them, so that they can be afterwards killed at your leisure. Hence it is, that at times like these the drugg, comes into requisition. Our boat was furnished with three of them. The first and second were successfully darted, and we saw the whales staggeringly running off, fettered by the enormous sidelong resistance of the towing drugg. They were cramped like malefactors with the chain and ball. But upon flinging the third, in the act of tossing overboard the clumsy wooden block, it caught under one of the seats of the boat, and in an instant tore it out and carried it away, dropping the oarsman in the boat's bottom as the seat slid from under him. On both sides the sea came in at the wounded planks, but we stuffed two or three drawers and shirts in, and so stopped the leaks for the time.\nIt had been next to impossible to dart these drugged-harpoons, were it not that as we advanced into the herd, our whale's way greatly diminished; moreover, that as we went still further and further from the circumference of commotion, the direful disorders seemed waning. So that when at last the jerking harpoon drew out, and the towing whale sideways vanished; then, with the tapering force of his parting momentum, we glided between two whales into the innermost heart of the shoal, as if from some mountain torrent we had slid into a serene valley lake. Here the storms in the roaring glens between the outermost whales, were heard but not felt. In this central expanse the sea presented that smooth satin-like surface, called a sleek, produced by the subtle moisture thrown off by the whale in his more quiet moods. Yes, we were now in that enchanted calm which they say lurks at the heart of every commotion. And still in the distracted distance we beheld the tumults of the outer concentric circles, and saw successive pods of whales, eight or ten in each, swiftly going round and round, like multiplied spans of horses in a ring; and so closely shoulder to shoulder, that a Titanic circus-rider might easily have over-arched the middle ones, and so have gone round on their backs. Owing to the density of the crowd of reposing whales, more immediately surrounding the embayed axis of the herd, no possible chance of escape was at present afforded us. We must watch for a breach in the living wall that hemmed us in; the wall that had only admitted us in order to shut us up. Keeping at the centre of the lake, we were occasionally visited by small tame cows and calves; the women and children of this routed host.\nNow, inclusive of the occasional wide intervals between the revolving outer circles, and inclusive of the spaces between the various pods in any one of those circles, the entire area at this juncture, embraced by the whole multitude, must have contained at least two or three square miles. At any rate—though indeed such a test at such a time might be deceptive—spoutings might be discovered from our low boat that seemed playing up almost from the rim of the horizon. I mention this circumstance, because, as if the cows and calves had been purposely locked up in this innermost fold; and as if the wide extent of the herd had hitherto prevented them from learning the precise cause of its stopping; or, possibly, being so young, unsophisticated, and every way innocent and inexperienced; however it may have been, these smaller whales—now and then visiting our becalmed boat from the margin of the lake—evinced a wondrous fearlessness and confidence, or else a still becharmed panic which it was impossible not to marvel at. Like household dogs they came snuffling round us, right up to our gunwales, and touching them; till it almost seemed that some spell had suddenly domesticated them. Queequeg patted their foreheads; Starbuck scratched their backs with his lance; but fearful of the consequences, for the time refrained from darting it.\nBut far beneath this wondrous world upon the surface, another and still stranger world met our eyes as we gazed over the side. For, suspended in those watery vaults, floated the forms of the nursing mothers of the whales, and those that by their enormous girth seemed shortly to become mothers. The lake, as I have hinted, was to a considerable depth exceedingly transparent; and as human infants while suckling will calmly and fixedly gaze away from the breast, as if leading two different lives at the time; and while yet drawing mortal nourishment, be still spiritually feasting upon some unearthly reminiscence;—even so did the young of these whales seem looking up towards us, but not at us, as if we were but a bit of Gulfweed in their new-born sight. Floating on their sides, the mothers also seemed quietly eyeing us. One of these little infants, that from certain queer tokens seemed hardly a day old, might have measured some fourteen feet in length, and some six feet in girth. He was a little frisky; though as yet his body seemed scarce yet recovered from that irksome position it had so lately occupied in the maternal reticule; where, tail to head, and all ready for the final spring, the unborn whale lies bent like a Tartar's bow. The delicate side-fins, and the palms of his flukes, still freshly retained the plaited crumpled appearance of a baby's ears newly arrived from foreign parts.\n\"Line! line!\" cried Queequeg, looking over the gunwale; \"him fast! him fast!—Who line him! Who struck?—Two whale; one big, one little!\"\n\"What ails ye, man?\" cried Starbuck.\n\"Look-e here,\" said Queequeg, pointing down.\nAs when the stricken whale, that from the tub has reeled out hundreds of fathoms of rope; as, after deep sounding, he floats up again, and shows the slackened curling line buoyantly rising and spiralling towards the air; so now, Starbuck saw long coils of the umbilical cord of Madame Leviathan, by which the young cub seemed still tethered to its dam. Not seldom in the rapid vicissitudes of the chase, this natural line, with the maternal end loose, becomes entangled with the hempen one, so that the cub is thereby trapped. Some of the subtlest secrets of the seas seemed divulged to us in this enchanted pond. We saw young Leviathan amours in the deep.*\n*The sperm whale, as with all other species of the Leviathan, but unlike most other fish, breeds indifferently at all seasons; after a gestation which may probably be set down at nine months, producing but one at a time; though in some few known instances giving birth to an Esau and Jacob:—a contingency provided for in suckling by two teats, curiously situated, one on each side of the anus; but the breasts themselves extend upwards from that. When by chance these precious parts in a nursing whale are cut by the hunter's lance, the mother's pouring milk and blood rivallingly discolour the sea for rods. The milk is very sweet and rich; it has been tasted by man; it might do well with strawberries. When overflowing with mutual esteem, the whales salute more hominum.", "chosen": "hominum", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nhominum\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-076-02-185709c9", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Charlemont was a young merchant of French descent, living in St. Louis--a man not deficient in mind, and possessed of that sterling and captivating kindliness, seldom in perfection seen but in youthful bachelors, united at times to a remarkable sort of gracefully devil-may-care and witty good-humor. Of course, he was admired by everybody, and loved, as only mankind can love, by not a few. But in his twenty-ninth year a change came over him. Like one whose hair turns gray in a night, so in a day Charlemont turned from affable to morose. His acquaintances were passed without greeting; while, as for his confidential friends, them he pointedly, unscrupulously, and with a kind of fierceness, cut dead.\n\"One, provoked by such conduct, would fain have resented it with words as disdainful; while another, shocked by the change, and, in concern for a friend, magnanimously overlooking affronts, implored to know what sudden, secret grief had distempered him. But from resentment and from tenderness Charlemont alike turned away.\n\"Ere long, to the general surprise, the merchant Charlemont was gazetted, and the same day it was reported that he had withdrawn from town, but not before placing his entire property in the hands of responsible assignees for the benefit of creditors.\n\"Whither he had vanished, none could guess. At length, nothing being heard, it was surmised that he must have made away with himself--a surmise, doubtless, originating in the remembrance of the change some months previous to his bankruptcy--a change of a sort only to be ascribed to a mind suddenly thrown from its balance.\n\"Years passed. It was spring-time, and lo, one bright morning, Charlemont lounged into the St. Louis coffee-houses--gay, polite, humane, companionable, and dressed in the height of costly elegance. Not only was he alive, but he was himself again. Upon meeting with old acquaintances, he made the first advances, and in such a manner that it was impossible not to meet him half-way. Upon other old friends, whom he did not chance casually to meet, he either personally called, or left his card and compliments for them; and to several, sent presents of game or hampers of wine.\n\"They say the world is sometimes harshly unforgiving, but it was not so to Charlemont. The world feels a return of love for one who returns to it as he did. Expressive of its renewed interest was a whisper, an inquiring whisper, how now, exactly, so long after his bankruptcy, it fared with Charlemont's purse. Rumor, seldom at a loss for answers, replied that he had spent nine years in Marseilles in France, and there acquiring a second fortune, had returned with it, a man devoted henceforth to genial friendships.\n\"Added years went by, and the restored wanderer still the same; or rather, by his noble qualities, grew up like golden maize in the encouraging sun of good opinions. But still the latent wonder was, what had caused that change in him at a period when, pretty much as now, he was, to all appearance, in the possession of the same fortune, the same friends, the same popularity. But nobody thought it would be the thing to question him here.\n\"At last, at a dinner at his house, when all the guests but one had successively departed; this remaining guest, an old acquaintance, being just enough under the influence of wine to set aside the fear of touching upon a delicate point, ventured, in a way which perhaps spoke more favorably for his heart than his tact, to beg of his host to explain the one enigma of his life. Deep melancholy overspread the before cheery face of Charlemont; he sat for some moments tremulously silent; then pushing a full decanter towards the guest, in a choked voice, said: 'No, no! when by art, and care, and time, flowers are made to bloom over a grave, who would seek to dig all up again only to know the mystery?--The wine.' When both glasses were filled, Charlemont took his, and lifting it, added lowly: 'If ever, in days to come, you shall see ruin at hand, and, thinking you understand mankind, shall tremble for your friendships, and tremble for your pride; and, partly through love for the one and fear for the other, shall resolve to be beforehand with the world, and save it from a sin by prospectively taking that sin to yourself, then will you do as one I now dream of once did, and like him will you suffer; but how fortunate and how grateful should you be, if like him, after all that had happened, you could be a little happy again.'\n\"When the guest went away, it was with the persuasion, that though outwardly restored in mind as in fortune, yet, some taint of Charlemont's old malady survived, and that it was not well for friends to touch one dangerous string.\"", "chosen": "[\"Charlemont\", \"French\", \"One\", \"Ere\", \"Whither\", \"Years\", \"Marseilles\", \"France\", \"Added\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Charlemont\", \"French\", \"One\", \"Ere\", \"Whither\", \"Years\", \"Marseilles\", \"France\", \"Added\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-21816-031-00-a8fa448d", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Possibly,\" he sighed, \"but they invariably want it back in such very small change. That is the worry. Women, as some witty Frenchman once put it, inspire us with the desire to do masterpieces and always prevent us from carrying them out.\"\n\"Harry, you are dreadful! I don't know why I like you so much.\"\n\"You will always like me, Dorian,\" he replied. \"Will you have some coffee, you fellows? Waiter, bring coffee, and fine-champagne, and some cigarettes. No, don't mind the cigarettes—I have some. Basil, I can't allow you to smoke cigars. You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want? Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit.\"\n\"What nonsense you talk, Harry!\" cried the lad, taking a light from a fire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had placed on the table. \"Let us go down to the theatre. When Sibyl comes on the stage you will have a new ideal of life. She will represent something to you that you have never known.\"\n\"I have known everything,\" said Lord Henry, with a tired look in his eyes, \"but I am always ready for a new emotion. I am afraid, however, that, for me at any rate, there is no such thing. Still, your wonderful girl may thrill me. I love acting. It is so much more real than life. Let us go. Dorian, you will come with me. I am so sorry, Basil, but there is only room for two in the brougham. You must follow us in a hansom.\"\nThey got up and put on their coats, sipping their coffee standing. The painter was silent and preoccupied. There was a gloom over him. He could not bear this marriage, and yet it seemed to him to be better than many other things that might have happened. After a few minutes, they all passed downstairs. He drove off by himself, as had been arranged, and watched the flashing lights of the little brougham in front of him. A strange sense of loss came over him. He felt that Dorian Gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past. Life had come between them.... His eyes darkened, and the crowded flaring streets became blurred to his eyes. When the cab drew up at the theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown years older.", "chosen": "Possibly,\", That, Women,, I, Will, Waiter,, No,, Basil,, You, A, It, What, Yes,, I, Let, When, She, I, Still,, I, It, Let, Dorian,, I, You, The, There, He, After, He, A, He, Life, His, When", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nPossibly,\", That, Women,, I, Will, Waiter,, No,, Basil,, You, A, It, What, Yes,, I, Let, When, She, I, Still,, I, It, Let, Dorian,, I, You, The, There, He, After, He, A, He, Life, His, When\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-174-006-02-3e70aab1", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Oh, why?\" said Sir James, as they walked forward.\n\"I believe all the petting that is given them does not make them happy. They are too helpless: their lives are too frail. A weasel or a mouse that gets its own living is more interesting. I like to think that the animals about us have souls something like our own, and either carry on their own little affairs or can be companions to us, like Monk here. Those creatures are parasitic.\"\n\"I am so glad I know that you do not like them,\" said good Sir James. \"I should never keep them for myself, but ladies usually are fond of these Maltese dogs. Here, John, take this dog, will you?\"\nThe objectionable puppy, whose nose and eyes were equally black and expressive, was thus got rid of, since Miss Brooke decided that it had better not have been born. But she felt it necessary to explain.\n\"You must not judge of Celia's feeling from mine. I think she likes these small pets. She had a tiny terrier once, which she was very fond of. It made me unhappy, because I was afraid of treading on it. I am rather short-sighted.\"\n\"You have your own opinion about everything, Miss Brooke, and it is always a good opinion.\"\nWhat answer was possible to such stupid complimenting?\n\"Do you know, I envy you that,\" Sir James said, as they continued walking at the rather brisk pace set by Dorothea.\n\"I don't quite understand what you mean.\"\n\"Your power of forming an opinion. I can form an opinion of persons. I know when I like people. But about other matters, do you know, I have often a difficulty in deciding. One hears very sensible things said on opposite sides.\"\n\"Or that seem sensible. Perhaps we don't always discriminate between sense and nonsense.\"\nDorothea felt that she was rather rude.\n\"Exactly,\" said Sir James. \"But you seem to have the power of discrimination.\"\n\"On the contrary, I am often unable to decide. But that is from ignorance. The right conclusion is there all the same, though I am unable to see it.\"\n\"I think there are few who would see it more readily. Do you know, Lovegood was telling me yesterday that you had the best notion in the world of a plan for cottages—quite wonderful for a young lady, he thought. You had a real genus, to use his expression. He said you wanted Mr. Brooke to build a new set of cottages, but he seemed to think it hardly probable that your uncle would consent. Do you know, that is one of the things I wish to do—I mean, on my own estate. I should be so glad to carry out that plan of yours, if you would let me see it. Of course, it is sinking money; that is why people object to it. Laborers can never pay rent to make it answer. But, after all, it is worth doing.\"\n\"Worth doing! yes, indeed,\" said Dorothea, energetically, forgetting her previous small vexations. \"I think we deserve to be beaten out of our beautiful houses with a scourge of small cords—all of us who let tenants live in such sties as we see round us. Life in cottages might be happier than ours, if they were real houses fit for human beings from whom we expect duties and affections.\"\n\"Will you show me your plan?\"\n\"Yes, certainly. I dare say it is very faulty. But I have been examining all the plans for cottages in Loudon's book, and picked out what seem the best things. Oh what a happiness it would be to set the pattern about here! I think instead of Lazarus at the gate, we should put the pigsty cottages outside the park-gate.\"\nDorothea was in the best temper now. Sir James, as brother in-law, building model cottages on his estate, and then, perhaps, others being built at Lowick, and more and more elsewhere in imitation—it would be as if the spirit of Oberlin had passed over the parishes to make the life of poverty beautiful!\nSir James saw all the plans, and took one away to consult upon with Lovegood. He also took away a complacent sense that he was making great progress in Miss Brooke's good opinion. The Maltese puppy was not offered to Celia; an omission which Dorothea afterwards thought of with surprise; but she blamed herself for it. She had been engrossing Sir James. After all, it was a relief that there was no puppy to tread upon.\nCelia was present while the plans were being examined, and observed Sir James's illusion. \"He thinks that Dodo cares about him, and she only cares about her plans. Yet I am not certain that she would refuse him if she thought he would let her manage everything and carry out all her notions. And how very uncomfortable Sir James would be! I cannot bear notions.\"\nIt was Celia's private luxury to indulge in this dislike. She dared not confess it to her sister in any direct statement, for that would be laying herself open to a demonstration that she was somehow or other at war with all goodness. But on safe opportunities, she had an indirect mode of making her negative wisdom tell upon Dorothea, and calling her down from her rhapsodic mood by reminding her that people were staring, not listening. Celia was not impulsive: what she had to say could wait, and came from her always with the same quiet staccato evenness. When people talked with energy and emphasis she watched their faces and features merely. She never could understand how well-bred persons consented to sing and open their mouths in the ridiculous manner requisite for that vocal exercise.", "chosen": "57", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n57\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-004-02-b9f4af21", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"How should I greet thee?\"\nLove frequently dies of time alone—much more frequently of displacement. With Elfride Swancourt, a powerful reason why the displacement should be successful was that the new-comer was a greater man than the first. By the side of the instructive and piquant snubbings she received from Knight, Stephen's general agreeableness seemed watery; by the side of Knight's spare love-making, Stephen's continual outflow seemed lackadaisical. She had begun to sigh for somebody further on in manhood. Stephen was hardly enough of a man.\nPerhaps there was a proneness to inconstancy in her nature—a nature, to those who contemplate it from a standpoint beyond the influence of that inconstancy, the most exquisite of all in its plasticity and ready sympathies. Partly, too, Stephen's failure to make his hold on her heart a permanent one was his too timid habit of dispraising himself beside her—a peculiarity which, exercised towards sensible men, stirs a kindly chord of attachment that a marked assertiveness would leave untouched, but inevitably leads the most sensible woman in the world to undervalue him who practises it. Directly domineering ceases in the man, snubbing begins in the woman; the trite but no less unfortunate fact being that the gentler creature rarely has the capacity to appreciate fair treatment from her natural complement. The abiding perception of the position of Stephen's parents had, of course, a little to do with Elfride's renunciation. To such girls poverty may not be, as to the more worldly masses of humanity, a sin in itself; but it is a sin, because graceful and dainty manners seldom exist in such an atmosphere. Few women of old family can be thoroughly taught that a fine soul may wear a smock-frock, and an admittedly common man in one is but a worm in their eyes. John Smith's rough hands and clothes, his wife's dialect, the necessary narrowness of their ways, being constantly under Elfride's notice, were not without their deflecting influence.\nOn reaching home after the perilous adventure by the sea-shore, Knight had felt unwell, and retired almost immediately. The young lady who had so materially assisted him had done the same, but she reappeared, properly clothed, about five o'clock. She wandered restlessly about the house, but not on account of their joint narrow escape from death. The storm which had torn the tree had merely bowed the reed, and with the deliverance of Knight all deep thought of the accident had left her. The mutual avowal which it had been the means of precipitating occupied a far longer length of her meditations.\nElfride's disquiet now was on account of that miserable promise to meet Stephen, which returned like a spectre again and again. The perception of his littleness beside Knight grew upon her alarmingly. She now thought how sound had been her father's advice to her to give him up, and was as passionately desirous of following it as she had hitherto been averse. Perhaps there is nothing more hardening to the tone of young minds than thus to discover how their dearest and strongest wishes become gradually attuned by Time the Cynic to the very note of some selfish policy which in earlier days they despised.\nThe hour of appointment came, and with it a crisis; and with the crisis a collapse.\n\"God forgive me—I can't meet Stephen!\" she exclaimed to herself. \"I don't love him less, but I love Mr. Knight more!\"\nYes: she would save herself from a man not fit for her—in spite of vows. She would obey her father, and have no more to do with Stephen Smith. Thus the fickle resolve showed signs of assuming the complexion of a virtue.\nThe following days were passed without any definite avowal from Knight's lips. Such solitary walks and scenes as that witnessed by Smith in the summer-house were frequent, but he courted her so intangibly that to any but such a delicate perception as Elfride's it would have appeared no courtship at all. The time now really began to be sweet with her. She dismissed the sense of sin in her past actions, and was automatic in the intoxication of the moment. The fact that Knight made no actual declaration was no drawback. Knowing since the betrayal of his sentiments that love for her really existed, she preferred it for the present in its form of essence, and was willing to avoid for awhile the grosser medium of words. Their feelings having been forced to a rather premature demonstration, a reaction was indulged in by both.\nBut no sooner had she got rid of her troubled conscience on the matter of faithlessness than a new anxiety confronted her. It was lest Knight should accidentally meet Stephen in the parish, and that herself should be the subject of discourse.\nElfride, learning Knight more thoroughly, perceived that, far from having a notion of Stephen's precedence, he had no idea that she had ever been wooed before by anybody. On ordinary occasions she had a tongue so frank as to show her whole mind, and a mind so straightforward as to reveal her heart to its innermost shrine. But the time for a change had come. She never alluded to even a knowledge of Knight's friend. When women are secret they are secret indeed; and more often than not they only begin to be secret with the advent of a second lover.\nThe elopement was now a spectre worse than the first, and, like the Spirit in Glenfinlas, it waxed taller with every attempt to lay it. Her natural honesty invited her to confide in Knight, and trust to his generosity for forgiveness: she knew also that as mere policy it would be better to tell him early if he was to be told at all. The longer her concealment the more difficult would be the revelation. But she put it off. The intense fear which accompanies intense love in young women was too strong to allow the exercise of a moral quality antagonistic to itself:\n\"Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.\"\nThe match was looked upon as made by her father and mother. The vicar remembered her promise to reveal the meaning of the telegram she had received, and two days after the scene in the summer-house, asked her pointedly. She was frank with him now.\n\"I had been corresponding with Stephen Smith ever since he left England, till lately,\" she calmly said.\n\"What!\" cried the vicar aghast; \"under the eyes of Mr. Knight, too?\"\n\"No; when I found I cared most for Mr. Knight, I obeyed you.\"\n\"You were very kind, I'm sure. When did you begin to like Mr. Knight?\"\n\"I don't see that that is a pertinent question, papa; the telegram was from the shipping agent, and was not sent at my request. It announced the arrival of the vessel bringing him home.\"\n\"Home! What, is he here?\"\n\"Yes; in the village, I believe.\"\n\"Has he tried to see you?\"\n\"Only by fair means. But don't, papa, question me so! It is torture.\"\n\"I will only say one word more,\" he replied. \"Have you met him?\"\n\"I have not. I can assure you that at the present moment there is no more of an understanding between me and the young man you so much disliked than between him and you. You told me to forget him; and I have forgotten him.\"\n\"Oh, well; though you did not obey me in the beginning, you are a good girl, Elfride, in obeying me at last.\"\n\"Don't call me 'good,' papa,\" she said bitterly; \"you don't know—and the less said about some things the better. Remember, Mr. Knight knows nothing about the other. Oh, how wrong it all is! I don't know what I am coming to.\"\n\"As matters stand, I should be inclined to tell him; or, at any rate, I should not alarm myself about his knowing. He found out the other day that this was the parish young Smith's father lives in—what puts you in such a flurry?\"\n\"I can't say; but promise—pray don't let him know! It would be my ruin!\"", "chosen": "Partly, too, Stephen's failure to make his hold on her heart a permanent one was his too timid habit of dispraising himself beside her—a peculiarity which, exercised towards sensible men, stirs a kindly chord of attachment that a marked assertiveness would leave untouched, but inevitably leads the most sensible woman in the world to undervalue him who practises it.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nPartly, too, Stephen's failure to make his hold on her heart a permanent one was his too timid habit of dispraising himself beside her—a peculiarity which, exercised towards sensible men, stirs a kindly chord of attachment that a marked assertiveness would leave untouched, but inevitably leads the most sensible woman in the world to undervalue him who practises it.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-026-00-073f7745", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIf I had been astonished at first catching a glimpse of so outlandish an individual as Queequeg circulating among the polite society of a civilized town, that astonishment soon departed upon taking my first daylight stroll through the streets of New Bedford.\nIn thoroughfares nigh the docks, any considerable seaport will frequently offer to view the queerest looking nondescripts from foreign parts. Even in Broadway and Chestnut streets, Mediterranean mariners will sometimes jostle the affrighted ladies. Regent Street is not unknown to Lascars and Malays; and at Bombay, in the Apollo Green, live Yankees have often scared the natives. But New Bedford beats all Water Street and Wapping. In these last-mentioned haunts you see only sailors; but in New Bedford, actual cannibals stand chatting at street corners; savages outright; many of whom yet carry on their bones unholy flesh. It makes a stranger stare.\nBut, besides the Feegeeans, Tongatobooarrs, Erromanggoans, Pannangians, and Brighggians, and, besides the wild specimens of the whaling-craft which unheeded reel about the streets, you will see other sights still more curious, certainly more comical. There weekly arrive in this town scores of green Vermonters and New Hampshire men, all athirst for gain and glory in the fishery. They are mostly young, of stalwart frames; fellows who have felled forests, and now seek to drop the axe and snatch the whale-lance. Many are as green as the Green Mountains whence they came. In some things you would think them but a few hours old. Look there! that chap strutting round the corner. He wears a beaver hat and swallow-tailed coat, girdled with a sailor-belt and sheath-knife. Here comes another with a sou'-wester and a bombazine cloak.\nNo town-bred dandy will compare with a country-bred one—I mean a downright bumpkin dandy—a fellow that, in the dog-days, will mow his two acres in buckskin gloves for fear of tanning his hands. Now when a country dandy like this takes it into his head to make a distinguished reputation, and joins the great whale-fishery, you should see the comical things he does upon reaching the seaport. In bespeaking his sea-outfit, he orders bell-buttons to his waistcoats; straps to his canvas trowsers. Ah, poor Hay-Seed! how bitterly will burst those straps in the first howling gale, when thou art driven, straps, buttons, and all, down the throat of the tempest.\nBut think not that this famous town has only harpooneers, cannibals, and bumpkins to show her visitors. Not at all. Still New Bedford is a queer place. Had it not been for us whalemen, that tract of land would this day perhaps have been in as howling condition as the coast of Labrador. As it is, parts of her back country are enough to frighten one, they look so bony. The town itself is perhaps the dearest place to live in, in all New England. It is a land of oil, true enough: but not like Canaan; a land, also, of corn and wine. The streets do not run with milk; nor in the spring-time do they pave them with fresh eggs. Yet, in spite of this, nowhere in all America will you find more patrician-like houses; parks and gardens more opulent, than in New Bedford. Whence came they? how planted upon this once scraggy scoria of a country?\nGo and gaze upon the iron emblematical harpoons round yonder lofty mansion, and your question will be answered. Yes; all these brave houses and flowery gardens came from the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans. One and all, they were harpooned and dragged up hither from the bottom of the sea. Can Herr Alexander perform a feat like that?\nIn New Bedford, fathers, they say, give whales for dowers to their daughters, and portion off their nieces with a few porpoises a-piece. You must go to New Bedford to see a brilliant wedding; for, they say, they have reservoirs of oil in every house, and every night recklessly burn their lengths in spermaceti candles.\nIn summer time, the town is sweet to see; full of fine maples—long avenues of green and gold. And in August, high in air, the beautiful and bountiful horse-chestnuts, candelabra-wise, proffer the passer-by their tapering upright cones of congregated blossoms. So omnipotent is art; which in many a district of New Bedford has superinduced bright terraces of flowers upon the barren refuse rocks thrown aside at creation's final day.\nAnd the women of New Bedford, they bloom like their own red roses. But roses only bloom in summer; whereas the fine carnation of their cheeks is perennial as sunlight in the seventh heavens. Elsewhere match that bloom of theirs, ye cannot, save in Salem, where they tell me the young girls breathe such musk, their sailor sweethearts smell them miles off shore, as though they were drawing nigh the odorous Moluccas instead of the Puritanic sands.", "chosen": "sands", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nsands\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-006-00-fe6b480d", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nTo anticipate things: he did, perhaps, know where to get the money, knew, perhaps, where it lay at that moment. I will say no more of this here, as it will all be clear later. But his chief trouble, I must explain however obscurely, lay in the fact that to have that sum he knew of, to have the right to take it, he must first restore Katerina Ivanovna's three thousand—if not, \"I'm a common pickpocket, I'm a scoundrel, and I don't want to begin a new life as a scoundrel,\" Mitya decided. And so he made up his mind to move heaven and earth to return Katerina Ivanovna that three thousand, and that first of all. The final stage of this decision, so to say, had been reached only during the last hours, that is, after his last interview with Alyosha, two days before, on the high-road, on the evening when Grushenka had insulted Katerina Ivanovna, and Mitya, after hearing Alyosha's account of it, had admitted that he was a scoundrel, and told him to tell Katerina Ivanovna so, if it could be any comfort to her. After parting from his brother on that night, he had felt in his frenzy that it would be better \"to murder and rob some one than fail to pay my debt to Katya. I'd rather every one thought me a robber and a murderer, I'd rather go to Siberia than that Katya should have the right to say that I deceived her and stole her money, and used her money to run away with Grushenka and begin a new life! That I can't do!\" So Mitya decided, grinding his teeth, and he might well fancy at times that his brain would give way. But meanwhile he went on struggling....\nStrange to say, though one would have supposed there was nothing left for him but despair—for what chance had he, with nothing in the world, to raise such a sum?—yet to the very end he persisted in hoping that he would get that three thousand, that the money would somehow come to him of itself, as though it might drop from heaven. That is just how it is with people who, like Dmitri, have never had anything to do with money, except to squander what has come to them by inheritance without any effort of their own, and have no notion how money is obtained. A whirl of the most fantastic notions took possession of his brain immediately after he had parted with Alyosha two days before, and threw his thoughts into a tangle of confusion. This is how it was he pitched first on a perfectly wild enterprise. And perhaps to men of that kind in such circumstances the most impossible, fantastic schemes occur first, and seem most practical.\nHe suddenly determined to go to Samsonov, the merchant who was Grushenka's protector, and to propose a \"scheme\" to him, and by means of it to obtain from him at once the whole of the sum required. Of the commercial value of his scheme he had no doubt, not the slightest, and was only uncertain how Samsonov would look upon his freak, supposing he were to consider it from any but the commercial point of view. Though Mitya knew the merchant by sight, he was not acquainted with him and had never spoken a word to him. But for some unknown reason he had long entertained the conviction that the old reprobate, who was lying at death's door, would perhaps not at all object now to Grushenka's securing a respectable position, and marrying a man \"to be depended upon.\" And he believed not only that he would not object, but that this was what he desired, and, if opportunity arose, that he would be ready to help. From some rumor, or perhaps from some stray word of Grushenka's, he had gathered further that the old man would perhaps prefer him to Fyodor Pavlovitch for Grushenka.\nPossibly many of the readers of my novel will feel that in reckoning on such assistance, and being ready to take his bride, so to speak, from the hands of her protector, Dmitri showed great coarseness and want of delicacy. I will only observe that Mitya looked upon Grushenka's past as something completely over. He looked on that past with infinite pity and resolved with all the fervor of his passion that when once Grushenka told him she loved him and would marry him, it would mean the beginning of a new Grushenka and a new Dmitri, free from every vice. They would forgive one another and would begin their lives afresh. As for Kuzma Samsonov, Dmitri looked upon him as a man who had exercised a fateful influence in that remote past of Grushenka's, though she had never loved him, and who was now himself a thing of the past, completely done with, and, so to say, non-existent. Besides, Mitya hardly looked upon him as a man at all, for it was known to every one in the town that he was only a shattered wreck, whose relations with Grushenka had changed their character and were now simply paternal, and that this had been so for a long time.\nIn any case there was much simplicity on Mitya's part in all this, for in spite of all his vices, he was a very simple-hearted man. It was an instance of this simplicity that Mitya was seriously persuaded that, being on the eve of his departure for the next world, old Kuzma must sincerely repent of his past relations with Grushenka, and that she had no more devoted friend and protector in the world than this now harmless old man.\nAfter his conversation with Alyosha, at the cross-roads, he hardly slept all night, and at ten o'clock next morning, he was at the house of Samsonov and telling the servant to announce him. It was a very large and gloomy old house of two stories, with a lodge and outhouses. In the lower story lived Samsonov's two married sons with their families, his old sister, and his unmarried daughter. In the lodge lived two of his clerks, one of whom also had a large family. Both the lodge and the lower story were overcrowded, but the old man kept the upper floor to himself, and would not even let the daughter live there with him, though she waited upon him, and in spite of her asthma was obliged at certain fixed hours, and at any time he might call her, to run upstairs to him from below.\nThis upper floor contained a number of large rooms kept purely for show, furnished in the old-fashioned merchant style, with long monotonous rows of clumsy mahogany chairs along the walls, with glass chandeliers under shades, and gloomy mirrors on the walls. All these rooms were entirely empty and unused, for the old man kept to one room, a small, remote bedroom, where he was waited upon by an old servant with a kerchief on her head, and by a lad, who used to sit on the locker in the passage. Owing to his swollen legs, the old man could hardly walk at all, and was only rarely lifted from his leather arm-chair, when the old woman supporting him led him up and down the room once or twice. He was morose and taciturn even with this old woman.\nWhen he was informed of the arrival of the \"captain,\" he at once refused to see him. But Mitya persisted and sent his name up again. Samsonov questioned the lad minutely: What he looked like? Whether he was drunk? Was he going to make a row? The answer he received was: that he was sober, but wouldn't go away. The old man again refused to see him. Then Mitya, who had foreseen this, and purposely brought pencil and paper with him, wrote clearly on the piece of paper the words: \"On most important business closely concerning Agrafena Alexandrovna,\" and sent it up to the old man.", "chosen": "[\"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Mitya\", \"Alyosha\", \"Grushenka\", \"Katya\", \"Siberia\", \"Dmitri\", \"Samsonov\", \"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Kuzma\", \"Agrafena\", \"Alexandrovna\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Mitya\", \"Alyosha\", \"Grushenka\", \"Katya\", \"Siberia\", \"Dmitri\", \"Samsonov\", \"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Kuzma\", \"Agrafena\", \"Alexandrovna\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-044-01-6b84c57f", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Now, I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended their talk, they drew nigh to a very miry slough, that was in the midst of the plain; and they, being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was Despond.\"—BUNYAN.\nWhen Rosamond was quiet, and Lydgate had left her, hoping that she might soon sleep under the effect of an anodyne, he went into the drawing-room to fetch a book which he had left there, meaning to spend the evening in his work-room, and he saw on the table Dorothea's letter addressed to him. He had not ventured to ask Rosamond if Mrs. Casaubon had called, but the reading of this letter assured him of the fact, for Dorothea mentioned that it was to be carried by herself.\nWhen Will Ladislaw came in a little later Lydgate met him with a surprise which made it clear that he had not been told of the earlier visit, and Will could not say, \"Did not Mrs. Lydgate tell you that I came this morning?\"\n\"Poor Rosamond is ill,\" Lydgate added immediately on his greeting.\n\"Not seriously, I hope,\" said Will.\n\"No—only a slight nervous shock—the effect of some agitation. She has been overwrought lately. The truth is, Ladislaw, I am an unlucky devil. We have gone through several rounds of purgatory since you left, and I have lately got on to a worse ledge of it than ever. I suppose you are only just come down—you look rather battered—you have not been long enough in the town to hear anything?\"\n\"I travelled all night and got to the White Hart at eight o'clock this morning. I have been shutting myself up and resting,\" said Will, feeling himself a sneak, but seeing no alternative to this evasion.\nAnd then he heard Lydgate's account of the troubles which Rosamond had already depicted to him in her way. She had not mentioned the fact of Will's name being connected with the public story—this detail not immediately affecting her—and he now heard it for the first time.\n\"I thought it better to tell you that your name is mixed up with the disclosures,\" said Lydgate, who could understand better than most men how Ladislaw might be stung by the revelation. \"You will be sure to hear it as soon as you turn out into the town. I suppose it is true that Raffles spoke to you.\"\n\"Yes,\" said Will, sardonically. \"I shall be fortunate if gossip does not make me the most disreputable person in the whole affair. I should think the latest version must be, that I plotted with Raffles to murder Bulstrode, and ran away from Middlemarch for the purpose.\"\nHe was thinking \"Here is a new ring in the sound of my name to recommend it in her hearing; however—what does it signify now?\"\nBut he said nothing of Bulstrode's offer to him. Will was very open and careless about his personal affairs, but it was among the more exquisite touches in nature's modelling of him that he had a delicate generosity which warned him into reticence here. He shrank from saying that he had rejected Bulstrode's money, in the moment when he was learning that it was Lydgate's misfortune to have accepted it.\nLydgate too was reticent in the midst of his confidence. He made no allusion to Rosamond's feeling under their trouble, and of Dorothea he only said, \"Mrs. Casaubon has been the one person to come forward and say that she had no belief in any of the suspicions against me.\" Observing a change in Will's face, he avoided any further mention of her, feeling himself too ignorant of their relation to each other not to fear that his words might have some hidden painful bearing on it. And it occurred to him that Dorothea was the real cause of the present visit to Middlemarch.\nThe two men were pitying each other, but it was only Will who guessed the extent of his companion's trouble. When Lydgate spoke with desperate resignation of going to settle in London, and said with a faint smile, \"We shall have you again, old fellow,\" Will felt inexpressibly mournful, and said nothing. Rosamond had that morning entreated him to urge this step on Lydgate; and it seemed to him as if he were beholding in a magic panorama a future where he himself was sliding into that pleasureless yielding to the small solicitations of circumstance, which is a commoner history of perdition than any single momentous bargain.\nWe are on a perilous margin when we begin to look passively at our future selves, and see our own figures led with dull consent into insipid misdoing and shabby achievement. Poor Lydgate was inwardly groaning on that margin, and Will was arriving at it. It seemed to him this evening as if the cruelty of his outburst to Rosamond had made an obligation for him, and he dreaded the obligation: he dreaded Lydgate's unsuspecting good-will: he dreaded his own distaste for his spoiled life, which would leave him in motiveless levity.", "chosen": "Now,, The, When, He, Casaubon, When, Lydgate, Not, No—only, She, The, We, I, I, And, She, I, You, I, I, I, Will, He, Lydgate, He, Casaubon, And, The, When, Rosamond, We, Poor, It", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nNow,, The, When, He, Casaubon, When, Lydgate, Not, No—only, She, The, We, I, I, And, She, I, You, I, I, I, Will, He, Lydgate, He, Casaubon, And, The, When, Rosamond, We, Poor, It\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-079-00-9b4c8892", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"HALLO!\" cried a loud, hoarse voice, directly they had set foot in the passage.\n\"Don't make such a row,\" said Sikes, bolting the door. \"Shew a glim, Toby.\"\n\"Aha! my pal,\" cried the same voice; \"a glim, Barney, a glim! Shew the gentleman in, Barney; and wake up first, if convenient.\"\nThe speaker appeared to throw a boot-jack, or some such article, at the person he addressed, to rouse him from his slumbers; for the noise of a wooden body falling violently was heard, and then an indistinct muttering, as of a man between asleep and awake.\n\"Do you hear?\" cried the same voice. \"There's Bill Sikes in the passage with nobody to do the civil to him; and you sleeping there, as if you took laudanum with your meals, and nothing stronger. Are you any fresher now, or do you want the iron candlestick to wake you thoroughly?\"\nA pair of slipshod feet shuffled hastily across the bare floor of the room as this interrogatory was put; and there issued from a door on the right hand, first a feeble candle, and next, the form of the same individual who has been heretofore described as labouring under the infirmity of speaking through his nose, and officiating as waiter at the public-house on Saffron Hill.\n\"Bister Sikes!\" exclaimed Barney, with real or counterfeit joy; \"cub id, sir; cub id.\"\n\"Here! you get on first,\" said Sikes, putting Oliver in front of him. \"Quicker! or I shall tread upon your heels.\"\nMuttering a curse upon his tardiness, Sikes pushed Oliver before him, and they entered a low dark room with a smoky fire, two or three broken chairs, a table, and a very old couch, on which, with his legs much higher than his head, a man was reposing at full length, smoking a long clay pipe. He was dressed in a smartly-cut snuff-coloured coat, with large brass buttons, an orange neckerchief, a coarse, staring, shawl-pattern waistcoat, and drab breeches. Mr. Crackit (for he it was) had no very great quantity of hair, either upon his head or face, but what he had was of a reddish dye, and tortured into long corkscrew curls, through which he occasionally thrust some very dirty fingers, ornamented with large common rings. He was a trifle above the middle size, and apparently rather weak in the legs; but this circumstance by no means detracted from his own admiration of his top-boots, which he contemplated in their elevated situation with lively satisfaction.\n\"Bill, my boy!\" said this figure, turning his head towards the door, \"I'm glad to see you. I was almost afraid you'd given it up, in which case I should have made a personal wentur. Hallo!\"\nUttering this exclamation in a tone of great surprise, as his eyes rested on Oliver, Mr. Toby Crackit brought himself into a sitting posture and demanded who that was.\n\"The boy—only the boy!\" replied Sikes, drawing a chair towards the fire.\n\"Wud of Bister Fagid's lads,\" exclaimed Barney, with a grin.\n\"Fagin's, eh!\" exclaimed Toby, looking at Oliver. \"Wot an inwalable boy that'll make for the old ladies' pockets in chapels. His mug is a fortun' to him.\"\n\"There—there's enough of that,\" interposed Sikes, impatiently, and stooping over his recumbent friend he whispered a few words in his ear, at which Mr. Crackit laughed immensely, and honoured Oliver with a long stare of astonishment.\n\"Now,\" said Sikes, as he resumed his seat, \"if you'll give us something to eat and drink while we're waiting, you'll put some heart in us,—or in me, at all events. Sit down by the fire, younker, and rest yourself; for you'll have to go out with us again to-night, though not very far off.\"\nOliver looked at Sikes in mute and timid wonder, and drawing a stool to the fire, sat with his aching head upon his hands, scarcely knowing where he was, or what was passing around him.\n\"Here,\" said Toby, as the young Jew placed some fragments of food and a bottle upon the table, \"Success to the crack!\" He rose to honour the toast, and, carefully depositing his empty pipe in a corner, advanced to the table, filled a glass with spirits, and drank off its contents. Mr. Sikes did the same.\n\"A drain for the boy,\" said Toby, half filling a wine-glass. \"Down with it, innocence.\"\n\"Indeed,\" said Oliver, looking piteously up into the man's face; \"indeed, I——\"\n\"Down with it!\" echoed Toby. \"Do you think I don't know what's good for you? Tell him to drink it, Bill.\"\n\"He had better,\" said Sikes, clapping his hand upon his pocket. \"Burn my body, if he isn't more trouble than a whole family of Dodgers. Drink it, you perwerse imp; drink it!\"\nFrightened by the menacing gestures of the two men, Oliver hastily swallowed the contents of the glass, and immediately fell into a violent fit of coughing, which delighted Toby Crackit and Barney, and even drew a smile from the surly Mr. Sikes.\nThis done, and Sikes having satisfied his appetite (Oliver could eat nothing but a small crust of bread which they made him swallow), the two men laid themselves down on chairs for a short nap. Oliver retained his stool by the fire; and Barney, wrapped in a blanket, stretched himself on the floor, close outside the fender.\nThey slept, or appeared to sleep, for some time; nobody stirring but Barney, who rose once or twice to throw coals upon the fire. Oliver fell into a heavy doze, imagining himself straying along through the gloomy lanes, or wandering about the dark churchyard, or retracing some one or other of the scenes of the past day, when he was roused by Toby Crackit jumping up and declaring it was half-past one.\nIn an instant the other two were on their legs, and all were actively engaged in busy preparation. Sikes and his companion enveloped their necks and chins in large dark shawls, and drew on their great-coats, while Barney, opening a cupboard, brought forth several articles, which he hastily crammed into the pockets.\n\"Barkers for me, Barney,\" said Toby Crackit.\n\"Here they are,\" replied Barney, producing a pair of pistols. \"You loaded them yourself.\"\n\"All right!\" replied Toby, stowing them away. \"The persuaders?\"\n\"I've got 'em,\" replied Sikes.\n\"Crape, keys, centre-bits, darkies—nothing forgotten?\" inquired Toby, fastening a small crowbar to a loop inside the skirt of his coat.\n\"All right,\" rejoined his companion. \"Bring them bits of timber, Barney: that's the time of day.\"\nWith these words he took a thick stick from Barney's hands, who, having delivered another to Toby, busied himself in fastening on Oliver's cape.\n\"Now then!\" said Sikes, holding out his hand.\nOliver, who was completely stupified by the unwonted exercise, and the air, and the drink which had been forced upon him, put his hand mechanically into that which Sikes extended for the purpose.\n\"Take his other hand, Toby,\" said Sikes. \"Look out, Barney.\"\nThe man went to the door, and returned to announce that all was quiet. The two robbers issued forth with Oliver between them; and Barney, having made all fast, rolled himself up as before, and was soon asleep again.\nIt was now intensely dark. The fog was much heavier than it had been in the early part of the night, and the atmosphere was so damp that, although no rain fell, Oliver's hair and eyebrows, within a few minutes after leaving the house, had become stiff with the half-frozen moisture that was floating about. They crossed the bridge, and kept on towards the lights which he had seen before. They were at no great distance off; and, as they walked pretty briskly, they soon arrived at Chertsey.\n\"Slap through the town,\" whispered Sikes; \"there'll be nobody in the way to-night to see us.\"\nToby acquiesced; and they hurried through the main street of the little town, which at that late hour was wholly deserted. A dim light shone at intervals from some bedroom-window, and the hoarse barking of dogs occasionally broke the silence of the night; but there was nobody abroad, and they had cleared the town as the church bell struck two.", "chosen": "62", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n62\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-47530-003-00-f6a8a6f2", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nThere were not many moments for Will to walk about with his hat in his hand before Dorothea entered. The meeting was very different from that first meeting in Rome when Will had been embarrassed and Dorothea calm. This time he felt miserable but determined, while she was in a state of agitation which could not be hidden. Just outside the door she had felt that this longed-for meeting was after all too difficult, and when she saw Will advancing towards her, the deep blush which was rare in her came with painful suddenness. Neither of them knew how it was, but neither of them spoke. She gave her hand for a moment, and then they went to sit down near the window, she on one settee and he on another opposite. Will was peculiarly uneasy: it seemed to him not like Dorothea that the mere fact of her being a widow should cause such a change in her manner of receiving him; and he knew of no other condition which could have affected their previous relation to each other—except that, as his imagination at once told him, her friends might have been poisoning her mind with their suspicions of him.\n\"I hope I have not presumed too much in calling,\" said Will; \"I could not bear to leave the neighborhood and begin a new life without seeing you to say good-by.\"\n\"Presumed? Surely not. I should have thought it unkind if you had not wished to see me,\" said Dorothea, her habit of speaking with perfect genuineness asserting itself through all her uncertainty and agitation. \"Are you going away immediately?\"\n\"Very soon, I think. I intend to go to town and eat my dinners as a barrister, since, they say, that is the preparation for all public business. There will be a great deal of political work to be done by-and-by, and I mean to try and do some of it. Other men have managed to win an honorable position for themselves without family or money.\"\n\"And that will make it all the more honorable,\" said Dorothea, ardently. \"Besides, you have so many talents. I have heard from my uncle how well you speak in public, so that every one is sorry when you leave off, and how clearly you can explain things. And you care that justice should be done to every one. I am so glad. When we were in Rome, I thought you only cared for poetry and art, and the things that adorn life for us who are well off. But now I know you think about the rest of the world.\"\nWhile she was speaking Dorothea had lost her personal embarrassment, and had become like her former self. She looked at Will with a direct glance, full of delighted confidence.\n\"You approve of my going away for years, then, and never coming here again till I have made myself of some mark in the world?\" said Will, trying hard to reconcile the utmost pride with the utmost effort to get an expression of strong feeling from Dorothea.\nShe was not aware how long it was before she answered. She had turned her head and was looking out of the window on the rose-bushes, which seemed to have in them the summers of all the years when Will would be away. This was not judicious behavior. But Dorothea never thought of studying her manners: she thought only of bowing to a sad necessity which divided her from Will. Those first words of his about his intentions had seemed to make everything clear to her: he knew, she supposed, all about Mr. Casaubon's final conduct in relation to him, and it had come to him with the same sort of shock as to herself. He had never felt more than friendship for her—had never had anything in his mind to justify what she felt to be her husband's outrage on the feelings of both: and that friendship he still felt. Something which may be called an inward silent sob had gone on in Dorothea before she said with a pure voice, just trembling in the last words as if only from its liquid flexibility—\n\"Yes, it must be right for you to do as you say. I shall be very happy when I hear that you have made your value felt. But you must have patience. It will perhaps be a long while.\"\nWill never quite knew how it was that he saved himself from falling down at her feet, when the \"long while\" came forth with its gentle tremor. He used to say that the horrible hue and surface of her crape dress was most likely the sufficient controlling force. He sat still, however, and only said—\n\"I shall never hear from you. And you will forget all about me.\"\n\"No,\" said Dorothea, \"I shall never forget you. I have never forgotten any one whom I once knew. My life has never been crowded, and seems not likely to be so. And I have a great deal of space for memory at Lowick, haven't I?\" She smiled.\n\"Good God!\" Will burst out passionately, rising, with his hat still in his hand, and walking away to a marble table, where he suddenly turned and leaned his back against it. The blood had mounted to his face and neck, and he looked almost angry. It had seemed to him as if they were like two creatures slowly turning to marble in each other's presence, while their hearts were conscious and their eyes were yearning. But there was no help for it. It should never be true of him that in this meeting to which he had come with bitter resolution he had ended by a confession which might be interpreted into asking for her fortune. Moreover, it was actually true that he was fearful of the effect which such confessions might have on Dorothea herself.\nShe looked at him from that distance in some trouble, imagining that there might have been an offence in her words. But all the while there was a current of thought in her about his probable want of money, and the impossibility of her helping him. If her uncle had been at home, something might have been done through him! It was this preoccupation with the hardship of Will's wanting money, while she had what ought to have been his share, which led her to say, seeing that he remained silent and looked away from her—\n\"I wonder whether you would like to have that miniature which hangs up-stairs—I mean that beautiful miniature of your grandmother. I think it is not right for me to keep it, if you would wish to have it. It is wonderfully like you.\"\n\"You are very good,\" said Will, irritably. \"No; I don't mind about it. It is not very consoling to have one's own likeness. It would be more consoling if others wanted to have it.\"\n\"I thought you would like to cherish her memory—I thought—\" Dorothea broke off an instant, her imagination suddenly warning her away from Aunt Julia's history—\"you would surely like to have the miniature as a family memorial.\"\n\"Why should I have that, when I have nothing else! A man with only a portmanteau for his stowage must keep his memorials in his head.\"\nWill spoke at random: he was merely venting his petulance; it was a little too exasperating to have his grandmother's portrait offered him at that moment. But to Dorothea's feeling his words had a peculiar sting. She rose and said with a touch of indignation as well as hauteur—\n\"You are much the happier of us two, Mr. Ladislaw, to have nothing.\"\nWill was startled. Whatever the words might be, the tone seemed like a dismissal; and quitting his leaning posture, he walked a little way towards her. Their eyes met, but with a strange questioning gravity. Something was keeping their minds aloof, and each was left to conjecture what was in the other. Will had really never thought of himself as having a claim of inheritance on the property which was held by Dorothea, and would have required a narrative to make him understand her present feeling.", "chosen": "Will was peculiarly uneasy: it seemed to him not like Dorothea that the mere fact of her being a widow should cause such a change in her manner of receiving him; and he knew of no other condition which could have affected their previous relation to each other—except that, as his imagination at once told him, her friends might have been poisoning her mind with their suspicions of him.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nWill was peculiarly uneasy: it seemed to him not like Dorothea that the mere fact of her being a widow should cause such a change in her manner of receiving him; and he knew of no other condition which could have affected their previous relation to each other—except that, as his imagination at once told him, her friends might have been poisoning her mind with their suspicions of him.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-054-02-b6432d3e", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nElizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation; and when at length they turned in at the lodge, her spirits were in a high flutter.\nThe park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through a beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.\nElizabeth's mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired every remarkable spot and point of view. They gradually ascended for half a mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of the valley, into which the road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills; and in front a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were all of them warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!\nThey descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door; and, while examining the nearer aspect of the house, all her apprehension of meeting its owner returned. She dreaded lest the chambermaid had been mistaken. On applying to see the place, they were admitted into the hall; and Elizabeth, as they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to wonder at her being where she was.\nThe housekeeper came; a respectable looking elderly woman, much less fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of finding her. They followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned room, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, from which they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight. As they passed into other rooms, these objects were taking different positions; but from every window there were beauties to be seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine,--with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.\n\"And of this place,\" thought she, \"I might have been mistress! With these rooms I might have now been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt. But, no,\" recollecting herself, \"that could never be; my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me; I should not have been allowed to invite them.\"\nThis was a lucky recollection--it saved her from something like regret.\nShe longed to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master were really absent, but had not courage for it. At length, however, the question was asked by her uncle; and she turned away with alarm, while Mrs. Reynolds replied, that he was; adding, \"But we expect him to-morrow, with a large party of friends.\" How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own journey had not by any circumstance been delayed a day!\nHer aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached, and saw the likeness of Mr. Wickham, suspended, amongst several other miniatures, over the mantel-piece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how she liked it. The housekeeper came forward, and told them it was the picture of a young gentleman, the son of her late master's steward, who had been brought up by him at his own expense. \"He is now gone into the army,\" she added; \"but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.\"\nMrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could not return it.\n\"And that,\" said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures, \"is my master--and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the other--about eight years ago.\"\n\"I have heard much of your master's fine person,\" said Mrs. Gardiner, looking at the picture; \"it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.\"\nMrs. Reynolds' respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this intimation of her knowing her master.\n\"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?\"\nElizabeth coloured, and said, \"A little.\"\n\"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma'am?\"\n\"Yes, very handsome.\"\n\"I am sure I know none so handsome; but in the gallery upstairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was my late master's favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond of them.\"\nThis accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham's being among them.\nMrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.\n\"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?\" said Mr. Gardiner.\n\"Oh, yes--the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so accomplished! She plays and sings all day long. In the next room is a new instrument just come down for her--a present from my master: she comes here to-morrow with him.\"\nMr. Gardiner, whose manners were easy and pleasant, encouraged her communicativeness by his questions and remarks: Mrs. Reynolds, either from pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking of her master and his sister.\n\"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?\"\n\"Not so much as I could wish, sir: but I dare say he may spend half his time here; and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months.\"\n\"Except,\" thought Elizabeth, \"when she goes to Ramsgate.\"\n\"If your master would marry, you might see more of him.\"\n\"Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him.\"\nMr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help saying, \"It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so.\"\n\"I say no more than the truth, and what everybody will say that knows him,\" replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was going pretty far; and she listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added, \"I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old.\"\nThis was praise of all others most extraordinary, most opposite to her ideas. That he was not a good-tempered man had been her firmest opinion. Her keenest attention was awakened: she longed to hear more; and was grateful to her uncle for saying,--\n\"There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in having such a master.\"\n\"Yes, sir, I know I am. If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with a better. But I have always observed, that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world.\"\nElizabeth almost stared at her. \"Can this be Mr. Darcy?\" thought she.\n\"His father was an excellent man,\" said Mrs. Gardiner.\n\"Yes, ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like him--just as affable to the poor.\"", "chosen": "[\"And of this place,\", \" recollecting herself, \", \"But we expect him to-morrow, with a large party of friends.\", \"He is now gone into the army,\", \"but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.\", \"And that,\", \"is my master--and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the other--about eight years ago.\", \"I have heard much of your master's fine person,\", \"it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.\", \"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?\", \"A little.\", \"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma'am?\", \"Yes, very handsome.\", \"\\nThis accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham's being among them.\\nMrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.\\n\", \" said Mr. Gardiner.\\n\", \"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?\", \"Not so much as I could wish, sir: but I dare say he may spend half his time here; and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months.\", \"Except,\", \"when she goes to Ramsgate.\", \"If your master would marry, you might see more of him.\", \"Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him.\", \"It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so.\", \"I say no more than the truth, and what everybody will say that knows him,\", \"I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old.\", \"There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in having such a master.\", \"\\nElizabeth almost stared at her. \", \" thought she.\\n\", \" said Mrs. Gardiner.\\n\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"And of this place,\", \" recollecting herself, \", \"But we expect him to-morrow, with a large party of friends.\", \"He is now gone into the army,\", \"but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.\", \"And that,\", \"is my master--and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the other--about eight years ago.\", \"I have heard much of your master's fine person,\", \"it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.\", \"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?\", \"A little.\", \"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma'am?\", \"Yes, very handsome.\", \"\\nThis accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham's being among them.\\nMrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.\\n\", \" said Mr. Gardiner.\\n\", \"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?\", \"Not so much as I could wish, sir: but I dare say he may spend half his time here; and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months.\", \"Except,\", \"when she goes to Ramsgate.\", \"If your master would marry, you might see more of him.\", \"Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him.\", \"It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so.\", \"I say no more than the truth, and what everybody will say that knows him,\", \"I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old.\", \"There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in having such a master.\", \"\\nElizabeth almost stared at her. \", \" thought she.\\n\", \" said Mrs. Gardiner.\\n\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-1342-043-00-7839ceac", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said Bull desperately; \"there must be some people left in the town who are human.\"\n\"No,\" said the hopeless Inspector, \"the human being will soon be extinct. We are the last of mankind.\"\n\"It may be,\" said the Professor absently. Then he added in his dreamy voice, \"What is all that at the end of the 'Dunciad'?\n'Nor public flame; nor private, dares to shine; Nor human light is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos, is restored; Light dies before thine uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.'\"\n\"Stop!\" cried Bull suddenly, \"the gendarmes are out.\"\nThe low lights of the police station were indeed blotted and broken with hurrying figures, and they heard through the darkness the clash and jingle of a disciplined cavalry.\n\"They are charging the mob!\" cried Bull in ecstacy or alarm.\n\"No,\" said Syme, \"they are formed along the parade.\"\n\"They have unslung their carbines,\" cried Bull dancing with excitement.\n\"Yes,\" said Ratcliffe, \"and they are going to fire on us.\"\nAs he spoke there came a long crackle of musketry, and bullets seemed to hop like hailstones on the stones in front of them.\n\"The gendarmes have joined them!\" cried the Professor, and struck his forehead.\n\"I am in the padded cell,\" said Bull solidly.\nThere was a long silence, and then Ratcliffe said, looking out over the swollen sea, all a sort of grey purple—\n\"What does it matter who is mad or who is sane? We shall all be dead soon.\"\nSyme turned to him and said—\n\"You are quite hopeless, then?\"\nMr. Ratcliffe kept a stony silence; then at last he said quietly—\n\"No; oddly enough I am not quite hopeless. There is one insane little hope that I cannot get out of my mind. The power of this whole planet is against us, yet I cannot help wondering whether this one silly little hope is hopeless yet.\"\n\"In what or whom is your hope?\" asked Syme with curiosity.\n\"In a man I never saw,\" said the other, looking at the leaden sea.\n\"I know what you mean,\" said Syme in a low voice, \"the man in the dark room. But Sunday must have killed him by now.\"\n\"Perhaps,\" said the other steadily; \"but if so, he was the only man whom Sunday found it hard to kill.\"\n\"I heard what you said,\" said the Professor, with his back turned. \"I also am holding hard on to the thing I never saw.\"\nAll of a sudden Syme, who was standing as if blind with introspective thought, swung round and cried out, like a man waking from sleep—\n\"Where is the Colonel? I thought he was with us!\"\n\"The Colonel! Yes,\" cried Bull, \"where on earth is the Colonel?\"\n\"He went to speak to Renard,\" said the Professor.\n\"We cannot leave him among all those beasts,\" cried Syme. \"Let us die like gentlemen if—\"\n\"Do not pity the Colonel,\" said Ratcliffe, with a pale sneer. \"He is extremely comfortable. He is—\"\n\"No! no! no!\" cried Syme in a kind of frenzy, \"not the Colonel too! I will never believe it!\"\n\"Will you believe your eyes?\" asked the other, and pointed to the beach.\nMany of their pursuers had waded into the water shaking their fists, but the sea was rough, and they could not reach the pier. Two or three figures, however, stood on the beginning of the stone footway, and seemed to be cautiously advancing down it. The glare of a chance lantern lit up the faces of the two foremost. One face wore a black half-mask, and under it the mouth was twisting about in such a madness of nerves that the black tuft of beard wriggled round and round like a restless, living thing. The other was the red face and white moustache of Colonel Ducroix. They were in earnest consultation.\n\"Yes, he is gone too,\" said the Professor, and sat down on a stone. \"Everything's gone. I'm gone! I can't trust my own bodily machinery. I feel as if my own hand might fly up and strike me.\"\n\"When my hand flies up,\" said Syme, \"it will strike somebody else,\" and he strode along the pier towards the Colonel, the sword in one hand and the lantern in the other.\nAs if to destroy the last hope or doubt, the Colonel, who saw him coming, pointed his revolver at him and fired. The shot missed Syme, but struck his sword, breaking it short at the hilt. Syme rushed on, and swung the iron lantern above his head.\n\"Judas before Herod!\" he said, and struck the Colonel down upon the stones. Then he turned to the Secretary, whose frightful mouth was almost foaming now, and held the lamp high with so rigid and arresting a gesture, that the man was, as it were, frozen for a moment, and forced to hear.\n\"Do you see this lantern?\" cried Syme in a terrible voice. \"Do you see the cross carved on it, and the flame inside? You did not make it. You did not light it. Better men than you, men who could believe and obey, twisted the entrails of iron and preserved the legend of fire. There is not a street you walk on, there is not a thread you wear, that was not made as this lantern was, by denying your philosophy of dirt and rats. You can make nothing. You can only destroy. You will destroy mankind; you will destroy the world. Let that suffice you. Yet this one old Christian lantern you shall not destroy. It shall go where your empire of apes will never have the wit to find it.\"\nHe struck the Secretary once with the lantern so that he staggered; and then, whirling it twice round his head, sent it flying far out to sea, where it flared like a roaring rocket and fell.\n\"Swords!\" shouted Syme, turning his flaming face to the three behind him. \"Let us charge these dogs, for our time has come to die.\"\nHis three companions came after him sword in hand. Syme's sword was broken, but he rent a bludgeon from the fist of a fisherman, flinging him down. In a moment they would have flung themselves upon the face of the mob and perished, when an interruption came. The Secretary, ever since Syme's speech, had stood with his hand to his stricken head as if dazed; now he suddenly pulled off his black mask.\nThe pale face thus peeled in the lamplight revealed not so much rage as astonishment. He put up his hand with an anxious authority.\n\"There is some mistake,\" he said. \"Mr. Syme, I hardly think you understand your position. I arrest you in the name of the law.\"\n\"Of the law?\" said Syme, and dropped his stick.\n\"Certainly!\" said the Secretary. \"I am a detective from Scotland Yard,\" and he took a small blue card from his pocket.\n\"And what do you suppose we are?\" asked the Professor, and threw up his arms.\n\"You,\" said the Secretary stiffly, \"are, as I know for a fact, members of the Supreme Anarchist Council. Disguised as one of you, I—\"\nDr. Bull tossed his sword into the sea.\n\"There never was any Supreme Anarchist Council,\" he said. \"We were all a lot of silly policemen looking at each other. And all these nice people who have been peppering us with shot thought we were the dynamiters. I knew I couldn't be wrong about the mob,\" he said, beaming over the enormous multitude, which stretched away to the distance on both sides. \"Vulgar people are never mad. I'm vulgar myself, and I know. I am now going on shore to stand a drink to everybody here.\"", "chosen": "here", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nhere\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-1695-012-03-435a7494", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"People to help him, Brother Marples! Well, I reckon you'd think so if you'd a been in this house for a while back. Why, they've stole everything they could lay their hands on—and we a-watching all the time, mind you. They stole that shirt right off o' the line! and as for that sheet they made the rag ladder out of, ther' ain't no telling how many times they didn't steal that; and flour, and candles, and candlesticks, and spoons, and the old warming-pan, and most a thousand things that I disremember now, and my new calico dress; and me and Silas and my Sid and Tom on the constant watch day and night, as I was a-telling you, and not a one of us could catch hide nor hair nor sight nor sound of them; and here at the last minute, lo and behold you, they slides right in under our noses and fools us, and not only fools us but the Injun Territory robbers too, and actuly gets away with that nigger safe and sound, and that with sixteen men and twenty-two dogs right on their very heels at that very time! I tell you, it just bangs anything I ever heard of. Why, sperits couldn't a done better and been no smarter. And I reckon they must a been sperits—because, you know our dogs, and ther' ain't no better; well, them dogs never even got on the track of 'm once! You explain that to me if you can!—any of you!\"\n\"Well, it does beat—\"\n\"Laws alive, I never—\"\n\"So help me, I wouldn't a be—\"\n\"House-thieves as well as—\"\n\"Goodnessgracioussakes, I'd a ben afeard to live in sich a—\"\n\"'Fraid to live!—why, I was that scared I dasn't hardly go to bed, or get up, or lay down, or set down, Sister Ridgeway. Why, they'd steal the very—why, goodness sakes, you can guess what kind of a fluster I was in by the time midnight come last night. I hope to gracious if I warn't afraid they'd steal some o' the family! I was just to that pass I didn't have no reasoning faculties no more. It looks foolish enough now, in the daytime; but I says to myself, there's my two poor boys asleep, 'way up stairs in that lonesome room, and I declare to goodness I was that uneasy 't I crep' up there and locked 'em in! I did. And anybody would. Because, you know, when you get scared that way, and it keeps running on, and getting worse and worse all the time, and your wits gets to addling, and you get to doing all sorts o' wild things, and by-and-by you think to yourself, spos'n I was a boy, and was away up there, and the door ain't locked, and you—\" She stopped, looking kind of wondering, and then she turned her head around slow, and when her eye lit on me—I got up and took a walk.\nSays I to myself, I can explain better how we come to not be in that room this morning if I go out to one side and study over it a little. So I done it. But I dasn't go fur, or she'd a sent for me. And when it was late in the day the people all went, and then I come in and told her the noise and shooting waked up me and \"Sid,\" and the door was locked, and we wanted to see the fun, so we went down the lightning-rod, and both of us got hurt a little, and we didn't never want to try that no more. And then I went on and told her all what I told Uncle Silas before; and then she said she'd forgive us, and maybe it was all right enough anyway, and about what a body might expect of boys, for all boys was a pretty harum-scarum lot as fur as she could see; and so, as long as no harm hadn't come of it, she judged she better put in her time being grateful we was alive and well and she had us still, stead of fretting over what was past and done. So then she kissed me, and patted me on the head, and dropped into a kind of a brown study; and pretty soon jumps up, and says:\n\"Why, lawsamercy, it's most night, and Sid not come yet! What has become of that boy?\"\nI see my chance; so I skips up and says:\n\"I'll run right up to town and get him,\" I says.\n\"No you won't,\" she says. \"You'll stay right wher' you are; one's enough to be lost at a time. If he ain't here to supper, your uncle 'll go.\"\nWell, he warn't there to supper; so right after supper uncle went.\nHe come back about ten a little bit uneasy; hadn't run across Tom's track. Aunt Sally was a good deal uneasy; but Uncle Silas he said there warn't no occasion to be—boys will be boys, he said, and you'll see this one turn up in the morning all sound and right. So she had to be satisfied. But she said she'd set up for him a while anyway, and keep a light burning so he could see it.\nAnd then when I went up to bed she come up with me and fetched her candle, and tucked me in, and mothered me so good I felt mean, and like I couldn't look her in the face; and she set down on the bed and talked with me a long time, and said what a splendid boy Sid was, and didn't seem to want to ever stop talking about him; and kept asking me every now and then if I reckoned he could a got lost, or hurt, or maybe drownded, and might be laying at this minute somewheres suffering or dead, and she not by him to help him, and so the tears would drip down silent, and I would tell her that Sid was all right, and would be home in the morning, sure; and she would squeeze my hand, or maybe kiss me, and tell me to say it again, and keep on saying it, because it done her good, and she was in so much trouble. And when she was going away she looked down in my eyes so steady and gentle, and says:\n\"The door ain't going to be locked, Tom, and there's the window and the rod; but you'll be good, won't you? And you won't go? For my sake.\"\nLaws knows I wanted to go bad enough to see about Tom, and was all intending to go; but after that I wouldn't a went, not for kingdoms.\nBut she was on my mind and Tom was on my mind, so I slept very restless. And twice I went down the rod away in the night, and slipped around front, and see her setting there by her candle in the window with her eyes towards the road and the tears in them; and I wished I could do something for her, but I couldn't, only to swear that I wouldn't never do nothing to grieve her any more. And the third time I waked up at dawn, and slid down, and she was there yet, and her candle was most out, and her old gray head was resting on her hand, and she was asleep.", "chosen": "[\"People\", \"Brother\", \"Marples\", \"Silas\", \"Sid\", \"Tom\", \"Injun\", \"Territory\", \"Laws\", \"House\", \"Goodnessgracioussakes\", \"Sister\", \"Ridgeway\", \"Sally\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"People\", \"Brother\", \"Marples\", \"Silas\", \"Sid\", \"Tom\", \"Injun\", \"Territory\", \"Laws\", \"House\", \"Goodnessgracioussakes\", \"Sister\", \"Ridgeway\", \"Sally\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-76-041-01-747ef152", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIt was after sun-up now, but we went right on and didn't tie up. The king and the duke turned out by-and-by looking pretty rusty; but after they'd jumped overboard and took a swim it chippered them up a good deal. After breakfast the king he took a seat on the corner of the raft, and pulled off his boots and rolled up his britches, and let his legs dangle in the water, so as to be comfortable, and lit his pipe, and went to getting his Romeo and Juliet by heart. When he had got it pretty good, him and the duke begun to practice it together. The duke had to learn him over and over again how to say every speech; and he made him sigh, and put his hand on his heart, and after a while he said he done it pretty well; \"only,\" he says, \"you mustn't bellow out Romeo! that way, like a bull—you must say it soft and sick and languishy, so—R-o-o-meo! that is the idea; for Juliet's a dear sweet mere child of a girl, you know, and she doesn't bray like a jackass.\"\nWell, next they got out a couple of long swords that the duke made out of oak laths, and begun to practice the sword fight—the duke called himself Richard III.; and the way they laid on and pranced around the raft was grand to see. But by-and-by the king tripped and fell overboard, and after that they took a rest, and had a talk about all kinds of adventures they'd had in other times along the river.\nAfter dinner the duke says:\n\"Well, Capet, we'll want to make this a first-class show, you know, so I guess we'll add a little more to it. We want a little something to answer encores with, anyway.\"\n\"What's onkores, Bilgewater?\"\nThe duke told him, and then says:\n\"I'll answer by doing the Highland fling or the sailor's hornpipe; and you—well, let me see—oh, I've got it—you can do Hamlet's soliloquy.\"\n\"Hamlet's which?\"\n\"Hamlet's soliloquy, you know; the most celebrated thing in Shakespeare. Ah, it's sublime, sublime! Always fetches the house. I haven't got it in the book—I've only got one volume—but I reckon I can piece it out from memory. I'll just walk up and down a minute, and see if I can call it back from recollection's vaults.\"\nSo he went to marching up and down, thinking, and frowning horrible every now and then; then he would hoist up his eyebrows; next he would squeeze his hand on his forehead and stagger back and kind of moan; next he would sigh, and next he'd let on to drop a tear. It was beautiful to see him. By-and-by he got it. He told us to give attention. Then he strikes a most noble attitude, with one leg shoved forwards, and his arms stretched away up, and his head tilted back, looking up at the sky; and then he begins to rip and rave and grit his teeth; and after that, all through his speech, he howled, and spread around, and swelled up his chest, and just knocked the spots out of any acting ever I see before. This is the speech—I learned it, easy enough, while he was learning it to the king:\nTo be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin That makes calamity of so long life; For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane, But that the fear of something after death Murders the innocent sleep, Great nature's second course, And makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune Than fly to others that we know not of. There's the respect must give us pause: Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The law's delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take. In the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn In customary suits of solemn black, But that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns, Breathes forth contagion on the world, And thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i' the adage, Is sicklied o'er with care. And all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops, With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the fair Ophelia: Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws. But get thee to a nunnery—go!\nWell, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so he could do it first rate. It seemed like he was just born for it; and when he had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he would rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off.\nThe first chance we got, the duke he had some show bills printed; and after that, for two or three days as we floated along, the raft was a most uncommon lively place, for there warn't nothing but sword-fighting and rehearsing—as the duke called it—going on all the time. One morning, when we was pretty well down the State of Arkansaw, we come in sight of a little one-horse town in a big bend; so we tied up about three-quarters of a mile above it, in the mouth of a crick which was shut in like a tunnel by the cypress trees, and all of us but Jim took the canoe and went down there to see if there was any chance in that place for our show.\nWe struck it mighty lucky; there was going to be a circus there that afternoon, and the country people was already beginning to come in, in all kinds of old shackly wagons, and on horses. The circus would leave before night, so our show would have a pretty good chance. The duke he hired the court house, and we went around and stuck up our bills. They read like this:\nShaksperean Revival!!! Wonderful Attraction! For One Night Only! The world renowned tragedians, David Garrick the younger, of Drury Lane Theatre, London, and Edmund Kean the elder, of the Royal Haymarket Theatre, Whitechapel, Pudding Lane, Piccadilly, London, and the Royal Continental Theatres, in their sublime Shaksperean Spectacle entitled The Balcony Scene in Romeo and Juliet!!!\nRomeo...................................... Mr. Garrick. Juliet..................................... Mr. Kean.\nAssisted by the whole strength of the company! New costumes, new scenery, new appointments!\nAlso: The thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling Broad-sword conflict In Richard III.!!!\nRichard III................................ Mr. Garrick. Richmond................................... Mr. Kean.\nalso: (by special request,) Hamlet's Immortal Soliloquy!! By the Illustrious Kean! Done by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris! For One Night Only, On account of imperative European engagements! Admission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.\nThen we went loafing around the town. The stores and houses was most all old shackly dried-up frame concerns that hadn't ever been painted; they was set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of reach of the water when the river was overflowed. The houses had little gardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly anything in them but jimpson weeds, and sunflowers, and ash-piles, and old curled-up boots and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and played-out tin-ware. The fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on at different times; and they leaned every which-way, and had gates that didn't generly have but one hinge—a leather one. Some of the fences had been whitewashed, some time or another, but the duke said it was in Clumbus's time, like enough. There was generly hogs in the garden, and people driving them out.", "chosen": "It, The, After, When, The, that, that, But, After, We, Ah,, Always, I, I'll, It, By-and-by, He, Then, This, There's, I, In, And, Tis, But, But, Well,, It, The, One, We, The, The, They, Wonderful, For, The, Romeo......................................, Mr., Garrick., Juliet....................................., Mr., Kean., Assisted, New, Also:, Richard, Mr., Garrick., Richmond..................................., Mr., Kean., also:, By, Done, For, Admission, Then, The, The, The, Some, There", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nIt, The, After, When, The, that, that, But, After, We, Ah,, Always, I, I'll, It, By-and-by, He, Then, This, There's, I, In, And, Tis, But, But, Well,, It, The, One, We, The, The, They, Wonderful, For, The, Romeo......................................, Mr., Garrick., Juliet....................................., Mr., Kean., Assisted, New, Also:, Richard, Mr., Garrick., Richmond..................................., Mr., Kean., also:, By, Done, For, Admission, Then, The, The, The, Some, There\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-021-00-160b436f", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nas painted full of tongues. Rumour in Cloisterham (Miss Ferdinand will honour me with her attention) was no exception to the great limner's portrait of Rumour elsewhere. A slight fracas between two young gentlemen occurring last night within a hundred miles of these peaceful walls (Miss Ferdinand, being apparently incorrigible, will have the kindness to write out this evening, in the original language, the first four fables of our vivacious neighbour, Monsieur La Fontaine) had been very grossly exaggerated by Rumour's voice. In the first alarm and anxiety arising from our sympathy with a sweet young friend, not wholly to be dissociated from one of the gladiators in the bloodless arena in question (the impropriety of Miss Reynolds's appearing to stab herself in the hand with a pin, is far too obvious, and too glaringly unladylike, to be pointed out), we descended from our maiden elevation to discuss this uncongenial and this unfit theme. Responsible inquiries having assured us that it was but one of those \"airy nothings\" pointed at by the Poet (whose name and date of birth Miss Giggles will supply within half an hour), we would now discard the subject, and concentrate our minds upon the grateful labours of the day.\nBut the subject so survived all day, nevertheless, that Miss Ferdinand got into new trouble by surreptitiously clapping on a paper moustache at dinner-time, and going through the motions of aiming a water-bottle at Miss Giggles, who drew a table-spoon in defence.\nNow, Rosa thought of this unlucky quarrel a great deal, and thought of it with an uncomfortable feeling that she was involved in it, as cause, or consequence, or what not, through being in a false position altogether as to her marriage engagement. Never free from such uneasiness when she was with her affianced husband, it was not likely that she would be free from it when they were apart. To-day, too, she was cast in upon herself, and deprived of the relief of talking freely with her new friend, because the quarrel had been with Helena's brother, and Helena undisguisedly avoided the subject as a delicate and difficult one to herself. At this critical time, of all times, Rosa's guardian was announced as having come to see her.\nMr. Grewgious had been well selected for his trust, as a man of incorruptible integrity, but certainly for no other appropriate quality discernible on the surface. He was an arid, sandy man, who, if he had been put into a grinding-mill, looked as if he would have ground immediately into high-dried snuff. He had a scanty flat crop of hair, in colour and consistency like some very mangy yellow fur tippet; it was so unlike hair, that it must have been a wig, but for the stupendous improbability of anybody's voluntarily sporting such a head. The little play of feature that his face presented, was cut deep into it, in a few hard curves that made it more like work; and he had certain notches in his forehead, which looked as though Nature had been about to touch them into sensibility or refinement, when she had impatiently thrown away the chisel, and said: \"I really cannot be worried to finish off this man; let him go as he is.\"\nWith too great length of throat at his upper end, and too much ankle-bone and heel at his lower; with an awkward and hesitating manner; with a shambling walk; and with what is called a near sight—which perhaps prevented his observing how much white cotton stocking he displayed to the public eye, in contrast with his black suit—Mr. Grewgious still had some strange capacity in him of making on the whole an agreeable impression.\nMr. Grewgious was discovered by his ward, much discomfited by being in Miss Twinkleton's company in Miss Twinkleton's own sacred room. Dim forebodings of being examined in something, and not coming well out of it, seemed to oppress the poor gentleman when found in these circumstances.\n\"My dear, how do you do? I am glad to see you. My dear, how much improved you are. Permit me to hand you a chair, my dear.\"\nMiss Twinkleton rose at her little writing-table, saying, with general sweetness, as to the polite Universe: \"Will you permit me to retire?\"\n\"By no means, madam, on my account. I beg that you will not move.\"\n\"I must entreat permission to move,\" returned Miss Twinkleton, repeating the word with a charming grace; \"but I will not withdraw, since you are so obliging. If I wheel my desk to this corner window, shall I be in the way?\"\n\"Madam! In the way!\"\n\"You are very kind.—Rosa, my dear, you will be under no restraint, I am sure.\"\nHere Mr. Grewgious, left by the fire with Rosa, said again: \"My dear, how do you do? I am glad to see you, my dear.\" And having waited for her to sit down, sat down himself.\n\"My visits,\" said Mr. Grewgious, \"are, like those of the angels—not that I compare myself to an angel.\"\n\"No, sir,\" said Rosa.\n\"Not by any means,\" assented Mr. Grewgious. \"I merely refer to my visits, which are few and far between. The angels are, we know very well, up-stairs.\"\nMiss Twinkleton looked round with a kind of stiff stare.\n\"I refer, my dear,\" said Mr. Grewgious, laying his hand on Rosa's, as the possibility thrilled through his frame of his otherwise seeming to take the awful liberty of calling Miss Twinkleton my dear; \"I refer to the other young ladies.\"\nMiss Twinkleton resumed her writing.\nMr. Grewgious, with a sense of not having managed his opening point quite as neatly as he might have desired, smoothed his head from back to front as if he had just dived, and were pressing the water out—this smoothing action, however superfluous, was habitual with him—and took a pocket-book from his coat-pocket, and a stump of black-lead pencil from his waistcoat-pocket.\n\"I made,\" he said, turning the leaves: \"I made a guiding memorandum or so—as I usually do, for I have no conversational powers whatever—to which I will, with your permission, my dear, refer. 'Well and happy.' Truly. You are well and happy, my dear? You look so.\"\n\"Yes, indeed, sir,\" answered Rosa.\n\"For which,\" said Mr. Grewgious, with a bend of his head towards the corner window, \"our warmest acknowledgments are due, and I am sure are rendered, to the maternal kindness and the constant care and consideration of the lady whom I have now the honour to see before me.\"\nThis point, again, made but a lame departure from Mr. Grewgious, and never got to its destination; for, Miss Twinkleton, feeling that the courtesies required her to be by this time quite outside the conversation, was biting the end of her pen, and looking upward, as waiting for the descent of an idea from any member of the Celestial Nine who might have one to spare.\nMr. Grewgious smoothed his smooth head again, and then made another reference to his pocket-book; lining out \"well and happy,\" as disposed of.\n\"'Pounds, shillings, and pence,' is my next note. A dry subject for a young lady, but an important subject too. Life is pounds, shillings, and pence. Death is—\" A sudden recollection of the death of her two parents seemed to stop him, and he said in a softer tone, and evidently inserting the negative as an after-thought: \"Death is not pounds, shillings, and pence.\"\nHis voice was as hard and dry as himself, and Fancy might have ground it straight, like himself, into high-dried snuff. And yet, through the very limited means of expression that he possessed, he seemed to express kindness. If Nature had but finished him off, kindness might have been recognisable in his face at this moment. But if the notches in his forehead wouldn't fuse together, and if his face would work and couldn't play, what could he do, poor man!\n\"'Pounds, shillings, and pence.' You find your allowance always sufficient for your wants, my dear?\"\nRosa wanted for nothing, and therefore it was ample.\n\"And you are not in debt?\"", "chosen": "56", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n56\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-564-009-01-a0f88846", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nInstantly the shutters flew together with a slam, and were barred with desperate quickness by Cytherea on the inside.\n'Damn you!' he exclaimed.\nHe ran round to the back of the house. His impatience was greater now: he thrust his fist through the pantry window at one blow, and opened it in the same way as the former one had been opened, before the terror-stricken girl was aware that he had gone round. In an instant he stood in the pantry, advanced to the front room where she was, flung back the shutters, and held out his arms to embrace her.\nIn extremely trying moments of bodily or mental pain, Cytherea either flushed hot or faded pale, according to the state of her constitution at the moment. Now she burned like fire from head to foot, and this preserved her consciousness.\nNever before had the poor child's natural agility served her in such good stead as now. A heavy oblong table stood in the middle of the room. Round this table she flew, keeping it between herself and Manston, her large eyes wide open with terror, their dilated pupils constantly fixed upon Manston's, to read by his expression whether his next intention was to dart to the right or the left.\nEven he, at that heated moment, could not endure the expression of unutterable agony which shone from that extraordinary gaze of hers. It had surely been given her by God as a means of defence. Manston continued his pursuit with a lowered eye.\nThe panting and maddened desperado--blind to everything but the capture of his wife--went with a rush under the table: she went over it like a bird. He went heavily over it: she flew under it, and was out at the other side.\n'One on her youth and pliant limbs relies, One on his sinews and his giant size.'\nBut his superior strength was sure to tire her down in the long-run. She felt her weakness increasing with the quickness of her breath; she uttered a wild scream, which in its heartrending intensity seemed to echo for miles.\nAt the same juncture her hair became unfastened, and rolled down about her shoulders. The least accident at such critical periods is sufficient to confuse the overwrought intelligence. She lost sight of his intended direction for one instant, and he immediately outmanoeuvred her.\n'At last! my Cytherea!' he cried, overturning the table, springing over it, seizing one of the long brown tresses, pulling her towards him, and clasping her round. She writhed downwards between his arms and breast, and fell fainting on the floor. For the first time his action was leisurely. He lifted her upon the sofa, exclaiming, 'Rest there for a while, my frightened little bird!'\nAnd then there was an end of his triumph. He felt himself clutched by the collar, and whizzed backwards with the force of a battering-ram against the fireplace. Springrove, wild, red, and breathless, had sprung in at the open window, and stood once more between man and wife.\nManston was on his legs again in an instant. A fiery glance on the one side, a glance of pitiless justice on the other, passed between them. It was again the meeting in the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite: 'Hast thou found me, O mine enemy? And he answered, I have found thee: because thou hast sold thyself to work evil in the sight of the Lord.'\nA desperate wrestle now began between the two men. Manston was the taller, but there was in Edward much hard tough muscle which the delicate flesh of the steward lacked. They flew together like the jaws of a gin. In a minute they were both on the floor, rolling over and over, locked in each other's grasp as tightly as if they had been one organic being at war with itself--Edward trying to secure Manston's arms with a small thong he had drawn from his pocket, Manston trying to reach his knife.\nTwo characteristic noises pervaded the apartment through this momentous space of time. One was the sharp panting of the two combatants, so similar in each as to be undistinguishable; the other was the stroke of their heels and toes, as they smote the floor at every contortion of body or limbs.\nCytherea had not lost consciousness for more than half-a-minute. She had then leapt up without recognizing that Edward was her deliverer, unfastened the door, and rushed out, screaming wildly, 'Come! Help! O, help!'\nThree men stood not twenty yards off, looking perplexed. They dashed forward at her words. 'Have you seen a shabby man with a smock-frock on lately?' they inquired. She pointed to the door, and ran on the same as before.\nManston, who had just loosened himself from Edward's grasp, seemed at this moment to renounce his intention of pushing the conflict to a desperate end. 'I give it all up for life--dear life!' he cried, with a hoarse laugh. 'A reckless man has a dozen lives--see how I'll baffle you all yet!'\nHe rushed out of the house, but no further. The boast was his last. In one half-minute more he was helpless in the hands of his pursuers.\nEdward staggered to his feet, and paused to recover breath. His thoughts had never forsaken Cytherea, and his first act now was to hasten up the lane after her. She had not gone far. He found her leaning upon a bank by the roadside, where she had flung herself down in sheer exhaustion. He ran up and lifted her in his arms, and thus aided she was enabled to stand upright--clinging to him. What would Springrove have given to imprint a kiss upon her lips then!\nThey walked slowly towards the house. The distressing sensation of whose wife she was could not entirely quench the resuscitated pleasure he felt at her grateful recognition of him, and her confiding seizure of his arm for support. He conveyed her carefully into the house.\nA quarter of an hour later, whilst she was sitting in a partially recovered, half-dozing state in an arm-chair, Edward beside her waiting anxiously till Graye should arrive, they saw a spring-cart pass the door. Old and dry mud-splashes from long-forgotten rains disfigured its wheels and sides; the varnish and paint had been scratched and dimmed; ornament had long been forgotten in a restless contemplation of use. Three men sat on the seat, the middle one being Manston. His hands were bound in front of him, his eyes were set directly forward, his countenance pallid, hard, and fixed.\nSpringrove had told Cytherea of Manston's crime in a few short words. He now said solemnly, 'He is to die.'\n'And I cannot mourn for him,' she replied with a shudder, leaning back and covering her face with her hands.\nIn the silence that followed the two short remarks, Springrove watched the cart round the corner, and heard the rattle of its wheels gradually dying away as it rolled in the direction of the county-town.", "chosen": "In a minute they were both on the floor, rolling over and over, locked in each other's grasp as tightly as if they had been one organic being at war with itself--Edward trying to secure Manston's arms with a small thong he had drawn from his pocket, Manston trying to reach his knife.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nIn a minute they were both on the floor, rolling over and over, locked in each other's grasp as tightly as if they had been one organic being at war with itself--Edward trying to secure Manston's arms with a small thong he had drawn from his pocket, Manston trying to reach his knife.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-3044-014-01-2295bfb7", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIt was nothing to her, that an innocent man was to die for the sins of his forefathers; she saw, not him, but them. It was nothing to her, that his wife was to be made a widow and his daughter an orphan; that was insufficient punishment, because they were her natural enemies and her prey, and as such had no right to live. To appeal to her, was made hopeless by her having no sense of pity, even for herself. If she had been laid low in the streets, in any of the many encounters in which she had been engaged, she would not have pitied herself; nor, if she had been ordered to the axe to-morrow, would she have gone to it with any softer feeling than a fierce desire to change places with the man who sent her there.\nSuch a heart Madame Defarge carried under her rough robe. Carelessly worn, it was a becoming robe enough, in a certain weird way, and her dark hair looked rich under her coarse red cap. Lying hidden in her bosom, was a loaded pistol. Lying hidden at her waist, was a sharpened dagger. Thus accoutred, and walking with the confident tread of such a character, and with the supple freedom of a woman who had habitually walked in her girlhood, bare-foot and bare-legged, on the brown sea-sand, Madame Defarge took her way along the streets.\nNow, when the journey of the travelling coach, at that very moment waiting for the completion of its load, had been planned out last night, the difficulty of taking Miss Pross in it had much engaged Mr. Lorry's attention. It was not merely desirable to avoid overloading the coach, but it was of the highest importance that the time occupied in examining it and its passengers, should be reduced to the utmost; since their escape might depend on the saving of only a few seconds here and there. Finally, he had proposed, after anxious consideration, that Miss Pross and Jerry, who were at liberty to leave the city, should leave it at three o'clock in the lightest-wheeled conveyance known to that period. Unencumbered with luggage, they would soon overtake the coach, and, passing it and preceding it on the road, would order its horses in advance, and greatly facilitate its progress during the precious hours of the night, when delay was the most to be dreaded.\nSeeing in this arrangement the hope of rendering real service in that pressing emergency, Miss Pross hailed it with joy. She and Jerry had beheld the coach start, had known who it was that Solomon brought, had passed some ten minutes in tortures of suspense, and were now concluding their arrangements to follow the coach, even as Madame Defarge, taking her way through the streets, now drew nearer and nearer to the else-deserted lodging in which they held their consultation.\n\"Now what do you think, Mr. Cruncher,\" said Miss Pross, whose agitation was so great that she could hardly speak, or stand, or move, or live: \"what do you think of our not starting from this courtyard? Another carriage having already gone from here to-day, it might awaken suspicion.\"\n\"My opinion, miss,\" returned Mr. Cruncher, \"is as you're right. Likewise wot I'll stand by you, right or wrong.\"\n\"I am so distracted with fear and hope for our precious creatures,\" said Miss Pross, wildly crying, \"that I am incapable of forming any plan. Are you capable of forming any plan, my dear good Mr. Cruncher?\"\n\"Respectin' a future spear o' life, miss,\" returned Mr. Cruncher, \"I hope so. Respectin' any present use o' this here blessed old head o' mine, I think not. Would you do me the favour, miss, to take notice o' two promises and wows wot it is my wishes fur to record in this here crisis?\"\n\"Oh, for gracious sake!\" cried Miss Pross, still wildly crying, \"record them at once, and get them out of the way, like an excellent man.\"\n\"First,\" said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in a tremble, and who spoke with an ashy and solemn visage, \"them poor things well out o' this, never no more will I do it, never no more!\"\n\"I am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher,\" returned Miss Pross, \"that you never will do it again, whatever it is, and I beg you not to think it necessary to mention more particularly what it is.\"\n\"No, miss,\" returned Jerry, \"it shall not be named to you. Second: them poor things well out o' this, and never no more will I interfere with Mrs. Cruncher's flopping, never no more!\"\n\"Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may be,\" said Miss Pross, striving to dry her eyes and compose herself, \"I have no doubt it is best that Mrs. Cruncher should have it entirely under her own superintendence.--O my poor darlings!\"\n\"I go so far as to say, miss, moreover,\" proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with a most alarming tendency to hold forth as from a pulpit--\"and let my words be took down and took to Mrs. Cruncher through yourself--that wot my opinions respectin' flopping has undergone a change, and that wot I only hope with all my heart as Mrs. Cruncher may be a flopping at the present time.\"\n\"There, there, there! I hope she is, my dear man,\" cried the distracted Miss Pross, \"and I hope she finds it answering her expectations.\"\n\"Forbid it,\" proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with additional solemnity, additional slowness, and additional tendency to hold forth and hold out, \"as anything wot I have ever said or done should be wisited on my earnest wishes for them poor creeturs now! Forbid it as we shouldn't all flop (if it was anyways conwenient) to get 'em out o' this here dismal risk! Forbid it, miss! Wot I say, for-bid it!\" This was Mr. Cruncher's conclusion after a protracted but vain endeavour to find a better one.\nAnd still Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came nearer and nearer.\n\"If we ever get back to our native land,\" said Miss Pross, \"you may rely upon my telling Mrs. Cruncher as much as I may be able to remember and understand of what you have so impressively said; and at all events you may be sure that I shall bear witness to your being thoroughly in earnest at this dreadful time. Now, pray let us think! My esteemed Mr. Cruncher, let us think!\"\nStill, Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came nearer and nearer.\n\"If you were to go before,\" said Miss Pross, \"and stop the vehicle and horses from coming here, and were to wait somewhere for me; wouldn't that be best?\"\nMr. Cruncher thought it might be best.\n\"Where could you wait for me?\" asked Miss Pross.\nMr. Cruncher was so bewildered that he could think of no locality but Temple Bar. Alas! Temple Bar was hundreds of miles away, and Madame Defarge was drawing very near indeed.\n\"By the cathedral door,\" said Miss Pross. \"Would it be much out of the way, to take me in, near the great cathedral door between the two towers?\"\n\"No, miss,\" answered Mr. Cruncher.\n\"Then, like the best of men,\" said Miss Pross, \"go to the posting-house straight, and make that change.\"\n\"I am doubtful,\" said Mr. Cruncher, hesitating and shaking his head, \"about leaving of you, you see. We don't know what may happen.\"\n\"Heaven knows we don't,\" returned Miss Pross, \"but have no fear for me. Take me in at the cathedral, at Three o'Clock, or as near it as you can, and I am sure it will be better than our going from here. I feel certain of it. There! Bless you, Mr. Cruncher! Think-not of me, but of the lives that may depend on both of us!\"\nThis exordium, and Miss Pross's two hands in quite agonised entreaty clasping his, decided Mr. Cruncher. With an encouraging nod or two, he immediately went out to alter the arrangements, and left her by herself to follow as she had proposed.", "chosen": "proposed", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nproposed\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-044-01-56d3b197", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Imagine: inside, in the nerves, in the head—that is, these nerves are there in the brain ... (damn them!) there are sort of little tails, the little tails of those nerves, and as soon as they begin quivering ... that is, you see, I look at something with my eyes and then they begin quivering, those little tails ... and when they quiver, then an image appears ... it doesn't appear at once, but an instant, a second, passes ... and then something like a moment appears; that is, not a moment—devil take the moment!—but an image; that is, an object, or an action, damn it! That's why I see and then think, because of those tails, not at all because I've got a soul, and that I am some sort of image and likeness. All that is nonsense! Rakitin explained it all to me yesterday, brother, and it simply bowled me over. It's magnificent, Alyosha, this science! A new man's arising—that I understand.... And yet I am sorry to lose God!\"\n\"Well, that's a good thing, anyway,\" said Alyosha.\n\"That I am sorry to lose God? It's chemistry, brother, chemistry! There's no help for it, your reverence, you must make way for chemistry. And Rakitin does dislike God. Ough! doesn't he dislike Him! That's the sore point with all of them. But they conceal it. They tell lies. They pretend. 'Will you preach this in your reviews?' I asked him. 'Oh, well, if I did it openly, they won't let it through,' he said. He laughed. 'But what will become of men then?' I asked him, 'without God and immortal life? All things are lawful then, they can do what they like?' 'Didn't you know?' he said laughing, 'a clever man can do what he likes,' he said. 'A clever man knows his way about, but you've put your foot in it, committing a murder, and now you are rotting in prison.' He says that to my face! A regular pig! I used to kick such people out, but now I listen to them. He talks a lot of sense, too. Writes well. He began reading me an article last week. I copied out three lines of it. Wait a minute. Here it is.\"\nMitya hurriedly pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and read:\n\"'In order to determine this question, it is above all essential to put one's personality in contradiction to one's reality.' Do you understand that?\"\n\"No, I don't,\" said Alyosha. He looked at Mitya and listened to him with curiosity.\n\"I don't understand either. It's dark and obscure, but intellectual. 'Every one writes like that now,' he says, 'it's the effect of their environment.' They are afraid of the environment. He writes poetry, too, the rascal. He's written in honor of Madame Hohlakov's foot. Ha ha ha!\"\n\"I've heard about it,\" said Alyosha.\n\"Have you? And have you heard the poem?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"I've got it. Here it is. I'll read it to you. You don't know—I haven't told you—there's quite a story about it. He's a rascal! Three weeks ago he began to tease me. 'You've got yourself into a mess, like a fool, for the sake of three thousand, but I'm going to collar a hundred and fifty thousand. I am going to marry a widow and buy a house in Petersburg.' And he told me he was courting Madame Hohlakov. She hadn't much brains in her youth, and now at forty she has lost what she had. 'But she's awfully sentimental,' he says; 'that's how I shall get hold of her. When I marry her, I shall take her to Petersburg and there I shall start a newspaper.' And his mouth was simply watering, the beast, not for the widow, but for the hundred and fifty thousand. And he made me believe it. He came to see me every day. 'She is coming round,' he declared. He was beaming with delight. And then, all of a sudden, he was turned out of the house. Perhotin's carrying everything before him, bravo! I could kiss the silly old noodle for turning him out of the house. And he had written this doggerel. 'It's the first time I've soiled my hands with writing poetry,' he said. 'It's to win her heart, so it's in a good cause. When I get hold of the silly woman's fortune, I can be of great social utility.' They have this social justification for every nasty thing they do! 'Anyway it's better than your Pushkin's poetry,' he said, 'for I've managed to advocate enlightenment even in that.' I understand what he means about Pushkin, I quite see that, if he really was a man of talent and only wrote about women's feet. But wasn't Rakitin stuck up about his doggerel! The vanity of these fellows! 'On the convalescence of the swollen foot of the object of my affections'—he thought of that for a title. He's a waggish fellow.\nA captivating little foot, Though swollen and red and tender! The doctors come and plasters put, But still they cannot mend her.\nYet, 'tis not for her foot I dread— A theme for Pushkin's muse more fit— It's not her foot, it is her head: I tremble for her loss of wit!\nFor as her foot swells, strange to say, Her intellect is on the wane— Oh, for some remedy I pray That may restore both foot and brain!\nHe is a pig, a regular pig, but he's very arch, the rascal! And he really has put in a progressive idea. And wasn't he angry when she kicked him out! He was gnashing his teeth!\"\n\"He's taken his revenge already,\" said Alyosha. \"He's written a paragraph about Madame Hohlakov.\"\nAnd Alyosha told him briefly about the paragraph in Gossip.\n\"That's his doing, that's his doing!\" Mitya assented, frowning. \"That's him! These paragraphs ... I know ... the insulting things that have been written about Grushenka, for instance.... And about Katya, too.... H'm!\"\nHe walked across the room with a harassed air.\n\"Brother, I cannot stay long,\" Alyosha said, after a pause. \"To-morrow will be a great and awful day for you, the judgment of God will be accomplished ... I am amazed at you, you walk about here, talking of I don't know what ...\"\n\"No, don't be amazed at me,\" Mitya broke in warmly. \"Am I to talk of that stinking dog? Of the murderer? We've talked enough of him. I don't want to say more of the stinking son of Stinking Lizaveta! God will kill him, you will see. Hush!\"\nHe went up to Alyosha excitedly and kissed him. His eyes glowed.", "chosen": "[\"Imagine\", \"Alyosha\", \"God\", \"Rakitin\", \"Him\", \"Mitya\", \"Madame\", \"Hohlakov\", \"Have\", \"Petersburg\", \"Pushkin\", \"Though\", \"Her\", \"Gossip\", \"Grushenka\", \"Katya\", \"Brother\", \"Stinking\", \"Lizaveta\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Imagine\", \"Alyosha\", \"God\", \"Rakitin\", \"Him\", \"Mitya\", \"Madame\", \"Hohlakov\", \"Have\", \"Petersburg\", \"Pushkin\", \"Though\", \"Her\", \"Gossip\", \"Grushenka\", \"Katya\", \"Brother\", \"Stinking\", \"Lizaveta\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-071-01-ad7a0fd7", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nHe was again mistaken. The rain was quite ordinary in quantity; the air in temperature. It was, as is usual, the menacing attitude in which they approached him that magnified their powers.\nHe again looked straight downwards, the wind and the water-dashes lifting his moustache, scudding up his cheeks, under his eyelids, and into his eyes. This is what he saw down there: the surface of the sea—visually just past his toes, and under his feet; actually one-eighth of a mile, or more than two hundred yards, below them. We colour according to our moods the objects we survey. The sea would have been a deep neutral blue, had happier auspices attended the gazer it was now no otherwise than distinctly black to his vision. That narrow white border was foam, he knew well; but its boisterous tosses were so distant as to appear a pulsation only, and its plashing was barely audible. A white border to a black sea—his funeral pall and its edging.\nThe world was to some extent turned upside down for him. Rain descended from below. Beneath his feet was aerial space and the unknown; above him was the firm, familiar ground, and upon it all that he loved best.\nPitiless nature had then two voices, and two only. The nearer was the voice of the wind in his ears rising and falling as it mauled and thrust him hard or softly. The second and distant one was the moan of that unplummetted ocean below and afar—rubbing its restless flank against the Cliff without a Name.\nKnight perseveringly held fast. Had he any faith in Elfride? Perhaps. Love is faith, and faith, like a gathered flower, will rootlessly live on.\nNobody would have expected the sun to shine on such an evening as this. Yet it appeared, low down upon the sea. Not with its natural golden fringe, sweeping the furthest ends of the landscape, not with the strange glare of whiteness which it sometimes puts on as an alternative to colour, but as a splotch of vermilion red upon a leaden ground—a red face looking on with a drunken leer.\nMost men who have brains know it, and few are so foolish as to disguise this fact from themselves or others, even though an ostentatious display may be called self-conceit. Knight, without showing it much, knew that his intellect was above the average. And he thought—he could not help thinking—that his death would be a deliberate loss to earth of good material; that such an experiment in killing might have been practised upon some less developed life.\nA fancy some people hold, when in a bitter mood, is that inexorable circumstance only tries to prevent what intelligence attempts. Renounce a desire for a long-contested position, and go on another tack, and after a while the prize is thrown at you, seemingly in disappointment that no more tantalizing is possible.\nKnight gave up thoughts of life utterly and entirely, and turned to contemplate the Dark Valley and the unknown future beyond. Into the shadowy depths of these speculations we will not follow him. Let it suffice to state what ensued.\nAt that moment of taking no more thought for this life, something disturbed the outline of the bank above him. A spot appeared. It was the head of Elfride.\nKnight immediately prepared to welcome life again.\nThe expression of a face consigned to utter loneliness, when a friend first looks in upon it, is moving in the extreme. In rowing seaward to a light-ship or sea-girt lighthouse, where, without any immediate terror of death, the inmates experience the gloom of monotonous seclusion, the grateful eloquence of their countenances at the greeting, expressive of thankfulness for the visit, is enough to stir the emotions of the most careless observer.\nKnight's upward look at Elfride was of a nature with, but far transcending, such an instance as this. The lines of his face had deepened to furrows, and every one of them thanked her visibly. His lips moved to the word \"Elfride,\" though the emotion evolved no sound. His eyes passed all description in their combination of the whole diapason of eloquence, from lover's deep love to fellow-man's gratitude for a token of remembrance from one of his kind.\nElfride had come back. What she had come to do he did not know. She could only look on at his death, perhaps. Still, she had come back, and not deserted him utterly, and it was much.\nIt was a novelty in the extreme to see Henry Knight, to whom Elfride was but a child, who had swayed her as a tree sways a bird's nest, who mastered her and made her weep most bitterly at her own insignificance, thus thankful for a sight of her face. She looked down upon him, her face glistening with rain and tears. He smiled faintly.\n\"How calm he is!\" she thought. \"How great and noble he is to be so calm!\" She would have died ten times for him then.\nThe gliding form of the steamboat caught her eye: she heeded it no longer.\n\"How much longer can you wait?\" came from her pale lips and along the wind to his position.\n\"Four minutes,\" said Knight in a weaker voice than her own.\n\"But with a good hope of being saved?\"\n\"Seven or eight.\"\nHe now noticed that in her arms she bore a bundle of white linen, and that her form was singularly attenuated. So preternaturally thin and flexible was Elfride at this moment, that she appeared to bend under the light blows of the rain-shafts, as they struck into her sides and bosom, and splintered into spray on her face. There is nothing like a thorough drenching for reducing the protuberances of clothes, but Elfride's seemed to cling to her like a glove.\nWithout heeding the attack of the clouds further than by raising her hand and wiping away the spirts of rain when they went more particularly into her eyes, she sat down and hurriedly began rending the linen into strips. These she knotted end to end, and afterwards twisted them like the strands of a cord. In a short space of time she had formed a perfect rope by this means, six or seven yards long.\n\"Can you wait while I bind it?\" she said, anxiously extending her gaze down to him.\n\"Yes, if not very long. Hope has given me a wonderful instalment of strength.\"\nElfride dropped her eyes again, tore the remaining material into narrow tape-like ligaments, knotted each to each as before, but on a smaller scale, and wound the lengthy string she had thus formed round and round the linen rope, which, without this binding, had a tendency to spread abroad.\n\"Now,\" said Knight, who, watching the proceedings intently, had by this time not only grasped her scheme, but reasoned further on, \"I can hold three minutes longer yet. And do you use the time in testing the strength of the knots, one by one.\"\nShe at once obeyed, tested each singly by putting her foot on the rope between each knot, and pulling with her hands. One of the knots slipped.\n\"Oh, think! It would have broken but for your forethought,\" Elfride exclaimed apprehensively.\nShe retied the two ends. The rope was now firm in every part.\n\"When you have let it down,\" said Knight, already resuming his position of ruling power, \"go back from the edge of the slope, and over the bank as far as the rope will allow you. Then lean down, and hold the end with both hands.\"\nHe had first thought of a safer plan for his own deliverance, but it involved the disadvantage of possibly endangering her life.\n\"I have tied it round my waist,\" she cried, \"and I will lean directly upon the bank, holding with my hands as well.\"\nIt was the arrangement he had thought of, but would not suggest.\n\"I will raise and drop it three times when I am behind the bank,\" she continued, \"to signify that I am ready. Take care, oh, take the greatest care, I beg you!\"\nShe dropped the rope over him, to learn how much of its length it would be necessary to expend on that side of the bank, went back, and disappeared as she had done before.", "chosen": "He, The, It, He, This, We, The, That, A, The, Rain, Beneath, Pitiless, The, The, Knight, Had, Perhaps., Love, Nobody, Yet, Not, Most, Knight,, And, A, Renounce, Knight, Into, Let, At, A, It, Knight, The, In, Knight's, The, His, His, Elfride, What, She, Still,, It, She, He, How, How, The, How, Four, But, So, There, Without, These, In, Can, Yes,, Hope, Now,\", And, One, Oh,, It, She, The, When, Then, I, I, Take", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nHe, The, It, He, This, We, The, That, A, The, Rain, Beneath, Pitiless, The, The, Knight, Had, Perhaps., Love, Nobody, Yet, Not, Most, Knight,, And, A, Renounce, Knight, Into, Let, At, A, It, Knight, The, In, Knight's, The, His, His, Elfride, What, She, Still,, It, She, He, How, How, The, How, Four, But, So, There, Without, These, In, Can, Yes,, Hope, Now,\", And, One, Oh,, It, She, The, When, Then, I, I, Take\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-021-01-1c298081", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"A wandering voice.\"\nThough sheer and intelligible griefs are not charmed away by being confided to mere acquaintances, the process is a palliative to certain ill-humours. Among these, perplexed vexation is one—a species of trouble which, like a stream, gets shallower by the simple operation of widening it in any quarter.\nOn the evening of the day succeeding that of the meeting in the Park, Elfride and Mrs. Swancourt were engaged in conversation in the dressing-room of the latter. Such a treatment of such a case was in course of adoption here.\nElfride had just before received an affectionate letter from Stephen Smith in Bombay, which had been forwarded to her from Endelstow. But since this is not the case referred to, it is not worth while to pry further into the contents of the letter than to discover that, with rash though pardonable confidence in coming times, he addressed her in high spirits as his darling future wife. Probably there cannot be instanced a briefer and surer rule-of-thumb test of a man's temperament—sanguine or cautious—than this: did he or does he ante-date the word wife in corresponding with a sweet-heart he honestly loves?\nShe had taken this epistle into her own room, read a little of it, then SAVED the rest for to-morrow, not wishing to be so extravagant as to consume the pleasure all at once. Nevertheless, she could not resist the wish to enjoy yet a little more, so out came the letter again, and in spite of misgivings as to prodigality the whole was devoured. The letter was finally reperused and placed in her pocket.\nWhat was this? Also a newspaper for Elfride, which she had overlooked in her hurry to open the letter. It was the old number of the PRESENT, containing the article upon her book, forwarded as had been requested.\nElfride had hastily read it through, shrunk perceptibly smaller, and had then gone with the paper in her hand to Mrs. Swancourt's dressing-room, to lighten or at least modify her vexation by a discriminating estimate from her stepmother.\nShe was now looking disconsolately out of the window.\n\"Never mind, my child,\" said Mrs. Swancourt after a careful perusal of the matter indicated. \"I don't see that the review is such a terrible one, after all. Besides, everybody has forgotten about it by this time. I'm sure the opening is good enough for any book ever written. Just listen—it sounds better read aloud than when you pore over it silently: 'THE COURT OF KELLYON CASTLE. A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGES. BY ERNEST FIELD. In the belief that we were for a while escaping the monotonous repetition of wearisome details in modern social scenery, analyses of uninteresting character, or the unnatural unfoldings of a sensation plot, we took this volume into our hands with a feeling of pleasure. We were disposed to beguile ourselves with the fancy that some new change might possibly be rung upon donjon keeps, chain and plate armour, deeply scarred cheeks, tender maidens disguised as pages, to which we had not listened long ago.' Now, that's a very good beginning, in my opinion, and one to be proud of having brought out of a man who has never seen you.\"\n\"Ah, yes,\" murmured Elfride wofully. \"But, then, see further on!\"\n\"Well the next bit is rather unkind, I must own,\" said Mrs. Swancourt, and read on. \"'Instead of this we found ourselves in the hands of some young lady, hardly arrived at years of discretion, to judge by the silly device it has been thought worth while to adopt on the title-page, with the idea of disguising her sex.'\"\n\"I am not 'silly'!\" said Elfride indignantly. \"He might have called me anything but that.\"\n\"You are not, indeed. Well:—'Hands of a young lady...whose chapters are simply devoted to impossible tournaments, towers, and escapades, which read like flat copies of like scenes in the stories of Mr. G. P. R. James, and the most unreal portions of IVANHOE. The bait is so palpably artificial that the most credulous gudgeon turns away.' Now, my dear, I don't see overmuch to complain of in that. It proves that you were clever enough to make him think of Sir Walter Scott, which is a great deal.\"\n\"Oh yes; though I cannot romance myself, I am able to remind him of those who can!\" Elfride intended to hurl these words sarcastically at her invisible enemy, but as she had no more satirical power than a wood-pigeon, they merely fell in a pretty murmur from lips shaped to a pout.\n\"Certainly: and that's something. Your book is good enough to be bad in an ordinary literary manner, and doesn't stand by itself in a melancholy position altogether worse than assailable.—'That interest in an historical romance may nowadays have any chance of being sustained, it is indispensable that the reader find himself under the guidance of some nearly extinct species of legendary, who, in addition to an impulse towards antiquarian research and an unweakened faith in the mediaeval halo, shall possess an inventive faculty in which delicacy of sentiment is far overtopped by a power of welding to stirring incident a spirited variety of the elementary human passions.' Well, that long-winded effusion doesn't refer to you at all, Elfride, merely something put in to fill up. Let me see, when does he come to you again;...not till the very end, actually. Here you are finally polished off:\n\"'But to return to the little work we have used as the text of this article. We are far from altogether disparaging the author's powers. She has a certain versatility that enables her to use with effect a style of narration peculiar to herself, which may be called a murmuring of delicate emotional trifles, the particular gift of those to whom the social sympathies of a peaceful time are as daily food. Hence, where matters of domestic experience, and the natural touches which make people real, can be introduced without anachronisms too striking, she is occasionally felicitous; and upon the whole we feel justified in saying that the book will bear looking into for the sake of those portions which have nothing whatever to do with the story.'\n\"Well, I suppose it is intended for satire; but don't think anything more of it now, my dear. It is seven o'clock.\" And Mrs. Swancourt rang for her maid.\nAttack is more piquant than concord. Stephen's letter was concerning nothing but oneness with her: the review was the very reverse. And a stranger with neither name nor shape, age nor appearance, but a mighty voice, is naturally rather an interesting novelty to a lady he chooses to address. When Elfride fell asleep that night she was loving the writer of the letter, but thinking of the writer of that article.", "chosen": "51", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n51\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-224-014-00-4a45a07f", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nMrs. Dashwood did not hear unmoved the vindication of her former favourite. She rejoiced in his being cleared from some part of his imputed guilt;--she was sorry for him;--she wished him happy. But the feelings of the past could not be recalled. Nothing could restore him with a faith unbroken--a character unblemished, to Marianne. Nothing could do away the knowledge of what the latter had suffered through his means, nor remove the guilt of his conduct towards Eliza. Nothing could replace him, therefore, in her former esteem, nor injure the interests of Colonel Brandon.\nHad Mrs. Dashwood, like her daughter, heard Willoughby's story from himself,--had she witnessed his distress, and been under the influence of his countenance and his manner, it is probable that her compassion would have been greater. But it was neither in Elinor's power, nor in her wish, to rouse such feelings in another, by her retailed explanation, as had at first been called forth in herself. Reflection had given calmness to her judgment, and sobered her own opinion of Willoughby's deserts; she wished, therefore, to declare only the simple truth, and lay open such facts as were really due to his character, without any embellishment of tenderness to lead the fancy astray.\nIn the evening, when they were all three together, Marianne began voluntarily to speak of him again; but that it was not without an effort, the restless, unquiet thoughtfulness in which she had been for some time previously sitting, her rising colour, as she spoke, and her unsteady voice, plainly showed.\n\"I wish to assure you both,\" said she, \"that I see every thing--as you can desire me to do.\"\nMrs. Dashwood would have interrupted her instantly with soothing tenderness, had not Elinor, who really wished to hear her sister's unbiased opinion, by an eager sign, engaged her silence. Marianne slowly continued--\n\"It is a great relief to me--what Elinor told me this morning--I have now heard exactly what I wished to hear.\"--For some moments her voice was lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness than before--\"I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change. I never could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later I must have known, all this. I should have had no confidence, no esteem. Nothing could have done it away to my feelings.\"\n\"I know it--I know it,\" cried her mother. \"Happy with a man of libertine practices!--With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our friends, and the best of men!--No--my Marianne has not a heart to be made happy with such a man!--Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt.\"\nMarianne sighed, and repeated, \"I wish for no change.\"\n\"You consider the matter,\" said Elinor, \"exactly as a good mind and a sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances, reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain. Had you married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness is acknowledged even by himself, and his whole conduct declares that self-denial is a word hardly understood by him. His demands and your inexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought on distresses which would not be the less grievous to you, from having been entirely unknown and unthought of before. Your sense of honour and honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your situation, to attempt all the economy that would appear to you possible: and, perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on your own comfort, you might have been suffered to practice it, but beyond that--and how little could the utmost of your single management do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage? beyond that, had you endeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge his enjoyments, is it not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on feelings so selfish to consent to it, you would have lessened your own influence on his heart, and made him regret the connection which had involved him in such difficulties?\"\nMarianne's lips quivered, and she repeated the word \"Selfish?\" in a tone that implied, \"do you really think him selfish?\"\n\"The whole of his behaviour,\" replied Elinor, \"from the beginning to the end of the affair, has been grounded on selfishness. It was selfishness which first made him sport with your affections; which afterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of it, and which finally carried him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or his own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle.\"\n\"It is very true. My happiness never was his object.\"\n\"At present,\" continued Elinor, \"he regrets what he has done. And why does he regret it?--Because he finds it has not answered towards himself. It has not made him happy. His circumstances are now unembarrassed--he suffers from no evil of that kind; and he thinks only that he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself. But does it follow that had he married you, he would have been happy?--The inconveniences would have been different. He would then have suffered under the pecuniary distresses which, because they are removed, he now reckons as nothing. He would have had a wife of whose temper he could make no complaint, but he would have been always necessitous--always poor; and probably would soon have learned to rank the innumerable comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far more importance, even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife.\"\n\"I have not a doubt of it,\" said Marianne; \"and I have nothing to regret--nothing but my own folly.\"\n\"Rather say your mother's imprudence, my child,\" said Mrs. Dashwood; \"she must be answerable.\"\nMarianne would not let her proceed;--and Elinor, satisfied that each felt their own error, wished to avoid any survey of the past that might weaken her sister's spirits; she, therefore, pursuing the first subject, immediately continued--\n\"One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the story--that all Willoughby's difficulties have arisen from the first offence against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present discontents.\"\nMarianne assented most feelingly to the remark; and her mother was led by it to an enumeration of Colonel Brandon's injuries and merits, warm as friendship and design could unitedly dictate. Her daughter did not look, however, as if much of it were heard by her.\nElinor, according to her expectation, saw on the two or three following days, that Marianne did not continue to gain strength as she had done; but while her resolution was unsubdued, and she still tried to appear cheerful and easy, her sister could safely trust to the effect of time upon her health.\nMargaret returned, and the family were again all restored to each other, again quietly settled at the cottage; and if not pursuing their usual studies with quite so much vigour as when they first came to Barton, at least planning a vigorous prosecution of them in future.\nElinor grew impatient for some tidings of Edward. She had heard nothing of him since her leaving London, nothing new of his plans, nothing certain even of his present abode. Some letters had passed between her and her brother, in consequence of Marianne's illness; and in the first of John's, there had been this sentence:--\"We know nothing of our unfortunate Edward, and can make no enquiries on so prohibited a subject, but conclude him to be still at Oxford\"; which was all the intelligence of Edward afforded her by the correspondence, for his name was not even mentioned in any of the succeeding letters. She was not doomed, however, to be long in ignorance of his measures.\nTheir man-servant had been sent one morning to Exeter on business; and when, as he waited at table, he had satisfied the inquiries of his mistress as to the event of his errand, this was his voluntary communication--", "chosen": "\"Happy with a man of libertine practices!--With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our friends, and the best of men!--No--my Marianne has not a heart to be made happy with such a man!--Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt.\"\nMarianne sighed, and repeated, \"I wish for no change.\"\n\"You consider the matter,\" said Elinor, \"exactly as a good mind and a sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances, reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n\"Happy with a man of libertine practices!--With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our friends, and the best of men!--No--my Marianne has not a heart to be made happy with such a man!--Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt.\"\nMarianne sighed, and repeated, \"I wish for no change.\"\n\"You consider the matter,\" said Elinor, \"exactly as a good mind and a sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances, reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21839-047-00-cb522f40", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Ah these cigarettes!\" Porfiry Petrovitch ejaculated at last, having lighted one. \"They are pernicious, positively pernicious, and yet I can't give them up! I cough, I begin to have tickling in my throat and a difficulty in breathing. You know I am a coward, I went lately to Dr. B----n; he always gives at least half an hour to each patient. He positively laughed looking at me; he sounded me: 'Tobacco's bad for you,' he said, 'your lungs are affected.' But how am I to give it up? What is there to take its place? I don't drink, that's the mischief, he-he-he, that I don't. Everything is relative, Rodion Romanovitch, everything is relative!\"\n\"Why, he's playing his professional tricks again,\" Raskolnikov thought with disgust. All the circumstances of their last interview suddenly came back to him, and he felt a rush of the feeling that had come upon him then.\n\"I came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you didn't know?\" Porfiry Petrovitch went on, looking round the room. \"I came into this very room. I was passing by, just as I did to-day, and I thought I'd return your call. I walked in as your door was wide open, I looked round, waited and went out without leaving my name with your servant. Don't you lock your door?\"\nRaskolnikov's face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to guess his state of mind.\n\"I've come to have it out with you, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow! I owe you an explanation and must give it to you,\" he continued with a slight smile, just patting Raskolnikov's knee.\nBut almost at the same instant a serious and careworn look came into his face; to his surprise Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. He had never seen and never suspected such an expression in his face.\n\"A strange scene passed between us last time we met, Rodion Romanovitch. Our first interview, too, was a strange one; but then... and one thing after another! This is the point: I have perhaps acted unfairly to you; I feel it. Do you remember how we parted? Your nerves were unhinged and your knees were shaking and so were mine. And, you know, our behaviour was unseemly, even ungentlemanly. And yet we are gentlemen, above all, in any case, gentlemen; that must be understood. Do you remember what we came to?... and it was quite indecorous.\"\n\"What is he up to, what does he take me for?\" Raskolnikov asked himself in amazement, raising his head and looking with open eyes on Porfiry.\n\"I've decided openness is better between us,\" Porfiry Petrovitch went on, turning his head away and dropping his eyes, as though unwilling to disconcert his former victim and as though disdaining his former wiles. \"Yes, such suspicions and such scenes cannot continue for long. Nikolay put a stop to it, or I don't know what we might not have come to. That damned workman was sitting at the time in the next room--can you realise that? You know that, of course; and I am aware that he came to you afterwards. But what you supposed then was not true: I had not sent for anyone, I had made no kind of arrangements. You ask why I hadn't? What shall I say to you? it had all come upon me so suddenly. I had scarcely sent for the porters (you noticed them as you went out, I dare say). An idea flashed upon me; I was firmly convinced at the time, you see, Rodion Romanovitch. Come, I thought--even if I let one thing slip for a time, I shall get hold of something else--I shan't lose what I want, anyway. You are nervously irritable, Rodion Romanovitch, by temperament; it's out of proportion with other qualities of your heart and character, which I flatter myself I have to some extent divined. Of course I did reflect even then that it does not always happen that a man gets up and blurts out his whole story. It does happen sometimes, if you make a man lose all patience, though even then it's rare. I was capable of realising that. If I only had a fact, I thought, the least little fact to go upon, something I could lay hold of, something tangible, not merely psychological. For if a man is guilty, you must be able to get something substantial out of him; one may reckon upon most surprising results indeed. I was reckoning on your temperament, Rodion Romanovitch, on your temperament above all things! I had great hopes of you at that time.\"\n\"But what are you driving at now?\" Raskolnikov muttered at last, asking the question without thinking.\n\"What is he talking about?\" he wondered distractedly, \"does he really take me to be innocent?\"\n\"What am I driving at? I've come to explain myself, I consider it my duty, so to speak. I want to make clear to you how the whole business, the whole misunderstanding arose. I've caused you a great deal of suffering, Rodion Romanovitch. I am not a monster. I understand what it must mean for a man who has been unfortunate, but who is proud, imperious and above all, impatient, to have to bear such treatment! I regard you in any case as a man of noble character and not without elements of magnanimity, though I don't agree with all your convictions. I wanted to tell you this first, frankly and quite sincerely, for above all I don't want to deceive you. When I made your acquaintance, I felt attracted by you. Perhaps you will laugh at my saying so. You have a right to. I know you disliked me from the first and indeed you've no reason to like me. You may think what you like, but I desire now to do all I can to efface that impression and to show that I am a man of heart and conscience. I speak sincerely.\"\nPorfiry Petrovitch made a dignified pause. Raskolnikov felt a rush of renewed alarm. The thought that Porfiry believed him to be innocent began to make him uneasy.", "chosen": "[\"Ah these cigarettes!\", \"Why, he's playing his professional tricks again,\", \"I came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you didn't know?\", \"\\nRaskolnikov's face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to guess his state of mind.\\n\", \"What is he up to, what does he take me for?\", \"I've decided openness is better between us,\", \"But what are you driving at now?\", \"What is he talking about?\", \"does he really take me to be innocent?\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Ah these cigarettes!\", \"Why, he's playing his professional tricks again,\", \"I came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you didn't know?\", \"\\nRaskolnikov's face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to guess his state of mind.\\n\", \"What is he up to, what does he take me for?\", \"I've decided openness is better between us,\", \"But what are you driving at now?\", \"What is he talking about?\", \"does he really take me to be innocent?\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-2554-003-00-fef7c8f3", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Fare thee weel awhile!\"\nSimultaneously with the conclusion of Stephen's remark, the sound of the closing of an external door in their immediate neighbourhood reached Elfride's ears. It came from the further side of the wing containing the illuminated room. She then discerned, by the aid of the dusky departing light, a figure, whose sex was undistinguishable, walking down the gravelled path by the parterre towards the river. The figure grew fainter, and vanished under the trees.\nMr. Swancourt's voice was heard calling out their names from a distant corridor in the body of the building. They retraced their steps, and found him with his coat buttoned up and his hat on, awaiting their advent in a mood of self-satisfaction at having brought his search to a successful close. The carriage was brought round, and without further delay the trio drove away from the mansion, under the echoing gateway arch, and along by the leafless sycamores, as the stars began to kindle their trembling lights behind the maze of branches and twigs.\nNo words were spoken either by youth or maiden. Her unpractised mind was completely occupied in fathoming its recent acquisition. The young man who had inspired her with such novelty of feeling, who had come directly from London on business to her father, having been brought by chance to Endelstow House had, by some means or other, acquired the privilege of approaching some lady he had found therein, and of honouring her by petits soins of a marked kind,—all in the space of half an hour.\nWhat room were they standing in? thought Elfride. As nearly as she could guess, it was Lord Luxellian's business-room, or office. What people were in the house? None but the governess and servants, as far as she knew, and of these he had professed a total ignorance. Had the person she had indistinctly seen leaving the house anything to do with the performance? It was impossible to say without appealing to the culprit himself, and that she would never do. The more Elfride reflected, the more certain did it appear that the meeting was a chance rencounter, and not an appointment. On the ultimate inquiry as to the individuality of the woman, Elfride at once assumed that she could not be an inferior. Stephen Smith was not the man to care about passages-at-love with women beneath him. Though gentle, ambition was visible in his kindling eyes; he evidently hoped for much; hoped indefinitely, but extensively. Elfride was puzzled, and being puzzled, was, by a natural sequence of girlish sensations, vexed with him. No more pleasure came in recognizing that from liking to attract him she was getting on to love him, boyish as he was and innocent as he had seemed.\nThey reached the bridge which formed a link between the eastern and western halves of the parish. Situated in a valley that was bounded outwardly by the sea, it formed a point of depression from which the road ascended with great steepness to West Endelstow and the Vicarage. There was no absolute necessity for either of them to alight, but as it was the vicar's custom after a long journey to humour the horse in making this winding ascent, Elfride, moved by an imitative instinct, suddenly jumped out when Pleasant had just begun to adopt the deliberate stalk he associated with this portion of the road.\nThe young man seemed glad of any excuse for breaking the silence. \"Why, Miss Swancourt, what a risky thing to do!\" he exclaimed, immediately following her example by jumping down on the other side.\n\"Oh no, not at all,\" replied she coldly; the shadow phenomenon at Endelstow House still paramount within her.\nStephen walked along by himself for two or three minutes, wrapped in the rigid reserve dictated by her tone. Then apparently thinking that it was only for girls to pout, he came serenely round to her side, and offered his arm with Castilian gallantry, to assist her in ascending the remaining three-quarters of the steep.\nHere was a temptation: it was the first time in her life that Elfride had been treated as a grown-up woman in this way—offered an arm in a manner implying that she had a right to refuse it. Till to-night she had never received masculine attentions beyond those which might be contained in such homely remarks as \"Elfride, give me your hand;\" \"Elfride, take hold of my arm,\" from her father. Her callow heart made an epoch of the incident; she considered her array of feelings, for and against. Collectively they were for taking this offered arm; the single one of pique determined her to punish Stephen by refusing.\n\"No, thank you, Mr. Smith; I can get along better by myself\"\nIt was Elfride's first fragile attempt at browbeating a lover. Fearing more the issue of such an undertaking than what a gentle young man might think of her waywardness, she immediately afterwards determined to please herself by reversing her statement.\n\"On second thoughts, I will take it,\" she said.\nThey slowly went their way up the hill, a few yards behind the carriage.\n\"How silent you are, Miss Swancourt!\" Stephen observed.\n\"Perhaps I think you silent too,\" she returned.\n\"I may have reason to be.\"\n\"Scarcely; it is sadness that makes people silent, and you can have none.\"\n\"You don't know: I have a trouble; though some might think it less a trouble than a dilemma.\"\n\"What is it?\" she asked impulsively.\nStephen hesitated. \"I might tell,\" he said; \"at the same time, perhaps, it is as well——\"\nShe let go his arm and imperatively pushed it from her, tossing her head. She had just learnt that a good deal of dignity is lost by asking a question to which an answer is refused, even ever so politely; for though politeness does good service in cases of requisition and compromise, it but little helps a direct refusal. \"I don't wish to know anything of it; I don't wish it,\" she went on. \"The carriage is waiting for us at the top of the hill; we must get in;\" and Elfride flitted to the front. \"Papa, here is your Elfride!\" she exclaimed to the dusky figure of the old gentleman, as she sprang up and sank by his side without deigning to accept aid from Stephen.\n\"Ah, yes!\" uttered the vicar in artificially alert tones, awaking from a most profound sleep, and suddenly preparing to alight.\n\"Why, what are you doing, papa? We are not home yet.\"\n\"Oh no, no; of course not; we are not at home yet,\" Mr. Swancourt said very hastily, endeavouring to dodge back to his original position with the air of a man who had not moved at all. \"The fact is I was so lost in deep meditation that I forgot whereabouts we were.\" And in a minute the vicar was snoring again.\nThat evening, being the last, seemed to throw an exceptional shade of sadness over Stephen Smith, and the repeated injunctions of the vicar, that he was to come and revisit them in the summer, apparently tended less to raise his spirits than to unearth some misgiving.\nHe left them in the gray light of dawn, whilst the colours of earth were sombre, and the sun was yet hidden in the east. Elfride had fidgeted all night in her little bed lest none of the household should be awake soon enough to start him, and also lest she might miss seeing again the bright eyes and curly hair, to which their owner's possession of a hidden mystery added a deeper tinge of romance. To some extent—so soon does womanly interest take a solicitous turn—she felt herself responsible for his safe conduct. They breakfasted before daylight; Mr. Swancourt, being more and more taken with his guest's ingenuous appearance, having determined to rise early and bid him a friendly farewell. It was, however, rather to the vicar's astonishment, that he saw Elfride walk in to the breakfast-table, candle in hand.", "chosen": "hand", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nhand\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-005-00-69392c8f", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nLydgate at last seated himself, not in his usual chair, but in one nearer to Rosamond, leaning aside in it towards her, and looking at her gravely before he reopened the sad subject. He had conquered himself so far, and was about to speak with a sense of solemnity, as on an occasion which was not to be repeated. He had even opened his lips, when Rosamond, letting her hands fall, looked at him and said—\n\"Surely, Tertius—\"\n\"Well?\"\n\"Surely now at last you have given up the idea of staying in Middlemarch. I cannot go on living here. Let us go to London. Papa, and every one else, says you had better go. Whatever misery I have to put up with, it will be easier away from here.\"\nLydgate felt miserably jarred. Instead of that critical outpouring for which he had prepared himself with effort, here was the old round to be gone through again. He could not bear it. With a quick change of countenance he rose and went out of the room.\nPerhaps if he had been strong enough to persist in his determination to be the more because she was less, that evening might have had a better issue. If his energy could have borne down that check, he might still have wrought on Rosamond's vision and will. We cannot be sure that any natures, however inflexible or peculiar, will resist this effect from a more massive being than their own. They may be taken by storm and for the moment converted, becoming part of the soul which enwraps them in the ardor of its movement. But poor Lydgate had a throbbing pain within him, and his energy had fallen short of its task.\nThe beginning of mutual understanding and resolve seemed as far off as ever; nay, it seemed blocked out by the sense of unsuccessful effort. They lived on from day to day with their thoughts still apart, Lydgate going about what work he had in a mood of despair, and Rosamond feeling, with some justification, that he was behaving cruelly. It was of no use to say anything to Tertius; but when Will Ladislaw came, she was determined to tell him everything. In spite of her general reticence, she needed some one who would recognize her wrongs.", "chosen": "[\"Rosamond\", \"Surely\", \"Tertius\", \"Middlemarch\", \"London\", \"Lydgate\", \"Will\", \"Ladislaw\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Rosamond\", \"Surely\", \"Tertius\", \"Middlemarch\", \"London\", \"Lydgate\", \"Will\", \"Ladislaw\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-145-075-02-378c7a11", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIt was with a most awkward and unwonted feeling that after entering and closing the door of his room he sat down, opened the morocco case, and held up each of the fragile bits of gold-work before his eyes. Many things had become old to the solitary man of letters, but these were new, and he handled like a child an outcome of civilization which had never before been touched by his fingers. A sudden fastidious decision that the pattern chosen would not suit her after all caused him to rise in a flurry and tear down the street to change them for others. After a great deal of trouble in reselecting, during which his mind became so bewildered that the critical faculty on objects of art seemed to have vacated his person altogether, Knight carried off another pair of ear-rings. These remained in his possession till the afternoon, when, after contemplating them fifty times with a growing misgiving that the last choice was worse than the first, he felt that no sleep would visit his pillow till he had improved upon his previous purchases yet again. In a perfect heat of vexation with himself for such tergiversation, he went anew to the shop-door, was absolutely ashamed to enter and give further trouble, went to another shop, bought a pair at an enormously increased price, because they seemed the very thing, asked the goldsmiths if they would take the other pair in exchange, was told that they could not exchange articles bought of another maker, paid down the money, and went off with the two pairs in his possession, wondering what on earth to do with the superfluous pair. He almost wished he could lose them, or that somebody would steal them, and was burdened with an interposing sense that, as a capable man, with true ideas of economy, he must necessarily sell them somewhere, which he did at last for a mere song. Mingled with a blank feeling of a whole day being lost to him in running about the city on this new and extraordinary class of errand, and of several pounds being lost through his bungling, was a slight sense of satisfaction that he had emerged for ever from his antediluvian ignorance on the subject of ladies' jewellery, as well as secured a truly artistic production at last. During the remainder of that day he scanned the ornaments of every lady he met with the profoundly experienced eye of an appraiser.\nNext morning Knight was again crossing St. George's Channel—not returning to London by the Holyhead route as he had originally intended, but towards Bristol—availing himself of Mr. and Mrs. Swancourt's invitation to revisit them on his homeward journey.\nWe flit forward to Elfride.\nWoman's ruling passion—to fascinate and influence those more powerful than she—though operant in Elfride, was decidedly purposeless. She had wanted her friend Knight's good opinion from the first: how much more than that elementary ingredient of friendship she now desired, her fears would hardly allow her to think. In originally wishing to please the highest class of man she had ever intimately known, there was no disloyalty to Stephen Smith. She could not—and few women can—realize the possible vastness of an issue which has only an insignificant begetting.\nHer letters from Stephen were necessarily few, and her sense of fidelity clung to the last she had received as a wrecked mariner clings to flotsam. The young girl persuaded herself that she was glad Stephen had such a right to her hand as he had acquired (in her eyes) by the elopement. She beguiled herself by saying, \"Perhaps if I had not so committed myself I might fall in love with Mr. Knight.\"\nAll this made the week of Knight's absence very gloomy and distasteful to her. She retained Stephen in her prayers, and his old letters were re-read—as a medicine in reality, though she deceived herself into the belief that it was as a pleasure.\nThese letters had grown more and more hopeful. He told her that he finished his work every day with a pleasant consciousness of having removed one more stone from the barrier which divided them. Then he drew images of what a fine figure they two would cut some day. People would turn their heads and say, \"What a prize he has won!\" She was not to be sad about that wild runaway attempt of theirs (Elfride had repeatedly said that it grieved her). Whatever any other person who knew of it might think, he knew well enough the modesty of her nature. The only reproach was a gentle one for not having written quite so devotedly during her visit to London. Her letter had seemed to have a liveliness derived from other thoughts than thoughts of him.\nKnight's intention of an early return to Endelstow having originally been faint, his promise to do so had been fainter. He was a man who kept his words well to the rear of his possible actions. The vicar was rather surprised to see him again so soon: Mrs. Swancourt was not. Knight found, on meeting them all, after his arrival had been announced, that they had formed an intention to go to St. Leonards for a few days at the end of the month.\nNo satisfactory conjuncture offered itself on this first evening of his return for presenting Elfride with what he had been at such pains to procure. He was fastidious in his reading of opportunities for such an intended act. The next morning chancing to break fine after a week of cloudy weather, it was proposed and decided that they should all drive to Barwith Strand, a local lion which neither Mrs. Swancourt nor Knight had seen. Knight scented romantic occasions from afar, and foresaw that such a one might be expected before the coming night.\nThe journey was along a road by neutral green hills, upon which hedgerows lay trailing like ropes on a quay. Gaps in these uplands revealed the blue sea, flecked with a few dashes of white and a solitary white sail, the whole brimming up to a keen horizon which lay like a line ruled from hillside to hillside. Then they rolled down a pass, the chocolate-toned rocks forming a wall on both sides, from one of which fell a heavy jagged shade over half the roadway. A spout of fresh water burst from an occasional crevice, and pattering down upon broad green leaves, ran along as a rivulet at the bottom. Unkempt locks of heather overhung the brow of each steep, whence at divers points a bramble swung forth into mid-air, snatching at their head-dresses like a claw.\nThey mounted the last crest, and the bay which was to be the end of their pilgrimage burst upon them. The ocean blueness deepened its colour as it stretched to the foot of the crags, where it terminated in a fringe of white—silent at this distance, though moving and heaving like a counterpane upon a restless sleeper. The shadowed hollows of the purple and brown rocks would have been called blue had not that tint been so entirely appropriated by the water beside them.\nThe carriage was put up at a little cottage with a shed attached, and an ostler and the coachman carried the hamper of provisions down to the shore.\nKnight found his opportunity. \"I did not forget your wish,\" he began, when they were apart from their friends.\nElfride looked as if she did not understand.\n\"And I have brought you these,\" he continued, awkwardly pulling out the case, and opening it while holding it towards her.\n\"O Mr. Knight!\" said Elfride confusedly, and turning to a lively red; \"I didn't know you had any intention or meaning in what you said. I thought it a mere supposition. I don't want them.\"\nA thought which had flashed into her mind gave the reply a greater decisiveness than it might otherwise have possessed. To-morrow was the day for Stephen's letter.\n\"But will you not accept them?\" Knight returned, feeling less her master than heretofore.\n\"I would rather not. They are beautiful—more beautiful than any I have ever seen,\" she answered earnestly, looking half-wishfully at the temptation, as Eve may have looked at the apple. \"But I don't want to have them, if you will kindly forgive me, Mr. Knight.\"", "chosen": "It, Many, A, After, These, In, He, Mingled, During, Next, George's, and, Swancourt's, We, Woman's, She, In, She, Her, The, She, Knight.\", She, These, He, Then, People, Whatever, The, Her, Knight's, He, The, Swancourt, Knight, Leonards, No, He, The, Swancourt, Knight, The, Gaps, Then, A, Unkempt, They, The, The, The, Knight, I, Elfride, And, O, Knight!\", I, I, To-morrow, But, I, They, But, Knight.\"", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nIt, Many, A, After, These, In, He, Mingled, During, Next, George's, and, Swancourt's, We, Woman's, She, In, She, Her, The, She, Knight.\", She, These, He, Then, People, Whatever, The, Her, Knight's, He, The, Swancourt, Knight, Leonards, No, He, The, Swancourt, Knight, The, Gaps, Then, A, Unkempt, They, The, The, The, Knight, I, Elfride, And, O, Knight!\", I, I, To-morrow, But, I, They, But, Knight.\"\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-019-01-9c9bec5d", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nAs the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over them, and they went out on the sandbar and lay down to sleep. They got scorched out by and by, and drearily set about getting breakfast. After the meal they felt rusty, and stiff-jointed, and a little homesick once more. Tom saw the signs, and fell to cheering up the pirates as well as he could. But they cared nothing for marbles, or circus, or swimming, or anything. He reminded them of the imposing secret, and raised a ray of cheer. While it lasted, he got them interested in a new device. This was to knock off being pirates, for a while, and be Indians for a change. They were attracted by this idea; so it was not long before they were stripped, and striped from head to heel with black mud, like so many zebras—all of them chiefs, of course—and then they went tearing through the woods to attack an English settlement.\nBy and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and darted upon each other from ambush with dreadful warwhoops, and killed and scalped each other by thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently it was an extremely satisfactory one.\nThey assembled in camp toward suppertime, hungry and happy; but now a difficulty arose—hostile Indians could not break the bread of hospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple impossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other process that ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost wished they had remained pirates. However, there was no other way; so with such show of cheerfulness as they could muster they called for the pipe and took their whiff as it passed, in due form.\nAnd behold, they were glad they had gone into savagery, for they had gained something; they found that they could now smoke a little without having to go and hunt for a lost knife; they did not get sick enough to be seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to fool away this high promise for lack of effort. No, they practised cautiously, after supper, with right fair success, and so they spent a jubilant evening. They were prouder and happier in their new acquirement than they would have been in the scalping and skinning of the Six Nations. We will leave them to smoke and chatter and brag, since we have no further use for them at present.", "chosen": "21", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n21\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-74-016-02-eaa64832", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nI always was fond of eating and drinking, even as a child--especially eating, in those early days. I had an appetite then, also a digestion. I remember a dull-eyed, livid-complexioned gentleman coming to dine at our house once. He watched me eating for about five minutes, quite fascinated seemingly, and then he turned to my father with--\n\"Does your boy ever suffer from dyspepsia?\"\n\"I never heard him complain of anything of that kind,\" replied my father. \"Do you ever suffer from dyspepsia, Colly wobbles?\" (They called me Colly wobbles, but it was not my real name.)\n\"No, pa,\" I answered. After which I added:\n\"What is dyspepsia, pa?\"\nMy livid-complexioned friend regarded me with a look of mingled amazement and envy. Then in a tone of infinite pity he slowly said:\n\"You will know--some day.\"\nMy poor, dear mother used to say she liked to see me eat, and it has always been a pleasant reflection to me since that I must have given her much gratification in that direction. A growing, healthy lad, taking plenty of exercise and careful to restrain himself from indulging in too much study, can generally satisfy the most exacting expectations as regards his feeding powers.\nIt is amusing to see boys eat when you have not got to pay for it. Their idea of a square meal is a pound and a half of roast beef with five or six good-sized potatoes (soapy ones preferred as being more substantial), plenty of greens, and four thick slices of Yorkshire pudding, followed by a couple of currant dumplings, a few green apples, a pen'orth of nuts, half a dozen jumbles, and a bottle of ginger-beer. After that they play at horses.\nHow they must despise us men, who require to sit quiet for a couple of hours after dining off a spoonful of clear soup and the wing of a chicken!\nBut the boys have not all the advantages on their side. A boy never enjoys the luxury of being satisfied. A boy never feels full. He can never stretch out his legs, put his hands behind his head, and, closing his eyes, sink into the ethereal blissfulness that encompasses the well-dined man. A dinner makes no difference whatever to a boy. To a man it is as a good fairy's potion, and after it the world appears a brighter and a better place. A man who has dined satisfactorily experiences a yearning love toward all his fellow-creatures. He strokes the cat quite gently and calls it \"poor pussy,\" in tones full of the tenderest emotion. He sympathizes with the members of the German band outside and wonders if they are cold; and for the moment he does not even hate his wife's relations.\nA good dinner brings out all the softer side of a man. Under its genial influence the gloomy and morose become jovial and chatty. Sour, starchy individuals, who all the rest of the day go about looking as if they lived on vinegar and Epsom salts, break out into wreathed smiles after dinner, and exhibit a tendency to pat small children on the head and to talk to them--vaguely--about sixpences. Serious men thaw and become mildly cheerful, and snobbish young men of the heavy-mustache type forget to make themselves objectionable.\nI always feel sentimental myself after dinner. It is the only time when I can properly appreciate love-stories. Then, when the hero clasps \"her\" to his heart in one last wild embrace and stifles a sob, I feel as sad as though I had dealt at whist and turned up only a deuce; and when the heroine dies in the end I weep. If I read the same tale early in the morning I should sneer at it. Digestion, or rather indigestion, has a marvelous effect upon the heart. If I want to write any thing very pathetic--I mean, if I want to try to write anything very pathetic--I eat a large plateful of hot buttered muffins about an hour beforehand, and then by the time I sit down to my work a feeling of unutterable melancholy has come over me. I picture heartbroken lovers parting forever at lonely wayside stiles, while the sad twilight deepens around them, and only the tinkling of a distant sheep-bell breaks the sorrow-laden silence. Old men sit and gaze at withered flowers till their sight is dimmed by the mist of tears. Little dainty maidens wait and watch at open casements; but \"he cometh not,\" and the heavy years roll by and the sunny gold tresses wear white and thin. The babies that they dandled have become grown men and women with podgy torments of their own, and the playmates that they laughed with are lying very silent under the waving grass. But still they wait and watch, till the dark shadows of the unknown night steal up and gather round them and the world with its childish troubles fades from their aching eyes.\nI see pale corpses tossed on white-foamed waves, and death-beds stained with bitter tears, and graves in trackless deserts. I hear the wild wailing of women, the low moaning of little children, the dry sobbing of strong men. It's all the muffins. I could not conjure up one melancholy fancy upon a mutton chop and a glass of champagne.\nA full stomach is a great aid to poetry, and indeed no sentiment of any kind can stand upon an empty one. We have not time or inclination to indulge in fanciful troubles until we have got rid of our real misfortunes. We do not sigh over dead dicky-birds with the bailiff in the house, and when we do not know where on earth to get our next shilling from, we do not worry as to whether our mistress' smiles are cold, or hot, or lukewarm, or anything else about them.\nFoolish people--when I say \"foolish people\" in this contemptuous way I mean people who entertain different opinions to mine. If there is one person I do despise more than another, it is the man who does not think exactly the same on all topics as I do--foolish people, I say, then, who have never experienced much of either, will tell you that mental distress is far more agonizing than bodily. Romantic and touching theory! so comforting to the love-sick young sprig who looks down patronizingly at some poor devil with a white starved face and thinks to himself, \"Ah, how happy you are compared with me!\"--so soothing to fat old gentlemen who cackle about the superiority of poverty over riches. But it is all nonsense--all cant. An aching head soon makes one forget an aching heart. A broken finger will drive away all recollections of an empty chair. And when a man feels really hungry he does not feel anything else.\nWe sleek, well-fed folk can hardly realize what feeling hungry is like. We know what it is to have no appetite and not to care for the dainty victuals placed before us, but we do not understand what it means to sicken for food--to die for bread while others waste it--to gaze with famished eyes upon coarse fare steaming behind dingy windows, longing for a pen'orth of pea pudding and not having the penny to buy it--to feel that a crust would be delicious and that a bone would be a banquet.\nHunger is a luxury to us, a piquant, flavor-giving sauce. It is well worth while to get hungry and thirsty merely to discover how much gratification can be obtained from eating and drinking. If you wish to thoroughly enjoy your dinner, take a thirty-mile country walk after breakfast and don't touch anything till you get back. How your eyes will glisten at sight of the white table-cloth and steaming dishes then! With what a sigh of content you will put down the empty beer tankard and take up your knife and fork! And how comfortable you feel afterward as you push back your chair, light a cigar, and beam round upon everybody.", "chosen": "We know what it is to have no appetite and not to care for the dainty victuals placed before us, but we do not understand what it means to sicken for food--to die for bread while others waste it--to gaze with famished eyes upon coarse fare steaming behind dingy windows, longing for a pen'orth of pea pudding and not having the penny to buy it--to feel that a crust would be delicious and that a bone would be a banquet.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nWe know what it is to have no appetite and not to care for the dainty victuals placed before us, but we do not understand what it means to sicken for food--to die for bread while others waste it--to gaze with famished eyes upon coarse fare steaming behind dingy windows, longing for a pen'orth of pea pudding and not having the penny to buy it--to feel that a crust would be delicious and that a bone would be a banquet.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-849-011-00-cda3fe41", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Ducroix, \"you may be quite certain that I gave orders the moment I came in. Those enemies of yours gave no impression of hurry, but they were really moving wonderfully fast, like a well-trained army. I had no idea that the anarchists had so much discipline. You have not a moment to waste.\"\nAlmost as he spoke, the old innkeeper with the blue eyes and white hair came ambling into the room, and announced that six horses were saddled outside.\nBy Ducroix's advice the five others equipped themselves with some portable form of food and wine, and keeping their duelling swords as the only weapons available, they clattered away down the steep, white road. The two servants, who had carried the Marquis's luggage when he was a marquis, were left behind to drink at the café by common consent, and not at all against their own inclination.\nBy this time the afternoon sun was slanting westward, and by its rays Syme could see the sturdy figure of the old innkeeper growing smaller and smaller, but still standing and looking after them quite silently, the sunshine in his silver hair. Syme had a fixed, superstitious fancy, left in his mind by the chance phrase of the Colonel, that this was indeed, perhaps, the last honest stranger whom he should ever see upon the earth.\nHe was still looking at this dwindling figure, which stood as a mere grey blot touched with a white flame against the great green wall of the steep down behind him. And as he stared over the top of the down behind the innkeeper, there appeared an army of black-clad and marching men. They seemed to hang above the good man and his house like a black cloud of locusts. The horses had been saddled none too soon.", "chosen": "soon", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nsoon\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-1695-011-02-d2db41b2", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThat she had wronged St. Cleeve by marrying him--that she would wrong him infinitely more by completing the marriage--there was, in her opinion, no doubt. She in her experience had sought out him in his inexperience, and had led him like a child. She remembered--as if it had been her fault, though it was in fact only her misfortune--that she had been the one to go for the license and take up residence in the parish in which they were wedded. He was now just one-and-twenty. Without her, he had all the world before him, six hundred a year, and leave to cut as straight a road to fame as he should choose: with her, this story was negatived.\nNo money from his uncle; no power of advancement; but a bondage with a woman whose disparity of years, though immaterial just now, would operate in the future as a wet blanket upon his social ambitions; and that content with life as it was which she had noticed more than once in him latterly, a content imperilling his scientific spirit by abstracting his zeal for progress.\nIt was impossible, in short, to blind herself to the inference that marriage with her had not benefited him. Matters might improve in the future; but to take upon herself the whole liability of Swithin's life, as she would do by depriving him of the help his uncle had offered, was a fearful responsibility. How could she, an unendowed woman, replace such assistance? His recent visit to Greenwich, which had momentarily revived that zest for his pursuit that was now less constant than heretofore, should by rights be supplemented by other such expeditions. It would be true benevolence not to deprive him of means to continue them, so as to keep his ardour alive, regardless of the cost to herself.\nIt could be done. By the extraordinary favour of a unique accident she had now an opportunity of redeeming Swithin's seriously compromised future, and restoring him to a state no worse than his first. His annuity could be enjoyed by him, his travels undertaken, his studies pursued, his high vocation initiated, by one little sacrifice--that of herself. She only had to refuse to legalize their marriage, to part from him for ever, and all would be well with him thenceforward. The pain to him would after all be but slight, whatever it might be to his wretched Viviette.\nThe ineptness of retaining him at her side lay not only in the fact itself of injury to him, but in the likelihood of his living to see it as such, and reproaching her for selfishness in not letting him go in this unprecedented opportunity for correcting a move proved to be false. He wished to examine the southern heavens--perhaps his uncle's letter was the father of the wish--and there was no telling what good might not result to mankind at large from his exploits there. Why should she, to save her narrow honour, waste the wide promise of his ability?\nThat in immolating herself by refusing him, and leaving him free to work wonders for the good of his fellow-creatures, she would in all probability add to the sum of human felicity, consoled her by its breadth as an idea even while it tortured her by making herself the scapegoat or single unit on whom the evil would fall. Ought a possibly large number, Swithin included, to remain unbenefited because the one individual to whom his release would be an injury chanced to be herself? Love between man and woman, which in Homer, Moses, and other early exhibitors of life, is mere desire, had for centuries past so far broadened as to include sympathy and friendship; surely it should in this advanced stage of the world include benevolence also. If so, it was her duty to set her young man free.\nThus she laboured, with a generosity more worthy even than its object, to sink her love for her own decorum in devotion to the world in general, and to Swithin in particular. To counsel her activities by her understanding, rather than by her emotions as usual, was hard work for a tender woman; but she strove hard, and made advance. The self-centred attitude natural to one in her situation was becoming displaced by the sympathetic attitude, which, though it had to be artificially fostered at first, gave her, by degrees, a certain sweet sense that she was rising above self-love. That maternal element which had from time to time evinced itself in her affection for the youth, and was imparted by her superior ripeness in experience and years, appeared now again, as she drew nearer the resolve not to secure propriety in her own social condition at the expense of this youth's earthly utility.\nUnexpectedly grand fruits are sometimes forced forth by harsh pruning. The illiberal letter of Swithin's uncle was suggesting to Lady Constantine an altruism whose thoroughness would probably have amazed that queer old gentleman into a withdrawal of the conditions that had induced it. To love St. Cleeve so far better than herself as this was to surpass the love of women as conventionally understood, and as mostly existing.\nBefore, however, clinching her decision by any definite step she worried her little brain by devising every kind of ingenious scheme, in the hope of lighting on one that might show her how that decision could be avoided with the same good result. But to secure for him the advantages offered, and to retain him likewise; reflection only showed it to be impossible.\nYet to let him go for ever was more than she could endure, and at length she jumped at an idea which promised some sort of improvement on that design. She would propose that reunion should not be entirely abandoned, but simply postponed--namely, till after his twenty-fifth birthday--when he might be her husband without, at any rate, the loss to him of the income. By this time he would approximate to a man's full judgment, and that painful aspect of her as one who had deluded his raw immaturity would have passed for ever.\nThe plan somewhat appeased her disquieted honour. To let a marriage sink into abeyance for four or five years was not to nullify it; and though she would leave it to him to move its substantiation at the end of that time, without present stipulations, she had not much doubt upon the issue.\nThe clock struck five. This silent mental debate had occupied her whole afternoon. Perhaps it would not have ended now but for an unexpected incident--the entry of her brother Louis. He came into the room where she was sitting, or rather writhing, and after a few words to explain how he had got there and about the mistake in the date of Sir Blount's death, he walked up close to her. His next remarks were apologetic in form, but in essence they were bitterness itself.\n'Viviette,' he said, 'I am sorry for my hasty words to you when I last left this house. I readily withdraw them. My suspicions took a wrong direction. I think now that I know the truth. You have been even madder than I supposed!'\n'In what way?' she asked distantly.\n'I lately thought that unhappy young man was only your too-favoured lover.'\n'You thought wrong: he is not.'\n'He is not--I believe you--for he is more. I now am persuaded that he is your lawful husband. Can you deny it!'\n'I can.'\n'On your sacred word!'\n'On my sacred word he is not that either.'\n'Thank heaven for that assurance!' said Louis, exhaling a breath of relief. 'I was not so positive as I pretended to be--but I wanted to know the truth of this mystery. Since you are not fettered to him in that way I care nothing.'\nLouis turned away; and that afforded her an opportunity for leaving the room. Those few words were the last grains that had turned the balance, and settled her doom.\nShe would let Swithin go. All the voices in her world seemed to clamour for that consummation. The morning's mortification, the afternoon's benevolence, and the evening's instincts of evasion had joined to carry the point.\nAccordingly she sat down, and wrote to Swithin a summary of the thoughts above detailed.", "chosen": "[\"Swithin\", \"Greenwich\", \"Viviette\", \"Homer\", \"Moses\", \"Constantine\", \"Louis\", \"Blount\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Swithin\", \"Greenwich\", \"Viviette\", \"Homer\", \"Moses\", \"Constantine\", \"Louis\", \"Blount\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-3146-034-01-e7f444b1", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nEre the English ship fades from sight, be it set down here, that she hailed from London, and was named after the late Samuel Enderby, merchant of that city, the original of the famous whaling house of Enderby & Sons; a house which in my poor whaleman's opinion, comes not far behind the united royal houses of the Tudors and Bourbons, in point of real historical interest. How long, prior to the year of our Lord 1775, this great whaling house was in existence, my numerous fish-documents do not make plain; but in that year (1775) it fitted out the first English ships that ever regularly hunted the Sperm Whale; though for some score of years previous (ever since 1726) our valiant Coffins and Maceys of Nantucket and the Vineyard had in large fleets pursued that Leviathan, but only in the North and South Atlantic: not elsewhere. Be it distinctly recorded here, that the Nantucketers were the first among mankind to harpoon with civilized steel the great Sperm Whale; and that for half a century they were the only people of the whole globe who so harpooned him.\nIn 1778, a fine ship, the Amelia, fitted out for the express purpose, and at the sole charge of the vigorous Enderbys, boldly rounded Cape Horn, and was the first among the nations to lower a whale-boat of any sort in the great South Sea. The voyage was a skilful and lucky one; and returning to her berth with her hold full of the precious sperm, the Amelia's example was soon followed by other ships, English and American, and thus the vast Sperm Whale grounds of the Pacific were thrown open. But not content with this good deed, the indefatigable house again bestirred itself: Samuel and all his Sons—how many, their mother only knows—and under their immediate auspices, and partly, I think, at their expense, the British government was induced to send the sloop-of-war Rattler on a whaling voyage of discovery into the South Sea. Commanded by a naval Post-Captain, the Rattler made a rattling voyage of it, and did some service; how much does not appear. But this is not all. In 1819, the same house fitted out a discovery whale ship of their own, to go on a tasting cruise to the remote waters of Japan. That ship—well called the \"Syren\"—made a noble experimental cruise; and it was thus that the great Japanese Whaling Ground first became generally known. The Syren in this famous voyage was commanded by a Captain Coffin, a Nantucketer.\nAll honor to the Enderbies, therefore, whose house, I think, exists to the present day; though doubtless the original Samuel must long ago have slipped his cable for the great South Sea of the other world.\nThe ship named after him was worthy of the honor, being a very fast sailer and a noble craft every way. I boarded her once at midnight somewhere off the Patagonian coast, and drank good flip down in the forecastle. It was a fine gam we had, and they were all trumps—every soul on board. A short life to them, and a jolly death. And that fine gam I had—long, very long after old Ahab touched her planks with his ivory heel—it minds me of the noble, solid, Saxon hospitality of that ship; and may my parson forget me, and the devil remember me, if I ever lose sight of it. Flip? Did I say we had flip? Yes, and we flipped it at the rate of ten gallons the hour; and when the squall came (for it's squally off there by Patagonia), and all hands—visitors and all—were called to reef topsails, we were so top-heavy that we had to swing each other aloft in bowlines; and we ignorantly furled the skirts of our jackets into the sails, so that we hung there, reefed fast in the howling gale, a warning example to all drunken tars. However, the masts did not go overboard; and by and by we scrambled down, so sober, that we had to pass the flip again, though the savage salt spray bursting down the forecastle scuttle, rather too much diluted and pickled it to my taste.\nThe beef was fine—tough, but with body in it. They said it was bull-beef; others, that it was dromedary beef; but I do not know, for certain, how that was. They had dumplings too; small, but substantial, symmetrically globular, and indestructible dumplings. I fancied that you could feel them, and roll them about in you after they were swallowed. If you stooped over too far forward, you risked their pitching out of you like billiard-balls. The bread—but that couldn't be helped; besides, it was an anti-scorbutic; in short, the bread contained the only fresh fare they had. But the forecastle was not very light, and it was very easy to step over into a dark corner when you ate it. But all in all, taking her from truck to helm, considering the dimensions of the cook's boilers, including his own live parchment boilers; fore and aft, I say, the Samuel Enderby was a jolly ship; of good fare and plenty; fine flip and strong; crack fellows all, and capital from boot heels to hat-band.\nBut why was it, think ye, that the Samuel Enderby, and some other English whalers I know of—not all though—were such famous, hospitable ships; that passed round the beef, and the bread, and the can, and the joke; and were not soon weary of eating, and drinking, and laughing? I will tell you. The abounding good cheer of these English whalers is matter for historical research. Nor have I been at all sparing of historical whale research, when it has seemed needed.\nThe English were preceded in the whale fishery by the Hollanders, Zealanders, and Danes; from whom they derived many terms still extant in the fishery; and what is yet more, their fat old fashions, touching plenty to eat and drink. For, as a general thing, the English merchant-ship scrimps her crew; but not so the English whaler. Hence, in the English, this thing of whaling good cheer is not normal and natural, but incidental and particular; and, therefore, must have some special origin, which is here pointed out, and will be still further elucidated.\nDuring my researches in the Leviathanic histories, I stumbled upon an ancient Dutch volume, which, by the musty whaling smell of it, I knew must be about whalers. The title was, \"Dan Coopman,\" wherefore I concluded that this must be the invaluable memoirs of some Amsterdam cooper in the fishery, as every whale ship must carry its cooper. I was reinforced in this opinion by seeing that it was the production of one \"Fitz Swackhammer.\" But my friend Dr. Snodhead, a very learned man, professor of Low Dutch and High German in the college of Santa Claus and St. Pott's, to whom I handed the work for translation, giving him a box of sperm candles for his trouble—this same Dr. Snodhead, so soon as he spied the book, assured me that \"Dan Coopman\" did not mean \"The Cooper,\" but \"The Merchant.\" In short, this ancient and learned Low Dutch book treated of the commerce of Holland; and, among other subjects, contained a very interesting account of its whale fishery. And in this chapter it was, headed, \"Smeer,\" or \"Fat,\" that I found a long detailed list of the outfits for the larders and cellars of 180 sail of Dutch whalemen; from which list, as translated by Dr. Snodhead, I transcribe the following:\n400,000 lbs. of beef. 60,000 lbs. Friesland pork. 150,000 lbs. of stock fish. 550,000 lbs. of biscuit. 72,000 lbs. of soft bread. 2,800 firkins of butter. 20,000 lbs. Texel & Leyden cheese. 144,000 lbs. cheese (probably an inferior article). 550 ankers of Geneva. 10,800 barrels of beer.\nMost statistical tables are parchingly dry in the reading; not so in the present case, however, where the reader is flooded with whole pipes, barrels, quarts, and gills of good gin and good cheer.", "chosen": "Ere, How, Be, In, The, But, Commanded, But, In, That, The, All, The, I, It, A, And, Flip?, Did, Yes,, However,, The, They, They, I, If, The, But, But, But, I, The, Nor, The, For,, Hence,, During, The, I, Snodhead,, Pott's,, Snodhead,, And, Snodhead,, of, 60,000, Friesland, 150,000, of, 550,000, of, 72,000, of, 2,800, 20,000, Texel, 144,000, cheese, 550, 10,800, Most", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nEre, How, Be, In, The, But, Commanded, But, In, That, The, All, The, I, It, A, And, Flip?, Did, Yes,, However,, The, They, They, I, If, The, But, But, But, I, The, Nor, The, For,, Hence,, During, The, I, Snodhead,, Pott's,, Snodhead,, And, Snodhead,, of, 60,000, Friesland, 150,000, of, 550,000, of, 72,000, of, 2,800, 20,000, Texel, 144,000, cheese, 550, 10,800, Most\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-088-00-35bfa997", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nWith reference to the whaling scene shortly to be described, as well as for the better understanding of all similar scenes elsewhere presented, I have here to speak of the magical, sometimes horrible whale-line.\nThe line originally used in the fishery was of the best hemp, slightly vapored with tar, not impregnated with it, as in the case of ordinary ropes; for while tar, as ordinarily used, makes the hemp more pliable to the rope-maker, and also renders the rope itself more convenient to the sailor for common ship use; yet, not only would the ordinary quantity too much stiffen the whale-line for the close coiling to which it must be subjected; but as most seamen are beginning to learn, tar in general by no means adds to the rope's durability or strength, however much it may give it compactness and gloss.\nOf late years the Manilla rope has in the American fishery almost entirely superseded hemp as a material for whale-lines; for, though not so durable as hemp, it is stronger, and far more soft and elastic; and I will add (since there is an æsthetics in all things), is much more handsome and becoming to the boat, than hemp. Hemp is a dusky, dark fellow, a sort of Indian; but Manilla is as a golden-haired Circassian to behold.\nThe whale-line is only two-thirds of an inch in thickness. At first sight, you would not think it so strong as it really is. By experiment its one and fifty yarns will each suspend a weight of one hundred and twenty pounds; so that the whole rope will bear a strain nearly equal to three tons. In length, the common sperm whale-line measures something over two hundred fathoms. Towards the stern of the boat it is spirally coiled away in the tub, not like the worm-pipe of a still though, but so as to form one round, cheese-shaped mass of densely bedded \"sheaves,\" or layers of concentric spiralizations, without any hollow but the \"heart,\" or minute vertical tube formed at the axis of the cheese. As the least tangle or kink in the coiling would, in running out, infallibly take somebody's arm, leg, or entire body off, the utmost precaution is used in stowing the line in its tub. Some harpooneers will consume almost an entire morning in this business, carrying the line high aloft and then reeving it downwards through a block towards the tub, so as in the act of coiling to free it from all possible wrinkles and twists.\nIn the English boats two tubs are used instead of one; the same line being continuously coiled in both tubs. There is some advantage in this; because these twin-tubs being so small they fit more readily into the boat, and do not strain it so much; whereas, the American tub, nearly three feet in diameter and of proportionate depth, makes a rather bulky freight for a craft whose planks are but one half-inch in thickness; for the bottom of the whale-boat is like critical ice, which will bear up a considerable distributed weight, but not very much of a concentrated one. When the painted canvas cover is clapped on the American line-tub, the boat looks as if it were pulling off with a prodigious great wedding-cake to present to the whales.\nBoth ends of the line are exposed; the lower end terminating in an eye-splice or loop coming up from the bottom against the side of the tub, and hanging over its edge completely disengaged from everything. This arrangement of the lower end is necessary on two accounts. First: In order to facilitate the fastening to it of an additional line from a neighboring boat, in case the stricken whale should sound so deep as to threaten to carry off the entire line originally attached to the harpoon. In these instances, the whale of course is shifted like a mug of ale, as it were, from the one boat to the other; though the first boat always hovers at hand to assist its consort. Second: This arrangement is indispensable for common safety's sake; for were the lower end of the line in any way attached to the boat, and were the whale then to run the line out to the end almost in a single, smoking minute as he sometimes does, he would not stop there, for the doomed boat would infallibly be dragged down after him into the profundity of the sea; and in that case no town-crier would ever find her again.\nBefore lowering the boat for the chase, the upper end of the line is taken aft from the tub, and passing round the loggerhead there, is again carried forward the entire length of the boat, resting crosswise upon the loom or handle of every man's oar, so that it jogs against his wrist in rowing; and also passing between the men, as they alternately sit at the opposite gunwales, to the leaded chocks or grooves in the extreme pointed prow of the boat, where a wooden pin or skewer the size of a common quill, prevents it from slipping out. From the chocks it hangs in a slight festoon over the bows, and is then passed inside the boat again; and some ten or twenty fathoms (called box-line) being coiled upon the box in the bows, it continues its way to the gunwale still a little further aft, and is then attached to the short-warp—the rope which is immediately connected with the harpoon; but previous to that connexion, the short-warp goes through sundry mystifications too tedious to detail.\nThus the whale-line folds the whole boat in its complicated coils, twisting and writhing around it in almost every direction. All the oarsmen are involved in its perilous contortions; so that to the timid eye of the landsman, they seem as Indian jugglers, with the deadliest snakes sportively festooning their limbs. Nor can any son of mortal woman, for the first time, seat himself amid those hempen intricacies, and while straining his utmost at the oar, bethink him that at any unknown instant the harpoon may be darted, and all these horrible contortions be put in play like ringed lightnings; he cannot be thus circumstanced without a shudder that makes the very marrow in his bones to quiver in him like a shaken jelly. Yet habit—strange thing! what cannot habit accomplish?—Gayer sallies, more merry mirth, better jokes, and brighter repartees, you never heard over your mahogany, than you will hear over the half-inch white cedar of the whale-boat, when thus hung in hangman's nooses; and, like the six burghers of Calais before King Edward, the six men composing the crew pull into the jaws of death, with a halter around every neck, as you may say.\nPerhaps a very little thought will now enable you to account for those repeated whaling disasters—some few of which are casually chronicled—of this man or that man being taken out of the boat by the line, and lost. For, when the line is darting out, to be seated then in the boat, is like being seated in the midst of the manifold whizzings of a steam-engine in full play, when every flying beam, and shaft, and wheel, is grazing you. It is worse; for you cannot sit motionless in the heart of these perils, because the boat is rocking like a cradle, and you are pitched one way and the other, without the slightest warning; and only by a certain self-adjusting buoyancy and simultaneousness of volition and action, can you escape being made a Mazeppa of, and run away with where the all-seeing sun himself could never pierce you out.", "chosen": "29", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n29\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-051-00-7b5715ef", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"But what do we see? As soon as he is arrested the prisoner instantly throws all the blame on Smerdyakov, not accusing him of being his accomplice, but of being himself the murderer. 'He did it alone,' he says. 'He murdered and robbed him. It was the work of his hands.' Strange sort of accomplices who begin to accuse one another at once! And think of the risk for Karamazov. After committing the murder while his accomplice lay in bed, he throws the blame on the invalid, who might well have resented it and in self-preservation might well have confessed the truth. For he might well have seen that the court would at once judge how far he was responsible, and so he might well have reckoned that if he were punished, it would be far less severely than the real murderer. But in that case he would have been certain to make a confession, yet he has not done so. Smerdyakov never hinted at their complicity, though the actual murderer persisted in accusing him and declaring that he had committed the crime alone.\n\"What's more, Smerdyakov at the inquiry volunteered the statement that it was he who had told the prisoner of the envelope of notes and of the signals, and that, but for him, he would have known nothing about them. If he had really been a guilty accomplice, would he so readily have made this statement at the inquiry? On the contrary, he would have tried to conceal it, to distort the facts or minimize them. But he was far from distorting or minimizing them. No one but an innocent man, who had no fear of being charged with complicity, could have acted as he did. And in a fit of melancholy arising from his disease and this catastrophe he hanged himself yesterday. He left a note written in his peculiar language, 'I destroy myself of my own will and inclination so as to throw no blame on any one.' What would it have cost him to add: 'I am the murderer, not Karamazov'? But that he did not add. Did his conscience lead him to suicide and not to avowing his guilt?\n\"And what followed? Notes for three thousand roubles were brought into the court just now, and we were told that they were the same that lay in the envelope now on the table before us, and that the witness had received them from Smerdyakov the day before. But I need not recall the painful scene, though I will make one or two comments, selecting such trivial ones as might not be obvious at first sight to every one, and so may be overlooked. In the first place, Smerdyakov must have given back the money and hanged himself yesterday from remorse. And only yesterday he confessed his guilt to Ivan Karamazov, as the latter informs us. If it were not so, indeed, why should Ivan Fyodorovitch have kept silence till now? And so, if he has confessed, then why, I ask again, did he not avow the whole truth in the last letter he left behind, knowing that the innocent prisoner had to face this terrible ordeal the next day?\n\"The money alone is no proof. A week ago, quite by chance, the fact came to the knowledge of myself and two other persons in this court that Ivan Fyodorovitch had sent two five per cent. coupons of five thousand each—that is, ten thousand in all—to the chief town of the province to be changed. I only mention this to point out that any one may have money, and that it can't be proved that these notes are the same as were in Fyodor Pavlovitch's envelope.\n\"Ivan Karamazov, after receiving yesterday a communication of such importance from the real murderer, did not stir. Why didn't he report it at once? Why did he put it all off till morning? I think I have a right to conjecture why. His health had been giving way for a week past: he had admitted to a doctor and to his most intimate friends that he was suffering from hallucinations and seeing phantoms of the dead: he was on the eve of the attack of brain fever by which he has been stricken down to-day. In this condition he suddenly heard of Smerdyakov's death, and at once reflected, 'The man is dead, I can throw the blame on him and save my brother. I have money. I will take a roll of notes and say that Smerdyakov gave them me before his death.' You will say that was dishonorable: it's dishonorable to slander even the dead, and even to save a brother. True, but what if he slandered him unconsciously? What if, finally unhinged by the sudden news of the valet's death, he imagined it really was so? You saw the recent scene: you have seen the witness's condition. He was standing up and was speaking, but where was his mind?\n\"Then followed the document, the prisoner's letter written two days before the crime, and containing a complete program of the murder. Why, then, are we looking for any other program? The crime was committed precisely according to this program, and by no other than the writer of it. Yes, gentlemen of the jury, it went off without a hitch! He did not run respectfully and timidly away from his father's window, though he was firmly convinced that the object of his affections was with him. No, that is absurd and unlikely! He went in and murdered him. Most likely he killed him in anger, burning with resentment, as soon as he looked on his hated rival. But having killed him, probably with one blow of the brass pestle, and having convinced himself, after careful search, that she was not there, he did not, however, forget to put his hand under the pillow and take out the envelope, the torn cover of which lies now on the table before us.\n\"I mention this fact that you may note one, to my thinking, very characteristic circumstance. Had he been an experienced murderer and had he committed the murder for the sake of gain only, would he have left the torn envelope on the floor as it was found, beside the corpse? Had it been Smerdyakov, for instance, murdering his master to rob him, he would have simply carried away the envelope with him, without troubling himself to open it over his victim's corpse, for he would have known for certain that the notes were in the envelope—they had been put in and sealed up in his presence—and had he taken the envelope with him, no one would ever have known of the robbery. I ask you, gentlemen, would Smerdyakov have behaved in that way? Would he have left the envelope on the floor?\n\"No, this was the action of a frantic murderer, a murderer who was not a thief and had never stolen before that day, who snatched the notes from under the pillow, not like a thief stealing them, but as though seizing his own property from the thief who had stolen it. For that was the idea which had become almost an insane obsession in Dmitri Karamazov in regard to that money. And pouncing upon the envelope, which he had never seen before, he tore it open to make sure whether the money was in it, and ran away with the money in his pocket, even forgetting to consider that he had left an astounding piece of evidence against himself in that torn envelope on the floor. All because it was Karamazov, not Smerdyakov, he didn't think, he didn't reflect, and how should he? He ran away; he heard behind him the servant cry out; the old man caught him, stopped him and was felled to the ground by the brass pestle.", "chosen": "Had it been Smerdyakov, for instance, murdering his master to rob him, he would have simply carried away the envelope with him, without troubling himself to open it over his victim's corpse, for he would have known for certain that the notes were in the envelope—they had been put in and sealed up in his presence—and had he taken the envelope with him, no one would ever have known of the robbery.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nHad it been Smerdyakov, for instance, murdering his master to rob him, he would have simply carried away the envelope with him, without troubling himself to open it over his victim's corpse, for he would have known for certain that the notes were in the envelope—they had been put in and sealed up in his presence—and had he taken the envelope with him, no one would ever have known of the robbery.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-085-02-870f9b63", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nMrs. Corney twice essayed to speak, and twice failed. At length, summoning up courage, she threw her arms round Mr. Bumble's neck, and said, it might be as soon as ever he pleased, and that he was \"a irresistible duck.\"\nMatters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the contract was solemnly ratified in another tea-cupful of the peppermint mixture, which was rendered the more necessary by the flutter and agitation of the lady's spirits. While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old woman's decease.\n\"Very good,\" said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint \"I'll call at Sowerberry's as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it that as frightened you, love?\"\n\"It wasn't anything particular, dear,\" said the lady, evasively.\n\"It must have been something, love,\" urged Mr. Bumble. \"Wont you tell your own B.?\"\n\"Not now,\" rejoined the lady; \"one of these days,—after we're married, dear.\"\n\"After we're married!\" exclaimed Mr. Bumble. \"It wasn't any impudence from any of them male paupers as——\"\n\"No, no, love!\" interposed the lady, hastily.\n\"If I thought it was,\" continued Mr. Bumble,—\"if I thought any one of 'em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance——\"\n\"They wouldn't have dared to do it, love,\" responded the lady.\n\"They had better not!\" said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. \"Let me see any man, porochial, or extra-porochial, as would presume to do it, and I can tell him that he wouldn't do it a second time!\"\nUnembellished by any violence of gesticulation, this might have sounded as no very high compliment to the lady's charms; but, as Mr. Bumble accompanied the threat with many warlike gestures, she was much touched with this proof of his devotion, and protested, with great admiration, that he was indeed a dove.\nThe dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked-hat, and having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future partner, once again braved the cold wind of the night; merely pausing for a few minutes in the male paupers' ward to abuse them a little, with the view of satisfying himself that he could fill the office of workhouse-master with needful acerbity. Assured of his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the building with a light heart and bright visions of his future promotion, which served to occupy his mind until he reached the shop of the undertaker.\nNow, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper, and Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon himself a greater amount of physical exertion than is necessary to a convenient performance of the two functions of eating and drinking, the shop was not closed, although it was past the usual hour of shutting-up. Mr. Bumble tapped with his cane on the counter several times; but, attracting no attention, and beholding a light shining through the glass-window of the little parlour, at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in and see what was going forward; and, when he saw what was going forward, he was not a little surprised.\nThe cloth was laid for supper, and the table was covered with bread and butter, plates, and glasses, a porter-pot, and a wine-bottle. At the upper end of the table, Mr. Noah Claypole lolled negligently in an easy-chair, with his legs thrown over one of the arms, an open clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of buttered bread in the other; close beside him stood Charlotte, opening oysters from a barrel, which Mr. Claypole condescended to swallow with remarkable avidity. A more than ordinary redness in the region of the young gentleman's nose, and a kind of fixed wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a slight degree intoxicated; and these symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish with which he took his oysters, for which nothing but a strong appreciation of their cooling properties, in cases of internal fever, could have sufficiently accounted.\n\"Here's a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!\" said Charlotte; \"try him, do; only this one.\"\n\"What a delicious thing is a oyster!\" remarked Mr. Claypole, after he had swallowed it. \"What a pity it is a number of 'em should ever make you feel uncomfortable, isn't it, Charlotte?\"\n\"It's quite a cruelty,\" said Charlotte.\n\"So it is,\" acquiesced Mr. Claypole. \"A'n't yer fond of oysters?\"\n\"Not overmuch,\" replied Charlotte. \"I like to see you eat 'em, Noah dear, better than eating them myself.\"\n\"Lor'!\" said Noah, reflectively; \"how queer!\"\n\"Have another,\" said Charlotte. \"Here's one with such a beautiful, delicate beard!\"\n\"I can't manage any more,\" said Noah. \"I'm very sorry. Come here, Charlotte, and I'll kiss yer.\"\n\"What!\" said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. \"Say that again, sir.\"\nCharlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her apron; while Mr. Claypole, without making any further change in his position than suffering his legs to reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunken terror.\n\"Say it again, you vile, owdacious fellow!\" said Mr. Bumble. \"How dare you mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage him, you insolent minx? Kiss her!\" exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in strong indignation. \"Faugh!\"\n\"I didn't mean to do it!\" said Noah, blubbering. \"She's always a-kissing of me, whether I like it, or not.\"\n\"Oh, Noah!\" cried Charlotte, reproachfully.\n\"Yer are, yer know yer are!\" retorted Noah. \"She's always a-doing of it, Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, please sir, and makes all manner of love!\"\n\"Silence!\" cried Mr. Bumble, sternly. \"Take yourself down stairs, ma'am. Noah, you shut up the shop, and say another word till your master comes home at your peril; and, when he does come home, tell him that Mr. Bumble said he was to send a old woman's shell after breakfast to-morrow morning. Do you hear, sir? Kissing!\" cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. \"The sin and wickedness of the lower orders in this porochial district is frightful; if parliament don't take their abominable courses under consideration, this country's ruined, and the character of the peasantry gone for ever!\" With these words, the beadle strode, with a lofty and gloomy air, from the undertaker's premises.\nAnd now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home, and have made all necessary preparations for the old woman's funeral, let us set on foot a few inquiries after young Oliver Twist, and ascertain whether he be still lying in the ditch where Toby Crackit left him.", "chosen": "[\"a irresistible duck.\", \"Very good,\", \"I'll call at Sowerberry's as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it that as frightened you, love?\", \"It wasn't anything particular, dear,\", \"It must have been something, love,\", \"Wont you tell your own B.?\", \"Not now,\", \"one of these days,\\u2014after we're married, dear.\", \"After we're married!\", \"It wasn't any impudence from any of them male paupers as\\u2014\\u2014\", \"No, no, love!\", \"If I thought it was,\", \"if I thought any one of 'em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance\\u2014\\u2014\", \"They wouldn't have dared to do it, love,\", \"They had better not!\", \"Let me see any man, porochial, or extra-porochial, as would presume to do it, and I can tell him that he wouldn't do it a second time!\", \"Here's a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!\", \"try him, do; only this one.\", \"What a delicious thing is a oyster!\", \"What a pity it is a number of 'em should ever make you feel uncomfortable, isn't it, Charlotte?\", \"It's quite a cruelty,\", \"So it is,\", \"A'n't yer fond of oysters?\", \"Not overmuch,\", \"I like to see you eat 'em, Noah dear, better than eating them myself.\", \"Lor'!\", \"how queer!\", \"Have another,\", \"Here's one with such a beautiful, delicate beard!\", \"I can't manage any more,\", \"I'm very sorry. Come here, Charlotte, and I'll kiss yer.\", \"What!\", \"Say that again, sir.\", \"Say it again, you vile, owdacious fellow!\", \"How dare you mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage him, you insolent minx? Kiss her!\", \"Faugh!\", \"I didn't mean to do it!\", \"She's always a-kissing of me, whether I like it, or not.\", \"Oh, Noah!\", \"Yer are, yer know yer are!\", \"She's always a-doing of it, Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, please sir, and makes all manner of love!\", \"Silence!\", \" cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. \"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"a irresistible duck.\", \"Very good,\", \"I'll call at Sowerberry's as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it that as frightened you, love?\", \"It wasn't anything particular, dear,\", \"It must have been something, love,\", \"Wont you tell your own B.?\", \"Not now,\", \"one of these days,\\u2014after we're married, dear.\", \"After we're married!\", \"It wasn't any impudence from any of them male paupers as\\u2014\\u2014\", \"No, no, love!\", \"If I thought it was,\", \"if I thought any one of 'em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance\\u2014\\u2014\", \"They wouldn't have dared to do it, love,\", \"They had better not!\", \"Let me see any man, porochial, or extra-porochial, as would presume to do it, and I can tell him that he wouldn't do it a second time!\", \"Here's a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!\", \"try him, do; only this one.\", \"What a delicious thing is a oyster!\", \"What a pity it is a number of 'em should ever make you feel uncomfortable, isn't it, Charlotte?\", \"It's quite a cruelty,\", \"So it is,\", \"A'n't yer fond of oysters?\", \"Not overmuch,\", \"I like to see you eat 'em, Noah dear, better than eating them myself.\", \"Lor'!\", \"how queer!\", \"Have another,\", \"Here's one with such a beautiful, delicate beard!\", \"I can't manage any more,\", \"I'm very sorry. Come here, Charlotte, and I'll kiss yer.\", \"What!\", \"Say that again, sir.\", \"Say it again, you vile, owdacious fellow!\", \"How dare you mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage him, you insolent minx? Kiss her!\", \"Faugh!\", \"I didn't mean to do it!\", \"She's always a-kissing of me, whether I like it, or not.\", \"Oh, Noah!\", \"Yer are, yer know yer are!\", \"She's always a-doing of it, Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, please sir, and makes all manner of love!\", \"Silence!\", \" cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. \"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-47530-007-01-00dde6df", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nLord save me, thinks I, that must be the harpooneer, the infernal head-peddler. But I lay perfectly still, and resolved not to say a word till spoken to. Holding a light in one hand, and that identical New Zealand head in the other, the stranger entered the room, and without looking towards the bed, placed his candle a good way off from me on the floor in one corner, and then began working away at the knotted cords of the large bag I before spoke of as being in the room. I was all eagerness to see his face, but he kept it averted for some time while employed in unlacing the bag's mouth. This accomplished, however, he turned round—when, good heavens! what a sight! Such a face! It was of a dark, purplish, yellow colour, here and there stuck over with large blackish looking squares. Yes, it's just as I thought, he's a terrible bedfellow; he's been in a fight, got dreadfully cut, and here he is, just from the surgeon. But at that moment he chanced to turn his face so towards the light, that I plainly saw they could not be sticking-plasters at all, those black squares on his cheeks. They were stains of some sort or other. At first I knew not what to make of this; but soon an inkling of the truth occurred to me. I remembered a story of a white man—a whaleman too—who, falling among the cannibals, had been tattooed by them. I concluded that this harpooneer, in the course of his distant voyages, must have met with a similar adventure. And what is it, thought I, after all! It's only his outside; a man can be honest in any sort of skin. But then, what to make of his unearthly complexion, that part of it, I mean, lying round about, and completely independent of the squares of tattooing. To be sure, it might be nothing but a good coat of tropical tanning; but I never heard of a hot sun's tanning a white man into a purplish yellow one. However, I had never been in the South Seas; and perhaps the sun there produced these extraordinary effects upon the skin. Now, while all these ideas were passing through me like lightning, this harpooneer never noticed me at all. But, after some difficulty having opened his bag, he commenced fumbling in it, and presently pulled out a sort of tomahawk, and a seal-skin wallet with the hair on. Placing these on the old chest in the middle of the room, he then took the New Zealand head—a ghastly thing enough—and crammed it down into the bag. He now took off his hat—a new beaver hat—when I came nigh singing out with fresh surprise. There was no hair on his head—none to speak of at least—nothing but a small scalp-knot twisted up on his forehead. His bald purplish head now looked for all the world like a mildewed skull. Had not the stranger stood between me and the door, I would have bolted out of it quicker than ever I bolted a dinner.\nEven as it was, I thought something of slipping out of the window, but it was the second floor back. I am no coward, but what to make of this head-peddling purple rascal altogether passed my comprehension. Ignorance is the parent of fear, and being completely nonplussed and confounded about the stranger, I confess I was now as much afraid of him as if it was the devil himself who had thus broken into my room at the dead of night. In fact, I was so afraid of him that I was not game enough just then to address him, and demand a satisfactory answer concerning what seemed inexplicable in him.\nMeanwhile, he continued the business of undressing, and at last showed his chest and arms. As I live, these covered parts of him were checkered with the same squares as his face; his back, too, was all over the same dark squares; he seemed to have been in a Thirty Years' War, and just escaped from it with a sticking-plaster shirt. Still more, his very legs were marked, as if a parcel of dark green frogs were running up the trunks of young palms. It was now quite plain that he must be some abominable savage or other shipped aboard of a whaleman in the South Seas, and so landed in this Christian country. I quaked to think of it. A peddler of heads too—perhaps the heads of his own brothers. He might take a fancy to mine—heavens! look at that tomahawk!\nBut there was no time for shuddering, for now the savage went about something that completely fascinated my attention, and convinced me that he must indeed be a heathen. Going to his heavy grego, or wrapall, or dreadnaught, which he had previously hung on a chair, he fumbled in the pockets, and produced at length a curious little deformed image with a hunch on its back, and exactly the colour of a three days' old Congo baby. Remembering the embalmed head, at first I almost thought that this black manikin was a real baby preserved in some similar manner. But seeing that it was not at all limber, and that it glistened a good deal like polished ebony, I concluded that it must be nothing but a wooden idol, which indeed it proved to be. For now the savage goes up to the empty fire-place, and removing the papered fire-board, sets up this little hunch-backed image, like a tenpin, between the andirons. The chimney jambs and all the bricks inside were very sooty, so that I thought this fire-place made a very appropriate little shrine or chapel for his Congo idol.\nI now screwed my eyes hard towards the half hidden image, feeling but ill at ease meantime—to see what was next to follow. First he takes about a double handful of shavings out of his grego pocket, and places them carefully before the idol; then laying a bit of ship biscuit on top and applying the flame from the lamp, he kindled the shavings into a sacrificial blaze. Presently, after many hasty snatches into the fire, and still hastier withdrawals of his fingers (whereby he seemed to be scorching them badly), he at last succeeded in drawing out the biscuit; then blowing off the heat and ashes a little, he made a polite offer of it to the little negro. But the little devil did not seem to fancy such dry sort of fare at all; he never moved his lips. All these strange antics were accompanied by still stranger guttural noises from the devotee, who seemed to be praying in a sing-song or else singing some pagan psalmody or other, during which his face twitched about in the most unnatural manner. At last extinguishing the fire, he took the idol up very unceremoniously, and bagged it again in his grego pocket as carelessly as if he were a sportsman bagging a dead woodcock.\nAll these queer proceedings increased my uncomfortableness, and seeing him now exhibiting strong symptoms of concluding his business operations, and jumping into bed with me, I thought it was high time, now or never, before the light was put out, to break the spell in which I had so long been bound.\nBut the interval I spent in deliberating what to say, was a fatal one. Taking up his tomahawk from the table, he examined the head of it for an instant, and then holding it to the light, with his mouth at the handle, he puffed out great clouds of tobacco smoke. The next moment the light was extinguished, and this wild cannibal, tomahawk between his teeth, sprang into bed with me. I sang out, I could not help it now; and giving a sudden grunt of astonishment he began feeling me.\nStammering out something, I knew not what, I rolled away from him against the wall, and then conjured him, whoever or whatever he might be, to keep quiet, and let me get up and light the lamp again. But his guttural responses satisfied me at once that he but ill comprehended my meaning.\n\"Who-e debel you?\"—he at last said—\"you no speak-e, dam-me, I kill-e.\" And so saying the lighted tomahawk began flourishing about me in the dark.", "chosen": "dark", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\ndark\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-003-03-c12c4947", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nMiss Twinkleton's establishment was about to undergo a serene hush. The Christmas recess was at hand. What had once, and at no remote period, been called, even by the erudite Miss Twinkleton herself, \"the half,\" but what was now called, as being more elegant, and more strictly collegiate, \"the term,\" would expire to-morrow. A noticeable relaxation of discipline had for some few days pervaded the Nuns' House. Club suppers had occurred in the bedrooms, and a dressed tongue had been carved with a pair of scissors, and handed round with the curling tongs. Portions of marmalade had likewise been distributed on a service of plates constructed of curlpaper; and cowslip wine had been quaffed from the small squat measuring glass in which little Rickitts (a junior of weakly constitution) took her steel drops daily. The housemaids had been bribed with various fragments of riband, and sundry pairs of shoes more or less down at heel, to make no mention of crumbs in the beds; the airiest costumes had been worn on these festive occasions; and the daring Miss Ferdinand had even surprised the company with a sprightly solo on the comb-and-curlpaper, until suffocated in her own pillow by two flowing-haired executioners.\nNor were these the only tokens of dispersal. Boxes appeared in the bedrooms (where they were capital at other times), and a surprising amount of packing took place, out of all proportion to the amount packed. Largess, in the form of odds and ends of cold cream and pomatum, and also of hairpins, was freely distributed among the attendants. On charges of inviolable secrecy, confidences were interchanged respecting golden youth of England expected to call, \"at home,\" on the first opportunity. Miss Giggles (deficient in sentiment) did indeed profess that she, for her part, acknowledged such homage by making faces at the golden youth; but this young lady was outvoted by an immense majority.\nOn the last night before a recess, it was always expressly made a point of honour that nobody should go to sleep, and that Ghosts should be encouraged by all possible means. This compact invariably broke down, and all the young ladies went to sleep very soon, and got up very early.\nThe concluding ceremony came off at twelve o'clock on the day of departure; when Miss Twinkleton, supported by Mrs. Tisher, held a drawing-room in her own apartment (the globes already covered with brown Holland), where glasses of white-wine and plates of cut pound-cake were discovered on the table. Miss Twinkleton then said: Ladies, another revolving year had brought us round to that festive period at which the first feelings of our nature bounded in our—Miss Twinkleton was annually going to add \"bosoms,\" but annually stopped on the brink of that expression, and substituted \"hearts.\" Hearts; our hearts. Hem! Again a revolving year, ladies, had brought us to a pause in our studies—let us hope our greatly advanced studies—and, like the mariner in his bark, the warrior in his tent, the captive in his dungeon, and the traveller in his various conveyances, we yearned for home. Did we say, on such an occasion, in the opening words of Mr. Addison's impressive tragedy:\n\"The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day, The great, th' important day—?\"\nNot so. From horizon to zenith all was couleur de rose, for all was redolent of our relations and friends. Might we find them prospering as we expected; might they find us prospering as they expected! Ladies, we would now, with our love to one another, wish one another good-bye, and happiness, until we met again. And when the time should come for our resumption of those pursuits which (here a general depression set in all round), pursuits which, pursuits which;—then let us ever remember what was said by the Spartan General, in words too trite for repetition, at the battle it were superfluous to specify.\nThe handmaidens of the establishment, in their best caps, then handed the trays, and the young ladies sipped and crumbled, and the bespoken coaches began to choke the street. Then leave-taking was not long about; and Miss Twinkleton, in saluting each young lady's cheek, confided to her an exceedingly neat letter, addressed to her next friend at law, \"with Miss Twinkleton's best compliments\" in the corner. This missive she handed with an air as if it had not the least connexion with the bill, but were something in the nature of a delicate and joyful surprise.\nSo many times had Rosa seen such dispersals, and so very little did she know of any other Home, that she was contented to remain where she was, and was even better contented than ever before, having her latest friend with her. And yet her latest friendship had a blank place in it of which she could not fail to be sensible. Helena Landless, having been a party to her brother's revelation about Rosa, and having entered into that compact of silence with Mr. Crisparkle, shrank from any allusion to Edwin Drood's name. Why she so avoided it, was mysterious to Rosa, but she perfectly perceived the fact. But for the fact, she might have relieved her own little perplexed heart of some of its doubts and hesitations, by taking Helena into her confidence. As it was, she had no such vent: she could only ponder on her own difficulties, and wonder more and more why this avoidance of Edwin's name should last, now that she knew—for so much Helena had told her—that a good understanding was to be reëstablished between the two young men, when Edwin came down.\nIt would have made a pretty picture, so many pretty girls kissing Rosa in the cold porch of the Nuns' House, and that sunny little creature peeping out of it (unconscious of sly faces carved on spout and gable peeping at her), and waving farewells to the departing coaches, as if she represented the spirit of rosy youth abiding in the place to keep it bright and warm in its desertion. The hoarse High Street became musical with the cry, in various silvery voices, \"Good-bye, Rosebud darling!\" and the effigy of Mr. Sapsea's father over the opposite doorway seemed to say to mankind: \"Gentlemen, favour me with your attention to this charming little last lot left behind, and bid with a spirit worthy of the occasion!\" Then the staid street, so unwontedly sparkling, youthful, and fresh for a few rippling moments, ran dry, and Cloisterham was itself again.\nIf Rosebud in her bower now waited Edwin Drood's coming with an uneasy heart, Edwin for his part was uneasy too. With far less force of purpose in his composition than the childish beauty, crowned by acclamation fairy queen of Miss Twinkleton's establishment, he had a conscience, and Mr. Grewgious had pricked it. That gentleman's steady convictions of what was right and what was wrong in such a case as his, were neither to be frowned aside nor laughed aside. They would not be moved. But for the dinner in Staple Inn, and but for the ring he carried in the breast pocket of his coat, he would have drifted into their wedding-day without another pause for real thought, loosely trusting that all would go well, left alone. But that serious putting him on his truth to the living and the dead had brought him to a check. He must either give the ring to Rosa, or he must take it back. Once put into this narrowed way of action, it was curious that he began to consider Rosa's claims upon him more unselfishly than he had ever considered them before, and began to be less sure of himself than he had ever been in all his easy-going days.\n\"I will be guided by what she says, and by how we get on,\" was his decision, walking from the gatehouse to the Nuns' House. \"Whatever comes of it, I will bear his words in mind, and try to be true to the living and the dead.\"", "chosen": "[\"Twinkleton\", \"Christmas\", \"Nuns\", \"House\", \"Rickitts\", \"Ferdinand\", \"England\", \"Giggles\", \"Ghosts\", \"Holland\", \"Ladies\", \"Hearts\", \"Spartan\", \"General\", \"Rosa\", \"Home\", \"Landless\", \"Edwin\", \"Drood\", \"Helena\", \"High\", \"Street\", \"Good\", \"Rosebud\", \"Gentlemen\", \"Cloisterham\", \"Staple\", \"Inn\", \"Whatever\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Twinkleton\", \"Christmas\", \"Nuns\", \"House\", \"Rickitts\", \"Ferdinand\", \"England\", \"Giggles\", \"Ghosts\", \"Holland\", \"Ladies\", \"Hearts\", \"Spartan\", \"General\", \"Rosa\", \"Home\", \"Landless\", \"Edwin\", \"Drood\", \"Helena\", \"High\", \"Street\", \"Good\", \"Rosebud\", \"Gentlemen\", \"Cloisterham\", \"Staple\", \"Inn\", \"Whatever\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-564-013-00-fa9a619f", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nHe was an extremely clever young man, though he had no real appreciation of the visible arts, and whatever little sense of the beauty of poetry he possessed he had gained entirely from Dorian. His dominant intellectual passion was for science. At Cambridge he had spent a great deal of his time working in the laboratory, and had taken a good class in the Natural Science Tripos of his year. Indeed, he was still devoted to the study of chemistry, and had a laboratory of his own in which he used to shut himself up all day long, greatly to the annoyance of his mother, who had set her heart on his standing for Parliament and had a vague idea that a chemist was a person who made up prescriptions. He was an excellent musician, however, as well, and played both the violin and the piano better than most amateurs. In fact, it was music that had first brought him and Dorian Gray together—music and that indefinable attraction that Dorian seemed to be able to exercise whenever he wished—and, indeed, exercised often without being conscious of it. They had met at Lady Berkshire's the night that Rubinstein played there, and after that used to be always seen together at the opera and wherever good music was going on. For eighteen months their intimacy lasted. Campbell was always either at Selby Royal or in Grosvenor Square. To him, as to many others, Dorian Gray was the type of everything that is wonderful and fascinating in life. Whether or not a quarrel had taken place between them no one ever knew. But suddenly people remarked that they scarcely spoke when they met and that Campbell seemed always to go away early from any party at which Dorian Gray was present. He had changed, too—was strangely melancholy at times, appeared almost to dislike hearing music, and would never himself play, giving as his excuse, when he was called upon, that he was so absorbed in science that he had no time left in which to practise. And this was certainly true. Every day he seemed to become more interested in biology, and his name appeared once or twice in some of the scientific reviews in connection with certain curious experiments.\nThis was the man Dorian Gray was waiting for. Every second he kept glancing at the clock. As the minutes went by he became horribly agitated. At last he got up and began to pace up and down the room, looking like a beautiful caged thing. He took long stealthy strides. His hands were curiously cold.\nThe suspense became unbearable. Time seemed to him to be crawling with feet of lead, while he by monstrous winds was being swept towards the jagged edge of some black cleft of precipice. He knew what was waiting for him there; saw it, indeed, and, shuddering, crushed with dank hands his burning lids as though he would have robbed the very brain of sight and driven the eyeballs back into their cave. It was useless. The brain had its own food on which it battened, and the imagination, made grotesque by terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by pain, danced like some foul puppet on a stand and grinned through moving masks. Then, suddenly, time stopped for him. Yes: that blind, slow-breathing thing crawled no more, and horrible thoughts, time being dead, raced nimbly on in front, and dragged a hideous future from its grave, and showed it to him. He stared at it. Its very horror made him stone.\nAt last the door opened and his servant entered. He turned glazed eyes upon him.\n\"Mr. Campbell, sir,\" said the man.\nA sigh of relief broke from his parched lips, and the colour came back to his cheeks.\n\"Ask him to come in at once, Francis.\" He felt that he was himself again. His mood of cowardice had passed away.\nThe man bowed and retired. In a few moments, Alan Campbell walked in, looking very stern and rather pale, his pallor being intensified by his coal-black hair and dark eyebrows.\n\"Alan! This is kind of you. I thank you for coming.\"\n\"I had intended never to enter your house again, Gray. But you said it was a matter of life and death.\" His voice was hard and cold. He spoke with slow deliberation. There was a look of contempt in the steady searching gaze that he turned on Dorian. He kept his hands in the pockets of his Astrakhan coat, and seemed not to have noticed the gesture with which he had been greeted.\n\"Yes: it is a matter of life and death, Alan, and to more than one person. Sit down.\"\nCampbell took a chair by the table, and Dorian sat opposite to him. The two men's eyes met. In Dorian's there was infinite pity. He knew that what he was going to do was dreadful.\nAfter a strained moment of silence, he leaned across and said, very quietly, but watching the effect of each word upon the face of him he had sent for, \"Alan, in a locked room at the top of this house, a room to which nobody but myself has access, a dead man is seated at a table. He has been dead ten hours now. Don't stir, and don't look at me like that. Who the man is, why he died, how he died, are matters that do not concern you. What you have to do is this—\"\n\"Stop, Gray. I don't want to know anything further. Whether what you have told me is true or not true doesn't concern me. I entirely decline to be mixed up in your life. Keep your horrible secrets to yourself. They don't interest me any more.\"\n\"Alan, they will have to interest you. This one will have to interest you. I am awfully sorry for you, Alan. But I can't help myself. You are the one man who is able to save me. I am forced to bring you into the matter. I have no option. Alan, you are scientific. You know about chemistry and things of that kind. You have made experiments. What you have got to do is to destroy the thing that is upstairs—to destroy it so that not a vestige of it will be left. Nobody saw this person come into the house. Indeed, at the present moment he is supposed to be in Paris. He will not be missed for months. When he is missed, there must be no trace of him found here. You, Alan, you must change him, and everything that belongs to him, into a handful of ashes that I may scatter in the air.\"\n\"You are mad, Dorian.\"\n\"Ah! I was waiting for you to call me Dorian.\"\n\"You are mad, I tell you—mad to imagine that I would raise a finger to help you, mad to make this monstrous confession. I will have nothing to do with this matter, whatever it is. Do you think I am going to peril my reputation for you? What is it to me what devil's work you are up to?\"\n\"It was suicide, Alan.\"\n\"I am glad of that. But who drove him to it? You, I should fancy.\"\n\"Do you still refuse to do this for me?\"\n\"Of course I refuse. I will have absolutely nothing to do with it. I don't care what shame comes on you. You deserve it all. I should not be sorry to see you disgraced, publicly disgraced. How dare you ask me, of all men in the world, to mix myself up in this horror? I should have thought you knew more about people's characters. Your friend Lord Henry Wotton can't have taught you much about psychology, whatever else he has taught you. Nothing will induce me to stir a step to help you. You have come to the wrong man. Go to some of your friends. Don't come to me.\"\n\"Alan, it was murder. I killed him. You don't know what he had made me suffer. Whatever my life is, he had more to do with the making or the marring of it than poor Harry has had. He may not have intended it, the result was the same.\"", "chosen": "He, His, At, Indeed,, He, In, They, For, Campbell, To, Whether, But, He, And, Every, This, Every, As, At, He, His, The, Time, He, It, The, Then,, Yes:, He, Its, At, He, Mr., Campbell,, A, Ask, His, The, In, Alan!, This, I, But, He, There, He, Yes:, Sit, The, In, He, After, He, Don't, Who, What, I, Whether, I, Keep, They, This, I, But, You, I, I, Alan,, You, You, What, Nobody, Indeed,, He, When, You,, I, I, Do, What, But, You,, I, I, You, I, How, I, Your, Nothing, You, Go, Don't, I, You, Whatever, He", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nHe, His, At, Indeed,, He, In, They, For, Campbell, To, Whether, But, He, And, Every, This, Every, As, At, He, His, The, Time, He, It, The, Then,, Yes:, He, Its, At, He, Mr., Campbell,, A, Ask, His, The, In, Alan!, This, I, But, He, There, He, Yes:, Sit, The, In, He, After, He, Don't, Who, What, I, Whether, I, Keep, They, This, I, But, You, I, I, Alan,, You, You, What, Nobody, Indeed,, He, When, You,, I, I, Do, What, But, You,, I, I, You, I, How, I, Your, Nothing, You, Go, Don't, I, You, Whatever, He\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-174-014-01-c30fbfe3", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken. A very little trouble on your side secures him. Perhaps just at present he may be undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his friends may all advise him against it. But some of those little attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix him, in spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should not try for him. It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on your side--in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is quite out of the question, the objections are insurmountable--you have too much sense not to see all that. Colonel Brandon must be the man; and no civility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with you and your family. It is a match that must give universal satisfaction. In short, it is a kind of thing that,\" lowering his voice to an important whisper, \"will be exceedingly welcome to all parties.\" Recollecting himself, however, he added, \"That is, I mean to say--your friends are all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny particularly, for she has your interest very much at heart, I assure you. And her mother too, Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am sure it would give her great pleasure; she said as much the other day.\"\nElinor would not vouchsafe any answer.\n\"It would be something remarkable, now,\" he continued, \"something droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling at the same time. And yet it is not very unlikely.\"\n\"Is Mr. Edward Ferrars,\" said Elinor, with resolution, \"going to be married?\"\n\"It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation. He has a most excellent mother. Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost liberality, will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a year, if the match takes place. The lady is the Hon. Miss Morton, only daughter of the late Lord Morton, with thirty thousand pounds. A very desirable connection on both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in time. A thousand a-year is a great deal for a mother to give away, to make over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble spirit. To give you another instance of her liberality:--The other day, as soon as we came to town, aware that money could not be very plenty with us just now, she put bank-notes into Fanny's hands to the amount of two hundred pounds. And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great expense while we are here.\"\nHe paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say--\n\"Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable; but your income is a large one.\"\n\"Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose. I do not mean to complain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfortable one, and I hope will in time be better. The enclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on, is a most serious drain. And then I have made a little purchase within this half year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the place, where old Gibson used to live. The land was so very desirable for me in every respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that I felt it my duty to buy it. I could not have answered it to my conscience to let it fall into any other hands. A man must pay for his convenience; and it has cost me a vast deal of money.\"\n\"More than you think it really and intrinsically worth.\"\n\"Why, I hope not that. I might have sold it again, the next day, for more than I gave: but, with regard to the purchase-money, I might have been very unfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low, that if I had not happened to have the necessary sum in my banker's hands, I must have sold out to very great loss.\"\nElinor could only smile.\n\"Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on first coming to Norland. Our respected father, as you well know, bequeathed all the Stanhill effects that remained at Norland (and very valuable they were) to your mother. Far be it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an undoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, in consequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of linen, china, &c. to supply the place of what was taken away. You may guess, after all these expenses, how very far we must be from being rich, and how acceptable Mrs. Ferrars's kindness is.\"\n\"Certainly,\" said Elinor; \"and assisted by her liberality, I hope you may yet live to be in easy circumstances.\"\n\"Another year or two may do much towards it,\" he gravely replied; \"but however there is still a great deal to be done. There is not a stone laid of Fanny's green-house, and nothing but the plan of the flower-garden marked out.\"\n\"Where is the green-house to be?\"\n\"Upon the knoll behind the house. The old walnut trees are all come down to make room for it. It will be a very fine object from many parts of the park, and the flower-garden will slope down just before it, and be exceedingly pretty. We have cleared away all the old thorns that grew in patches over the brow.\"\nElinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very thankful that Marianne was not present, to share the provocation.\nHaving now said enough to make his poverty clear, and to do away the necessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for each of his sisters, in his next visit at Gray's, his thoughts took a cheerfuller turn, and he began to congratulate Elinor on having such a friend as Mrs. Jennings.\n\"She seems a most valuable woman indeed--Her house, her style of living, all bespeak an exceeding good income; and it is an acquaintance that has not only been of great use to you hitherto, but in the end may prove materially advantageous. Her inviting you to town is certainly a vast thing in your favour; and indeed, it speaks altogether so great a regard for you, that in all probability when she dies you will not be forgotten. She must have a great deal to leave.\"\n\"Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her jointure, which will descend to her children.\"\n\"But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income. Few people of common prudence will do that; and whatever she saves, she will be able to dispose of.\"\n\"And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her daughters, than to us?\"\n\"Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther. Whereas, in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you, and treating you in this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on her future consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard. Nothing can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can hardly do all this, without being aware of the expectation it raises.\"\n\"But she raises none in those most concerned. Indeed, brother, your anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far.\"\n\"Why, to be sure,\" said he, seeming to recollect himself, \"people have little, have very little in their power. But, my dear Elinor, what is the matter with Marianne?--she looks very unwell, has lost her colour, and is grown quite thin. Is she ill?\"\n\"She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several weeks.\"", "chosen": "52", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n52\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-21839-033-01-9f1ea27b", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nAn unusually handsome lithe young fellow, and an unusually handsome lithe girl; much alike; both very dark, and very rich in colour; she of almost the gipsy type; something untamed about them both; a certain air upon them of hunter and huntress; yet withal a certain air of being the objects of the chase, rather than the followers. Slender, supple, quick of eye and limb; half shy, half defiant; fierce of look; an indefinable kind of pause coming and going on their whole expression, both of face and form, which might be equally likened to the pause before a crouch or a bound. The rough mental notes made in the first five minutes by Mr. Crisparkle would have read thus, verbatim.\nHe invited Mr. Honeythunder to dinner, with a troubled mind (for the discomfiture of the dear old china shepherdess lay heavy on it), and gave his arm to Helena Landless. Both she and her brother, as they walked all together through the ancient streets, took great delight in what he pointed out of the Cathedral and the Monastery ruin, and wondered—so his notes ran on—much as if they were beautiful barbaric captives brought from some wild tropical dominion. Mr. Honeythunder walked in the middle of the road, shouldering the natives out of his way, and loudly developing a scheme he had, for making a raid on all the unemployed persons in the United Kingdom, laying them every one by the heels in jail, and forcing them, on pain of prompt extermination, to become philanthropists.\nMrs. Crisparkle had need of her own share of philanthropy when she beheld this very large and very loud excrescence on the little party. Always something in the nature of a Boil upon the face of society, Mr. Honeythunder expanded into an inflammatory Wen in Minor Canon Corner. Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against him by public unbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures: \"Curse your souls and bodies, come here and be blessed!\" still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine. You were to abolish military force, but you were first to bring all commanding officers who had done their duty, to trial by court-martial for that offence, and shoot them. You were to abolish war, but were to make converts by making war upon them, and charging them with loving war as the apple of their eye. You were to have no capital punishment, but were first to sweep off the face of the earth all legislators, jurists, and judges, who were of the contrary opinion. You were to have universal concord, and were to get it by eliminating all the people who wouldn't, or conscientiously couldn't, be concordant. You were to love your brother as yourself, but after an indefinite interval of maligning him (very much as if you hated him), and calling him all manner of names. Above all things, you were to do nothing in private, or on your own account. You were to go to the offices of the Haven of Philanthropy, and put your name down as a Member and a Professing Philanthropist. Then, you were to pay up your subscription, get your card of membership and your riband and medal, and were evermore to live upon a platform, and evermore to say what Mr. Honeythunder said, and what the Treasurer said, and what the sub-Treasurer said, and what the Committee said, and what the sub-Committee said, and what the Secretary said, and what the Vice-Secretary said. And this was usually said in the unanimously-carried resolution under hand and seal, to the effect: \"That this assembled Body of Professing Philanthropists views, with indignant scorn and contempt, not unmixed with utter detestation and loathing abhorrence\"—in short, the baseness of all those who do not belong to it, and pledges itself to make as many obnoxious statements as possible about them, without being at all particular as to facts.\nThe dinner was a most doleful breakdown. The philanthropist deranged the symmetry of the table, sat himself in the way of the waiting, blocked up the thoroughfare, and drove Mr. Tope (who assisted the parlour-maid) to the verge of distraction by passing plates and dishes on, over his own head. Nobody could talk to anybody, because he held forth to everybody at once, as if the company had no individual existence, but were a Meeting. He impounded the Reverend Mr. Septimus, as an official personage to be addressed, or kind of human peg to hang his oratorical hat on, and fell into the exasperating habit, common among such orators, of impersonating him as a wicked and weak opponent. Thus, he would ask: \"And will you, sir, now stultify yourself by telling me\"—and so forth, when the innocent man had not opened his lips, nor meant to open them. Or he would say: \"Now see, sir, to what a position you are reduced. I will leave you no escape. After exhausting all the resources of fraud and falsehood, during years upon years; after exhibiting a combination of dastardly meanness with ensanguined daring, such as the world has not often witnessed; you have now the hypocrisy to bend the knee before the most degraded of mankind, and to sue and whine and howl for mercy!\" Whereat the unfortunate Minor Canon would look, in part indignant and in part perplexed; while his worthy mother sat bridling, with tears in her eyes, and the remainder of the party lapsed into a sort of gelatinous state, in which there was no flavour or solidity, and very little resistance.\nBut the gush of philanthropy that burst forth when the departure of Mr. Honeythunder began to impend, must have been highly gratifying to the feelings of that distinguished man. His coffee was produced, by the special activity of Mr. Tope, a full hour before he wanted it. Mr. Crisparkle sat with his watch in his hand for about the same period, lest he should overstay his time. The four young people were unanimous in believing that the Cathedral clock struck three-quarters, when it actually struck but one. Miss Twinkleton estimated the distance to the omnibus at five-and-twenty minutes' walk, when it was really five. The affectionate kindness of the whole circle hustled him into his greatcoat, and shoved him out into the moonlight, as if he were a fugitive traitor with whom they sympathised, and a troop of horse were at the back door. Mr. Crisparkle and his new charge, who took him to the omnibus, were so fervent in their apprehensions of his catching cold, that they shut him up in it instantly and left him, with still half-an-hour to spare.", "chosen": "After exhausting all the resources of fraud and falsehood, during years upon years; after exhibiting a combination of dastardly meanness with ensanguined daring, such as the world has not often witnessed; you have now the hypocrisy to bend the knee before the most degraded of mankind, and to sue and whine and howl for mercy!\" Whereat the unfortunate Minor Canon would look, in part indignant and in part perplexed; while his worthy mother sat bridling, with tears in her eyes, and the remainder of the party lapsed into a sort of gelatinous state, in which there was no flavour or solidity, and very little resistance.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nAfter exhausting all the resources of fraud and falsehood, during years upon years; after exhibiting a combination of dastardly meanness with ensanguined daring, such as the world has not often witnessed; you have now the hypocrisy to bend the knee before the most degraded of mankind, and to sue and whine and howl for mercy!\" Whereat the unfortunate Minor Canon would look, in part indignant and in part perplexed; while his worthy mother sat bridling, with tears in her eyes, and the remainder of the party lapsed into a sort of gelatinous state, in which there was no flavour or solidity, and very little resistance.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-564-006-02-6d1622dc", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nA few minutes later Tom was in the shoal water of the bar, wading toward the Illinois shore. Before the depth reached his middle he was halfway over; the current would permit no more wading, now, so he struck out confidently to swim the remaining hundred yards. He swam quartering upstream, but still was swept downward rather faster than he had expected. However, he reached the shore finally, and drifted along till he found a low place and drew himself out. He put his hand on his jacket pocket, found his piece of bark safe, and then struck through the woods, following the shore, with streaming garments. Shortly before ten o'clock he came out into an open place opposite the village, and saw the ferryboat lying in the shadow of the trees and the high bank. Everything was quiet under the blinking stars. He crept down the bank, watching with all his eyes, slipped into the water, swam three or four strokes and climbed into the skiff that did \"yawl\" duty at the boat's stern. He laid himself down under the thwarts and waited, panting.\nPresently the cracked bell tapped and a voice gave the order to \"cast off.\" A minute or two later the skiff's head was standing high up, against the boat's swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy in his success, for he knew it was the boat's last trip for the night. At the end of a long twelve or fifteen minutes the wheels stopped, and Tom slipped overboard and swam ashore in the dusk, landing fifty yards downstream, out of danger of possible stragglers.\nHe flew along unfrequented alleys, and shortly found himself at his aunt's back fence. He climbed over, approached the \"ell,\" and looked in at the sitting-room window, for a light was burning there. There sat Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother, grouped together, talking. They were by the bed, and the bed was between them and the door. Tom went to the door and began to softly lift the latch; then he pressed gently and the door yielded a crack; he continued pushing cautiously, and quaking every time it creaked, till he judged he might squeeze through on his knees; so he put his head through and began, warily.\n\"What makes the candle blow so?\" said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up. \"Why, that door's open, I believe. Why, of course it is. No end of strange things now. Go 'long and shut it, Sid.\"\nTom disappeared under the bed just in time. He lay and \"breathed\" himself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch his aunt's foot.\n\"But as I was saying,\" said Aunt Polly, \"he warn't bad, so to say—only mischeevous. Only just giddy, and harum-scarum, you know. He warn't any more responsible than a colt. He never meant any harm, and he was the best-hearted boy that ever was\"—and she began to cry.\n\"It was just so with my Joe—always full of his devilment, and up to every kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he could be—and laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for taking that cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out myself because it was sour, and I never to see him again in this world, never, never, never, poor abused boy!\" And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if her heart would break.\n\"I hope Tom's better off where he is,\" said Sid, \"but if he'd been better in some ways—\"\n\"Sid!\" Tom felt the glare of the old lady's eye, though he could not see it. \"Not a word against my Tom, now that he's gone! God'll take care of him—never you trouble yourself, sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don't know how to give him up! I don't know how to give him up! He was such a comfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me, 'most.\"\n\"The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away—Blessed be the name of the Lord! But it's so hard—Oh, it's so hard! Only last Saturday my Joe busted a firecracker right under my nose and I knocked him sprawling. Little did I know then, how soon—Oh, if it was to do over again I'd hug him and bless him for it.\"\n\"Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just exactly how you feel. No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took and filled the cat full of Pain-killer, and I did think the cretur would tear the house down. And God forgive me, I cracked Tom's head with my thimble, poor boy, poor dead boy. But he's out of all his troubles now. And the last words I ever heard him say was to reproach—\"\nBut this memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke entirely down. Tom was snuffling, now, himself—and more in pity of himself than anybody else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a kindly word for him from time to time. He began to have a nobler opinion of himself than ever before. Still, he was sufficiently touched by his aunt's grief to long to rush out from under the bed and overwhelm her with joy—and the theatrical gorgeousness of the thing appealed strongly to his nature, too, but he resisted and lay still.\nHe went on listening, and gathered by odds and ends that it was conjectured at first that the boys had got drowned while taking a swim; then the small raft had been missed; next, certain boys said the missing lads had promised that the village should \"hear something\" soon; the wise-heads had \"put this and that together\" and decided that the lads had gone off on that raft and would turn up at the next town below, presently; but toward noon the raft had been found, lodged against the Missouri shore some five or six miles below the village—and then hope perished; they must be drowned, else hunger would have driven them home by nightfall if not sooner. It was believed that the search for the bodies had been a fruitless effort merely because the drowning must have occurred in mid-channel, since the boys, being good swimmers, would otherwise have escaped to shore. This was Wednesday night. If the bodies continued missing until Sunday, all hope would be given over, and the funerals would be preached on that morning. Tom shuddered.\nMrs. Harper gave a sobbing goodnight and turned to go. Then with a mutual impulse the two bereaved women flung themselves into each other's arms and had a good, consoling cry, and then parted. Aunt Polly was tender far beyond her wont, in her goodnight to Sid and Mary. Sid snuffled a bit and Mary went off crying with all her heart.\nAunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so appealingly, and with such measureless love in her words and her old trembling voice, that he was weltering in tears again, long before she was through.\nHe had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making broken-hearted ejaculations from time to time, tossing unrestfully, and turning over. But at last she was still, only moaning a little in her sleep. Now the boy stole out, rose gradually by the bedside, shaded the candle-light with his hand, and stood regarding her. His heart was full of pity for her. He took out his sycamore scroll and placed it by the candle. But something occurred to him, and he lingered considering. His face lighted with a happy solution of his thought; he put the bark hastily in his pocket. Then he bent over and kissed the faded lips, and straightway made his stealthy exit, latching the door behind him.", "chosen": "him", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nhim\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-74-015-00-80caaf24", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n'It is but a hasty visit,' she said when, after putting up her mouth to be kissed, she had seated herself in the low chair used for observations, panting a little with the labour of ascent. 'But I hope to be able to come more freely soon. My brother is still living on with me. Yes, he is going to stay until the confirmation is over. After the confirmation he will certainly leave. So good it is of you, dear, to please me by agreeing to the ceremony. The Bishop, you know, is going to lunch with us. It is a wonder he has promised to come, for he is a man averse to society, and mostly keeps entirely with the clergy on these confirmation tours, or circuits, or whatever they call them. But Mr. Torkingham's house is so very small, and mine is so close at hand, that this arrangement to relieve him of the fuss of one meal, at least, naturally suggested itself; and the Bishop has fallen in with it very readily. How are you getting on with your observations? Have you not wanted me dreadfully, to write down notes?'\n'Well, I have been obliged to do without you, whether or no. See here,--how much I have done.' And he showed her a book ruled in columns, headed 'Object,' 'Right Ascension,' 'Declination,' 'Features,' 'Remarks,' and so on.\nShe looked over this and other things, but her mind speedily winged its way back to the confirmation. 'It is so new to me,' she said, 'to have persons coming to the house, that I feel rather anxious. I hope the luncheon will be a success.'\n'You know the Bishop?' said Swithin.\n'I have not seen him for many years. I knew him when I was quite a girl, and he held the little living of Puddle-sub-Mixen, near us; but after that time, and ever since I have lived here, I have seen nothing of him. There has been no confirmation in this village, they say, for twenty years. The other bishop used to make the young men and women go to Warborne; he wouldn't take the trouble to come to such an out-of-the-way parish as ours.'\n'This cleaning and preparation that I observe going on must be rather a tax upon you?'\n'My brother Louis sees to it, and, what is more, bears the expense.'\n'Your brother?' said Swithin, with surprise.\n'Well, he insisted on doing so,' she replied, in a hesitating, despondent tone. 'He has been active in the whole matter, and was the first to suggest the invitation. I should not have thought of it.'\n'Well, I will hold aloof till it is all over.'\n'Thanks, dearest, for your considerateness. I wish it was not still advisable! But I shall see you on the day, and watch my own philosopher all through the service from the corner of my pew! . . . I hope you are well prepared for the rite, Swithin?' she added, turning tenderly to him. 'It would perhaps be advisable for you to give up this astronomy till the confirmation is over, in order to devote your attention exclusively to that more serious matter.'\n'More serious! Well, I will do the best I can. I am sorry to see that you are less interested in astronomy than you used to be, Viviette.'\n'No; it is only that these preparations for the Bishop unsettle my mind from study. Now put on your other coat and hat, and come with me a little way.'", "chosen": "[\"Bishop\", \"Ascension\", \"Swithin\", \"Puddle\", \"Warborne\", \"Louis\", \"Viviette\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Bishop\", \"Ascension\", \"Swithin\", \"Puddle\", \"Warborne\", \"Louis\", \"Viviette\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-3146-022-01-b1c18c44", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThen there is the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, how first he piped the rats away, and afterward, when the mayor broke faith with him, drew all the children along with him and went into the mountain. What a curious old legend that is! I wonder what it means, or has it any meaning at all? There seems something strange and deep lying hid beneath the rippling rhyme. It haunts me, that picture of the quaint, mysterious old piper piping through Hamelin's narrow streets, and the children following with dancing feet and thoughtful, eager faces. The old folks try to stay them, but the children pay no heed. They hear the weird, witched music and must follow. The games are left unfinished and the playthings drop from their careless hands. They know not whither they are hastening. The mystic music calls to them, and they follow, heedless and unasking where. It stirs and vibrates in their hearts and other sounds grow faint. So they wander through Pied Piper Street away from Hamelin town.\nI get thinking sometimes if the Pied Piper is really dead, or if he may not still be roaming up and down our streets and lanes, but playing now so softly that only the children hear him. Why do the little faces look so grave and solemn when they pause awhile from romping, and stand, deep wrapt, with straining eyes? They only shake their curly heads and dart back laughing to their playmates when we question them. But I fancy myself they have been listening to the magic music of the old Pied Piper, and perhaps with those bright eyes of theirs have even seen his odd, fantastic figure gliding unnoticed through the whirl and throng.\nEven we grown-up children hear his piping now and then. But the yearning notes are very far away, and the noisy, blustering world is always bellowing so loud it drowns the dreamlike melody. One day the sweet, sad strains will sound out full and clear, and then we too shall, like the little children, throw our playthings all aside and follow. The loving hands will be stretched out to stay us, and the voices we have learned to listen for will cry to us to stop. But we shall push the fond arms gently back and pass out through the sorrowing house and through the open door. For the wild, strange music will be ringing in our hearts, and we shall know the meaning of its song by then.\nI wish people could love animals without getting maudlin over them, as so many do. Women are the most hardened offenders in such respects, but even our intellectual sex often degrade pets into nuisances by absurd idolatry. There are the gushing young ladies who, having read \"David Copperfield,\" have thereupon sought out a small, longhaired dog of nondescript breed, possessed of an irritating habit of criticising a man's trousers, and of finally commenting upon the same by a sniff indicative of contempt and disgust. They talk sweet girlish prattle to this animal (when there is any one near enough to overhear them), and they kiss its nose, and put its unwashed head up against their cheek in a most touching manner; though I have noticed that these caresses are principally performed when there are young men hanging about.\nThen there are the old ladies who worship a fat poodle, scant of breath and full of fleas. I knew a couple of elderly spinsters once who had a sort of German sausage on legs which they called a dog between them. They used to wash its face with warm water every morning. It had a mutton cutlet regularly for breakfast; and on Sundays, when one of the ladies went to church, the other always stopped at home to keep the dog company.\nThere are many families where the whole interest of life is centered upon the dog. Cats, by the way, rarely suffer from excess of adulation. A cat possesses a very fair sense of the ridiculous, and will put her paw down kindly but firmly upon any nonsense of this kind. Dogs, however, seem to like it. They encourage their owners in the tomfoolery, and the consequence is that in the circles I am speaking of what \"dear Fido\" has done, does do, will do, won't do, can do, can't do, was doing, is doing, is going to do, shall do, shan't do, and is about to be going to have done is the continual theme of discussion from morning till night.\nAll the conversation, consisting, as it does, of the very dregs of imbecility, is addressed to this confounded animal. The family sit in a row all day long, watching him, commenting upon his actions, telling each other anecdotes about him, recalling his virtues, and remembering with tears how one day they lost him for two whole hours, on which occasion he was brought home in a most brutal manner by the butcher-boy, who had been met carrying him by the scruff of his neck with one hand, while soundly cuffing his head with the other.\nAfter recovering from these bitter recollections, they vie with each other in bursts of admiration for the brute, until some more than usually enthusiastic member, unable any longer to control his feelings, swoops down upon the unhappy quadruped in a frenzy of affection, clutches it to his heart, and slobbers over it. Whereupon the others, mad with envy, rise up, and seizing as much of the dog as the greed of the first one has left to them, murmur praise and devotion.\nAmong these people everything is done through the dog. If you want to make love to the eldest daughter, or get the old man to lend you the garden roller, or the mother to subscribe to the Society for the Suppression of Solo-Cornet Players in Theatrical Orchestras (it's a pity there isn't one, anyhow), you have to begin with the dog. You must gain its approbation before they will even listen to you, and if, as is highly probable, the animal, whose frank, doggy nature has been warped by the unnatural treatment he has received, responds to your overtures of friendship by viciously snapping at you, your cause is lost forever.\n\"If Fido won't take to any one,\" the father has thoughtfully remarked beforehand, \"I say that man is not to be trusted. You know, Maria, how often I have said that. Ah! he knows, bless him.\"\nDrat him!\nAnd to think that the surly brute was once an innocent puppy, all legs and head, full of fun and play, and burning with ambition to become a big, good dog and bark like mother.\nAh me! life sadly changes us all. The world seems a vast horrible grinding machine, into which what is fresh and bright and pure is pushed at one end, to come out old and crabbed and wrinkled at the other.\nLook even at Pussy Sobersides, with her dull, sleepy glance, her grave, slow walk, and dignified, prudish airs; who could ever think that once she was the blue-eyed, whirling, scampering, head-over-heels, mad little firework that we call a kitten?\nWhat marvelous vitality a kitten has. It is really something very beautiful the way life bubbles over in the little creatures. They rush about, and mew, and spring; dance on their hind legs, embrace everything with their front ones, roll over and over, lie on their backs and kick. They don't know what to do with themselves, they are so full of life.", "chosen": "Then, What, I, There, It, The, They, The, They, The, It, So, I, Why, They, But, Even, But, One, The, But, For, I, Women, There, They, Then, I, They, It, There, Cats,, A, Dogs,, They, All, The, After, Whereupon, Among, If, You, If, You, Ah!, he, And, Ah, life, The, Look, What, It, They, They", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nThen, What, I, There, It, The, They, The, They, The, It, So, I, Why, They, But, Even, But, One, The, But, For, I, Women, There, They, Then, I, They, It, There, Cats,, A, Dogs,, They, All, The, After, Whereupon, Among, If, You, If, You, Ah!, he, And, Ah, life, The, Look, What, It, They, They\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-849-008-02-f7790551", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"No, I am not staying here, but with the Blenkers, in their delicious solitude at Portsmouth. Beaufort was kind enough to send his famous trotters for me this morning, so that I might have at least a glimpse of one of Regina's garden-parties; but this evening I go back to rural life. The Blenkers, dear original beings, have hired a primitive old farm-house at Portsmouth where they gather about them representative people ...\" She drooped slightly beneath her protecting brim, and added with a faint blush: \"This week Dr. Agathon Carver is holding a series of Inner Thought meetings there. A contrast indeed to this gay scene of worldly pleasure--but then I have always lived on contrasts! To me the only death is monotony. I always say to Ellen: Beware of monotony; it's the mother of all the deadly sins. But my poor child is going through a phase of exaltation, of abhorrence of the world. You know, I suppose, that she has declined all invitations to stay at Newport, even with her grandmother Mingott? I could hardly persuade her to come with me to the Blenkers', if you will believe it! The life she leads is morbid, unnatural. Ah, if she had only listened to me when it was still possible ... When the door was still open ... But shall we go down and watch this absorbing match? I hear your May is one of the competitors.\"\nStrolling toward them from the tent Beaufort advanced over the lawn, tall, heavy, too tightly buttoned into a London frock-coat, with one of his own orchids in its buttonhole. Archer, who had not seen him for two or three months, was struck by the change in his appearance. In the hot summer light his floridness seemed heavy and bloated, and but for his erect square-shouldered walk he would have looked like an over-fed and over-dressed old man.\nThere were all sorts of rumours afloat about Beaufort. In the spring he had gone off on a long cruise to the West Indies in his new steam-yacht, and it was reported that, at various points where he had touched, a lady resembling Miss Fanny Ring had been seen in his company. The steam-yacht, built in the Clyde, and fitted with tiled bath-rooms and other unheard-of luxuries, was said to have cost him half a million; and the pearl necklace which he had presented to his wife on his return was as magnificent as such expiatory offerings are apt to be. Beaufort's fortune was substantial enough to stand the strain; and yet the disquieting rumours persisted, not only in Fifth Avenue but in Wall Street. Some people said he had speculated unfortunately in railways, others that he was being bled by one of the most insatiable members of her profession; and to every report of threatened insolvency Beaufort replied by a fresh extravagance: the building of a new row of orchid-houses, the purchase of a new string of race-horses, or the addition of a new Meissonnier or Cabanel to his picture-gallery.\nHe advanced toward the Marchioness and Newland with his usual half-sneering smile. \"Hullo, Medora! Did the trotters do their business? Forty minutes, eh? ... Well, that's not so bad, considering your nerves had to be spared.\" He shook hands with Archer, and then, turning back with them, placed himself on Mrs. Manson's other side, and said, in a low voice, a few words which their companion did not catch.\nThe Marchioness replied by one of her queer foreign jerks, and a \"Que voulez-vous?\" which deepened Beaufort's frown; but he produced a good semblance of a congratulatory smile as he glanced at Archer to say: \"You know May's going to carry off the first prize.\"\n\"Ah, then it remains in the family,\" Medora rippled; and at that moment they reached the tent and Mrs. Beaufort met them in a girlish cloud of mauve muslin and floating veils.\nMay Welland was just coming out of the tent. In her white dress, with a pale green ribbon about the waist and a wreath of ivy on her hat, she had the same Diana-like aloofness as when she had entered the Beaufort ball-room on the night of her engagement. In the interval not a thought seemed to have passed behind her eyes or a feeling through her heart; and though her husband knew that she had the capacity for both he marvelled afresh at the way in which experience dropped away from her.\nShe had her bow and arrow in her hand, and placing herself on the chalk-mark traced on the turf she lifted the bow to her shoulder and took aim. The attitude was so full of a classic grace that a murmur of appreciation followed her appearance, and Archer felt the glow of proprietorship that so often cheated him into momentary well-being. Her rivals--Mrs. Reggie Chivers, the Merry girls, and divers rosy Thorleys, Dagonets and Mingotts, stood behind her in a lovely anxious group, brown heads and golden bent above the scores, and pale muslins and flower-wreathed hats mingled in a tender rainbow. All were young and pretty, and bathed in summer bloom; but not one had the nymph-like ease of his wife, when, with tense muscles and happy frown, she bent her soul upon some feat of strength.\n\"Gad,\" Archer heard Lawrence Lefferts say, \"not one of the lot holds the bow as she does\"; and Beaufort retorted: \"Yes; but that's the only kind of target she'll ever hit.\"\nArcher felt irrationally angry. His host's contemptuous tribute to May's \"niceness\" was just what a husband should have wished to hear said of his wife. The fact that a coarse-minded man found her lacking in attraction was simply another proof of her quality; yet the words sent a faint shiver through his heart. What if \"niceness\" carried to that supreme degree were only a negation, the curtain dropped before an emptiness? As he looked at May, returning flushed and calm from her final bull's-eye, he had the feeling that he had never yet lifted that curtain.\nShe took the congratulations of her rivals and of the rest of the company with the simplicity that was her crowning grace. No one could ever be jealous of her triumphs because she managed to give the feeling that she would have been just as serene if she had missed them. But when her eyes met her husband's her face glowed with the pleasure she saw in his.\nMrs. Welland's basket-work pony-carriage was waiting for them, and they drove off among the dispersing carriages, May handling the reins and Archer sitting at her side.\nThe afternoon sunlight still lingered upon the bright lawns and shrubberies, and up and down Bellevue Avenue rolled a double line of victorias, dog-carts, landaus and \"vis-à-vis,\" carrying well-dressed ladies and gentlemen away from the Beaufort garden-party, or homeward from their daily afternoon turn along the Ocean Drive.\n\"Shall we go to see Granny?\" May suddenly proposed. \"I should like to tell her myself that I've won the prize. There's lots of time before dinner.\"\nArcher acquiesced, and she turned the ponies down Narragansett Avenue, crossed Spring Street and drove out toward the rocky moorland beyond. In this unfashionable region Catherine the Great, always indifferent to precedent and thrifty of purse, had built herself in her youth a many-peaked and cross-beamed cottage-orné on a bit of cheap land overlooking the bay. Here, in a thicket of stunted oaks, her verandahs spread themselves above the island-dotted waters. A winding drive led up between iron stags and blue glass balls embedded in mounds of geraniums to a front door of highly-varnished walnut under a striped verandah-roof; and behind it ran a narrow hall with a black and yellow star-patterned parquet floor, upon which opened four small square rooms with heavy flock-papers under ceilings on which an Italian house-painter had lavished all the divinities of Olympus. One of these rooms had been turned into a bedroom by Mrs. Mingott when the burden of flesh descended on her, and in the adjoining one she spent her days, enthroned in a large armchair between the open door and window, and perpetually waving a palm-leaf fan which the prodigious projection of her bosom kept so far from the rest of her person that the air it set in motion stirred only the fringe of the anti-macassars on the chair-arms.", "chosen": "58", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n58\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-541-010-01-c4c24910", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nEthan let out his doubts in a low whistle and thrust the bottle back into his pocket. \"Don't fret; I'll come down and mend it in the night,\" he said. He pulled on his wet coat again and went back to the barn to feed the greys.\nWhile he was there Jotham Powell drove up with the sleigh, and when the horses had been attended to Ethan said to him: \"You might as well come back up for a bite.\" He was not sorry to assure himself of Jotham's neutralising presence at the supper table, for Zeena was always \"nervous\" after a journey. But the hired man, though seldom loth to accept a meal not included in his wages, opened his stiff jaws to answer slowly: \"I'm obliged to you, but I guess I'll go along back.\"\nEthan looked at him in surprise. \"Better come up and dry off. Looks as if there'd be something hot for supper.\"\nJotham's facial muscles were unmoved by this appeal and, his vocabulary being limited, he merely repeated: \"I guess I'll go along back.\"\nTo Ethan there was something vaguely ominous in this stolid rejection of free food and warmth, and he wondered what had happened on the drive to nerve Jotham to such stoicism. Perhaps Zeena had failed to see the new doctor or had not liked his counsels: Ethan knew that in such cases the first person she met was likely to be held responsible for her grievance.\nWhen he re-entered the kitchen the lamp lit up the same scene of shining comfort as on the previous evening. The table had been as carefully laid, a clear fire glowed in the stove, the cat dozed in its warmth, and Mattie came forward carrying a plate of dough-nuts.\nShe and Ethan looked at each other in silence; then she said, as she had said the night before: \"I guess it's about time for supper.\"", "chosen": "Looks as if there'd be something hot for supper.\"\nJotham's facial muscles were unmoved by this appeal and, his vocabulary being limited, he merely repeated: \"I guess I'll go along back.\"\nTo Ethan there was something vaguely ominous in this stolid rejection of free food and warmth, and he wondered what had happened on the drive to nerve Jotham to such stoicism.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nLooks as if there'd be something hot for supper.\"\nJotham's facial muscles were unmoved by this appeal and, his vocabulary being limited, he merely repeated: \"I guess I'll go along back.\"\nTo Ethan there was something vaguely ominous in this stolid rejection of free food and warmth, and he wondered what had happened on the drive to nerve Jotham to such stoicism.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-4517-007-01-604af1ed", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Oh, God—oh, God,\" he groaned. The glow of passion he had felt for her had melted to an aching tenderness. He saw her quick lids beating back the tears, and longed to take her in his arms and soothe her.\n\"You're letting your supper get cold,\" she admonished him with a pale gleam of gaiety.\n\"Oh, Matt—Matt—where'll you go to?\"\nHer lids sank and a tremor crossed her face. He saw that for the first time the thought of the future came to her distinctly. \"I might get something to do over at Stamford,\" she faltered, as if knowing that he knew she had no hope.\nHe dropped back into his seat and hid his face in his hands. Despair seized him at the thought of her setting out alone to renew the weary quest for work. In the only place where she was known she was surrounded by indifference or animosity; and what chance had she, inexperienced and untrained, among the million bread-seekers of the cities? There came back to him miserable tales he had heard at Worcester, and the faces of girls whose lives had begun as hopefully as Mattie's.... It was not possible to think of such things without a revolt of his whole being. He sprang up suddenly.\n\"You can't go, Matt! I won't let you! She's always had her way, but I mean to have mine now—\"\nMattie lifted her hand with a quick gesture, and he heard his wife's step behind him.\nZeena came into the room with her dragging down-at-the-heel step, and quietly took her accustomed seat between them.\n\"I felt a little mite better, and Dr. Buck says I ought to eat all I can to keep my strength up, even if I ain't got any appetite,\" she said in her flat whine, reaching across Mattie for the teapot. Her \"good\" dress had been replaced by the black calico and brown knitted shawl which formed her daily wear, and with them she had put on her usual face and manner. She poured out her tea, added a great deal of milk to it, helped herself largely to pie and pickles, and made the familiar gesture of adjusting her false teeth before she began to eat. The cat rubbed itself ingratiatingly against her, and she said \"Good Pussy,\" stooped to stroke it and gave it a scrap of meat from her plate.\nEthan sat speechless, not pretending to eat, but Mattie nibbled valiantly at her food and asked Zeena one or two questions about her visit to Bettsbridge. Zeena answered in her every-day tone and, warming to the theme, regaled them with several vivid descriptions of intestinal disturbances among her friends and relatives. She looked straight at Mattie as she spoke, a faint smile deepening the vertical lines between her nose and chin.\nWhen supper was over she rose from her seat and pressed her hand to the flat surface over the region of her heart. \"That pie of yours always sets a mite heavy, Matt,\" she said, not ill-naturedly. She seldom abbreviated the girl's name, and when she did so it was always a sign of affability.\n\"I've a good mind to go and hunt up those stomach powders I got last year over in Springfield,\" she continued. \"I ain't tried them for quite a while, and maybe they'll help the heartburn.\"\nMattie lifted her eyes. \"Can't I get them for you, Zeena?\" she ventured.\n\"No. They're in a place you don't know about,\" Zeena answered darkly, with one of her secret looks.\nShe went out of the kitchen and Mattie, rising, began to clear the dishes from the table. As she passed Ethan's chair their eyes met and clung together desolately. The warm still kitchen looked as peaceful as the night before. The cat had sprung to Zeena's rocking-chair, and the heat of the fire was beginning to draw out the faint sharp scent of the geraniums. Ethan dragged himself wearily to his feet.\n\"I'll go out and take a look around,\" he said, going toward the passage to get his lantern.\nAs he reached the door he met Zeena coming back into the room, her lips twitching with anger, a flush of excitement on her sallow face. The shawl had slipped from her shoulders and was dragging at her down-trodden heels, and in her hands she carried the fragments of the red glass pickle-dish.\n\"I'd like to know who done this,\" she said, looking sternly from Ethan to Mattie.\nThere was no answer, and she continued in a trembling voice: \"I went to get those powders I'd put away in father's old spectacle-case, top of the china-closet, where I keep the things I set store by, so's folks shan't meddle with them—\" Her voice broke, and two small tears hung on her lashless lids and ran slowly down her cheeks. \"It takes the stepladder to get at the top shelf, and I put Aunt Philura Maple's pickle-dish up there o' purpose when we was married, and it's never been down since, 'cept for the spring cleaning, and then I always lifted it with my own hands, so's 't it shouldn't get broke.\" She laid the fragments reverently on the table. \"I want to know who done this,\" she quavered.\nAt the challenge Ethan turned back into the room and faced her. \"I can tell you, then. The cat done it.\"\n\"The cat?\"\n\"That's what I said.\"\nShe looked at him hard, and then turned her eyes to Mattie, who was carrying the dish-pan to the table.\n\"I'd like to know how the cat got into my china-closet,\" she said.\n\"Chasin' mice, I guess,\" Ethan rejoined. \"There was a mouse round the kitchen all last evening.\"\nZeena continued to look from one to the other; then she emitted her small strange laugh. \"I knew the cat was a smart cat,\" she said in a high voice, \"but I didn't know he was smart enough to pick up the pieces of my pickle-dish and lay 'em edge to edge on the very shelf he knocked 'em off of.\"\nMattie suddenly drew her arms out of the steaming water. \"It wasn't Ethan's fault, Zeena! The cat did break the dish; but I got it down from the china-closet, and I'm the one to blame for its getting broken.\"\nZeena stood beside the ruin of her treasure, stiffening into a stony image of resentment, \"You got down my pickle-dish—what for?\"\nA bright flush flew to Mattie's cheeks. \"I wanted to make the supper-table pretty,\" she said.\n\"You wanted to make the supper-table pretty; and you waited till my back was turned, and took the thing I set most store by of anything I've got, and wouldn't never use it, not even when the minister come to dinner, or Aunt Martha Pierce come over from Bettsbridge—\" Zeena paused with a gasp, as if terrified by her own evocation of the sacrilege. \"You're a bad girl, Mattie Silver, and I always known it. It's the way your father begun, and I was warned of it when I took you, and I tried to keep my things where you couldn't get at 'em—and now you've took from me the one I cared for most of all—\" She broke off in a short spasm of sobs that passed and left her more than ever like a shape of stone.\n\"If I'd 'a' listened to folks, you'd 'a' gone before now, and this wouldn't 'a' happened,\" she said; and gathering up the bits of broken glass she went out of the room as if she carried a dead body....", "chosen": "[\"Oh, God\\u2014oh, God,\", \"You're letting your supper get cold,\", \"Oh, Matt\\u2014Matt\\u2014where'll you go to?\", \"I might get something to do over at Stamford,\", \"You can't go, Matt! I won't let you! She's always had her way, but I mean to have mine now\\u2014\", \"I felt a little mite better, and Dr. Buck says I ought to eat all I can to keep my strength up, even if I ain't got any appetite,\", \"good\", \"Good Pussy,\", \"That pie of yours always sets a mite heavy, Matt,\", \"I've a good mind to go and hunt up those stomach powders I got last year over in Springfield,\", \"I ain't tried them for quite a while, and maybe they'll help the heartburn.\", \"Can't I get them for you, Zeena?\", \"No. They're in a place you don't know about,\", \"I'll go out and take a look around,\", \"I'd like to know who done this,\", \"I went to get those powders I'd put away in father's old spectacle-case, top of the china-closet, where I keep the things I set store by, so's folks shan't meddle with them\\u2014\", \" She laid the fragments reverently on the table. \", \" she quavered.\\nAt the challenge Ethan turned back into the room and faced her. \", \"The cat?\", \"That's what I said.\", \"I'd like to know how the cat got into my china-closet,\", \"Chasin' mice, I guess,\", \"There was a mouse round the kitchen all last evening.\", \"I knew the cat was a smart cat,\", \"but I didn't know he was smart enough to pick up the pieces of my pickle-dish and lay 'em edge to edge on the very shelf he knocked 'em off of.\", \"It wasn't Ethan's fault, Zeena! The cat did break the dish; but I got it down from the china-closet, and I'm the one to blame for its getting broken.\", \"You got down my pickle-dish\\u2014what for?\", \"I wanted to make the supper-table pretty,\", \" Zeena paused with a gasp, as if terrified by her own evocation of the sacrilege. \", \" She broke off in a short spasm of sobs that passed and left her more than ever like a shape of stone.\\n\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Oh, God\\u2014oh, God,\", \"You're letting your supper get cold,\", \"Oh, Matt\\u2014Matt\\u2014where'll you go to?\", \"I might get something to do over at Stamford,\", \"You can't go, Matt! I won't let you! She's always had her way, but I mean to have mine now\\u2014\", \"I felt a little mite better, and Dr. Buck says I ought to eat all I can to keep my strength up, even if I ain't got any appetite,\", \"good\", \"Good Pussy,\", \"That pie of yours always sets a mite heavy, Matt,\", \"I've a good mind to go and hunt up those stomach powders I got last year over in Springfield,\", \"I ain't tried them for quite a while, and maybe they'll help the heartburn.\", \"Can't I get them for you, Zeena?\", \"No. They're in a place you don't know about,\", \"I'll go out and take a look around,\", \"I'd like to know who done this,\", \"I went to get those powders I'd put away in father's old spectacle-case, top of the china-closet, where I keep the things I set store by, so's folks shan't meddle with them\\u2014\", \" She laid the fragments reverently on the table. \", \" she quavered.\\nAt the challenge Ethan turned back into the room and faced her. \", \"The cat?\", \"That's what I said.\", \"I'd like to know how the cat got into my china-closet,\", \"Chasin' mice, I guess,\", \"There was a mouse round the kitchen all last evening.\", \"I knew the cat was a smart cat,\", \"but I didn't know he was smart enough to pick up the pieces of my pickle-dish and lay 'em edge to edge on the very shelf he knocked 'em off of.\", \"It wasn't Ethan's fault, Zeena! The cat did break the dish; but I got it down from the china-closet, and I'm the one to blame for its getting broken.\", \"You got down my pickle-dish\\u2014what for?\", \"I wanted to make the supper-table pretty,\", \" Zeena paused with a gasp, as if terrified by her own evocation of the sacrilege. \", \" She broke off in a short spasm of sobs that passed and left her more than ever like a shape of stone.\\n\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-4517-008-02-10ff3ff2", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIt was a warm, bright day at the end of August. The interview with the elder had been fixed for half-past eleven, immediately after late mass. Our visitors did not take part in the service, but arrived just as it was over. First an elegant open carriage, drawn by two valuable horses, drove up with Miüsov and a distant relative of his, a young man of twenty, called Pyotr Fomitch Kalganov. This young man was preparing to enter the university. Miüsov, with whom he was staying for the time, was trying to persuade him to go abroad to the university of Zurich or Jena. The young man was still undecided. He was thoughtful and absent-minded. He was nice-looking, strongly built, and rather tall. There was a strange fixity in his gaze at times. Like all very absent-minded people he would sometimes stare at a person without seeing him. He was silent and rather awkward, but sometimes, when he was alone with any one, he became talkative and effusive, and would laugh at anything or nothing. But his animation vanished as quickly as it appeared. He was always well and even elaborately dressed; he had already some independent fortune and expectations of much more. He was a friend of Alyosha's.\nIn an ancient, jolting, but roomy, hired carriage, with a pair of old pinkish-gray horses, a long way behind Miüsov's carriage, came Fyodor Pavlovitch, with his son Ivan. Dmitri was late, though he had been informed of the time the evening before. The visitors left their carriage at the hotel, outside the precincts, and went to the gates of the monastery on foot. Except Fyodor Pavlovitch, none of the party had ever seen the monastery, and Miüsov had probably not even been to church for thirty years. He looked about him with curiosity, together with assumed ease. But, except the church and the domestic buildings, though these too were ordinary enough, he found nothing of interest in the interior of the monastery. The last of the worshippers were coming out of the church, bareheaded and crossing themselves. Among the humbler people were a few of higher rank—two or three ladies and a very old general. They were all staying at the hotel. Our visitors were at once surrounded by beggars, but none of them gave them anything, except young Kalganov, who took a ten-copeck piece out of his purse, and, nervous and embarrassed—God knows why!—hurriedly gave it to an old woman, saying: \"Divide it equally.\" None of his companions made any remark upon it, so that he had no reason to be embarrassed; but, perceiving this, he was even more overcome.\nIt was strange that their arrival did not seem expected, and that they were not received with special honor, though one of them had recently made a donation of a thousand roubles, while another was a very wealthy and highly cultured landowner, upon whom all in the monastery were in a sense dependent, as a decision of the lawsuit might at any moment put their fishing rights in his hands. Yet no official personage met them.\nMiüsov looked absent-mindedly at the tombstones round the church, and was on the point of saying that the dead buried here must have paid a pretty penny for the right of lying in this \"holy place,\" but refrained. His liberal irony was rapidly changing almost into anger.\n\"Who the devil is there to ask in this imbecile place? We must find out, for time is passing,\" he observed suddenly, as though speaking to himself.\nAll at once there came up a bald-headed, elderly man with ingratiating little eyes, wearing a full, summer overcoat. Lifting his hat, he introduced himself with a honeyed lisp as Maximov, a landowner of Tula. He at once entered into our visitors' difficulty.\n\"Father Zossima lives in the hermitage, apart, four hundred paces from the monastery, the other side of the copse.\"\n\"I know it's the other side of the copse,\" observed Fyodor Pavlovitch, \"but we don't remember the way. It is a long time since we've been here.\"\n\"This way, by this gate, and straight across the copse ... the copse. Come with me, won't you? I'll show you. I have to go.... I am going myself. This way, this way.\"\nThey came out of the gate and turned towards the copse. Maximov, a man of sixty, ran rather than walked, turning sideways to stare at them all, with an incredible degree of nervous curiosity. His eyes looked starting out of his head.\n\"You see, we have come to the elder upon business of our own,\" observed Miüsov severely. \"That personage has granted us an audience, so to speak, and so, though we thank you for showing us the way, we cannot ask you to accompany us.\"\n\"I've been there. I've been already; un chevalier parfait,\" and Maximov snapped his fingers in the air.\n\"Who is a chevalier?\" asked Miüsov.\n\"The elder, the splendid elder, the elder! The honor and glory of the monastery, Zossima. Such an elder!\"\nBut his incoherent talk was cut short by a very pale, wan-looking monk of medium height, wearing a monk's cap, who overtook them. Fyodor Pavlovitch and Miüsov stopped.\nThe monk, with an extremely courteous, profound bow, announced:\n\"The Father Superior invites all of you gentlemen to dine with him after your visit to the hermitage. At one o'clock, not later. And you also,\" he added, addressing Maximov.\n\"That I certainly will, without fail,\" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, hugely delighted at the invitation. \"And, believe me, we've all given our word to behave properly here.... And you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, will you go, too?\"\n\"Yes, of course. What have I come for but to study all the customs here? The only obstacle to me is your company....\"\n\"Yes, Dmitri Fyodorovitch is non-existent as yet.\"\n\"It would be a capital thing if he didn't turn up. Do you suppose I like all this business, and in your company, too? So we will come to dinner. Thank the Father Superior,\" he said to the monk.\n\"No, it is my duty now to conduct you to the elder,\" answered the monk.\n\"If so I'll go straight to the Father Superior—to the Father Superior,\" babbled Maximov.\n\"The Father Superior is engaged just now. But as you please—\" the monk hesitated.\n\"Impertinent old man!\" Miüsov observed aloud, while Maximov ran back to the monastery.\n\"He's like von Sohn,\" Fyodor Pavlovitch said suddenly.\n\"Is that all you can think of?... In what way is he like von Sohn? Have you ever seen von Sohn?\"\n\"I've seen his portrait. It's not the features, but something indefinable. He's a second von Sohn. I can always tell from the physiognomy.\"\n\"Ah, I dare say you are a connoisseur in that. But, look here, Fyodor Pavlovitch, you said just now that we had given our word to behave properly. Remember it. I advise you to control yourself. But, if you begin to play the fool I don't intend to be associated with you here.... You see what a man he is\"—he turned to the monk—\"I'm afraid to go among decent people with him.\" A fine smile, not without a certain slyness, came on to the pale, bloodless lips of the monk, but he made no reply, and was evidently silent from a sense of his own dignity. Miüsov frowned more than ever.\n\"Oh, devil take them all! An outer show elaborated through centuries, and nothing but charlatanism and nonsense underneath,\" flashed through Miüsov's mind.\n\"Here's the hermitage. We've arrived,\" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch. \"The gates are shut.\"\nAnd he repeatedly made the sign of the cross to the saints painted above and on the sides of the gates.\n\"When you go to Rome you must do as the Romans do. Here in this hermitage there are twenty-five saints being saved. They look at one another, and eat cabbages. And not one woman goes in at this gate. That's what is remarkable. And that really is so. But I did hear that the elder receives ladies,\" he remarked suddenly to the monk.", "chosen": "monk", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nmonk\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-006-00-5753c62d", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Man, man!\" returned Carton, stamping his foot; \"have I sworn by no solemn vow already, to go through with this, that you waste the precious moments now? Take him yourself to the courtyard you know of, place him yourself in the carriage, show him yourself to Mr. Lorry, tell him yourself to give him no restorative but air, and to remember my words of last night, and his promise of last night, and drive away!\"\nThe Spy withdrew, and Carton seated himself at the table, resting his forehead on his hands. The Spy returned immediately, with two men.\n\"How, then?\" said one of them, contemplating the fallen figure. \"So afflicted to find that his friend has drawn a prize in the lottery of Sainte Guillotine?\"\n\"A good patriot,\" said the other, \"could hardly have been more afflicted if the Aristocrat had drawn a blank.\"\nThey raised the unconscious figure, placed it on a litter they had brought to the door, and bent to carry it away.\n\"The time is short, Evrémonde,\" said the Spy, in a warning voice.\n\"I know it well,\" answered Carton. \"Be careful of my friend, I entreat you, and leave me.\"\n\"Come, then, my children,\" said Barsad. \"Lift him, and come away!\"\nThe door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote suspicion or alarm. There was none. Keys turned, doors clashed, footsteps passed along distant passages: no cry was raised, or hurry made, that seemed unusual. Breathing more freely in a little while, he sat down at the table, and listened again until the clock struck Two.\nSounds that he was not afraid of, for he divined their meaning, then began to be audible. Several doors were opened in succession, and finally his own. A gaoler, with a list in his hand, looked in, merely saying, \"Follow me, Evrémonde!\" and he followed into a large dark room, at a distance. It was a dark winter day, and what with the shadows within, and what with the shadows without, he could but dimly discern the others who were brought there to have their arms bound. Some were standing; some seated. Some were lamenting, and in restless motion; but, these were few. The great majority were silent and still, looking fixedly at the ground.\nAs he stood by the wall in a dim corner, while some of the fifty-two were brought in after him, one man stopped in passing, to embrace him, as having a knowledge of him. It thrilled him with a great dread of discovery; but the man went on. A very few moments after that, a young woman, with a slight girlish form, a sweet spare face in which there was no vestige of colour, and large widely opened patient eyes, rose from the seat where he had observed her sitting, and came to speak to him.\n\"Citizen Evrémonde,\" she said, touching him with her cold hand. \"I am a poor little seamstress, who was with you in La Force.\"\nHe murmured for answer: \"True. I forget what you were accused of?\"\n\"Plots. Though the just Heaven knows that I am innocent of any. Is it likely? Who would think of plotting with a poor little weak creature like me?\"\nThe forlorn smile with which she said it, so touched him, that tears started from his eyes.\n\"I am not afraid to die, Citizen Evrémonde, but I have done nothing. I am not unwilling to die, if the Republic which is to do so much good to us poor, will profit by my death; but I do not know how that can be, Citizen Evrémonde. Such a poor weak little creature!\"\nAs the last thing on earth that his heart was to warm and soften to, it warmed and softened to this pitiable girl.\n\"I heard you were released, Citizen Evrémonde. I hoped it was true?\"\n\"It was. But, I was again taken and condemned.\"\n\"If I may ride with you, Citizen Evrémonde, will you let me hold your hand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give me more courage.\"\nAs the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in them, and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn young fingers, and touched his lips.\n\"Are you dying for him?\" she whispered.\n\"And his wife and child. Hush! Yes.\"\n\"O you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?\"\n\"Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last.\"\nThe same shadows that are falling on the prison, are falling, in that same hour of the early afternoon, on the Barrier with the crowd about it, when a coach going out of Paris drives up to be examined.\n\"Who goes here? Whom have we within? Papers!\"\nThe papers are handed out, and read.\n\"Alexandre Manette. Physician. French. Which is he?\"\nThis is he; this helpless, inarticulately murmuring, wandering old man pointed out.\n\"Apparently the Citizen-Doctor is not in his right mind? The Revolution-fever will have been too much for him?\"\nGreatly too much for him.\n\"Hah! Many suffer with it. Lucie. His daughter. French. Which is she?\"\nThis is she.\n\"Apparently it must be. Lucie, the wife of Evrémonde; is it not?\"\nIt is.\n\"Hah! Evrémonde has an assignation elsewhere. Lucie, her child. English. This is she?\"\nShe and no other.\n\"Kiss me, child of Evrémonde. Now, thou hast kissed a good Republican; something new in thy family; remember it! Sydney Carton. Advocate. English. Which is he?\"\nHe lies here, in this corner of the carriage. He, too, is pointed out.\n\"Apparently the English advocate is in a swoon?\"\nIt is hoped he will recover in the fresher air. It is represented that he is not in strong health, and has separated sadly from a friend who is under the displeasure of the Republic.\n\"Is that all? It is not a great deal, that! Many are under the displeasure of the Republic, and must look out at the little window. Jarvis Lorry. Banker. English. Which is he?\"\n\"I am he. Necessarily, being the last.\"\nIt is Jarvis Lorry who has replied to all the previous questions. It is Jarvis Lorry who has alighted and stands with his hand on the coach door, replying to a group of officials. They leisurely walk round the carriage and leisurely mount the box, to look at what little luggage it carries on the roof; the country-people hanging about, press nearer to the coach doors and greedily stare in; a little child, carried by its mother, has its short arm held out for it, that it may touch the wife of an aristocrat who has gone to the Guillotine.\n\"Behold your papers, Jarvis Lorry, countersigned.\"\n\"One can depart, citizen?\"\n\"One can depart. Forward, my postilions! A good journey!\"\n\"I salute you, citizens.--And the first danger passed!\"\nThese are again the words of Jarvis Lorry, as he clasps his hands, and looks upward. There is terror in the carriage, there is weeping, there is the heavy breathing of the insensible traveller.\n\"Are we not going too slowly? Can they not be induced to go faster?\" asks Lucie, clinging to the old man.\n\"It would seem like flight, my darling. I must not urge them too much; it would rouse suspicion.\"\n\"Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued!\"\n\"The road is clear, my dearest. So far, we are not pursued.\"\nHouses in twos and threes pass by us, solitary farms, ruinous buildings, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, open country, avenues of leafless trees. The hard uneven pavement is under us, the soft deep mud is on either side. Sometimes, we strike into the skirting mud, to avoid the stones that clatter us and shake us; sometimes, we stick in ruts and sloughs there. The agony of our impatience is then so great, that in our wild alarm and hurry we are for getting out and running--hiding--doing anything but stopping.\nOut of the open country, in again among ruinous buildings, solitary farms, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, cottages in twos and threes, avenues of leafless trees. Have these men deceived us, and taken us back by another road? Is not this the same place twice over? Thank Heaven, no. A village. Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued! Hush! the posting-house.", "chosen": "[\"Man\", \"Carton\", \"Spy\", \"Sainte\", \"Guillotine\", \"Aristocrat\", \"Evr\", \"Come\", \"Barsad\", \"Lift\", \"Two\", \"Follow\", \"Citizen\", \"Force\", \"True\", \"Plots\", \"Heaven\", \"Republic\", \"Are\", \"Hush\", \"Barrier\", \"Paris\", \"Alexandre\", \"Manette\", \"Apparently\", \"Revolution\", \"Hah\", \"Kiss\", \"Republican\", \"English\", \"Lorry\", \"Jarvis\", \"Behold\", \"One\", \"Lucie\", \"Look\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Man\", \"Carton\", \"Spy\", \"Sainte\", \"Guillotine\", \"Aristocrat\", \"Evr\", \"Come\", \"Barsad\", \"Lift\", \"Two\", \"Follow\", \"Citizen\", \"Force\", \"True\", \"Plots\", \"Heaven\", \"Republic\", \"Are\", \"Hush\", \"Barrier\", \"Paris\", \"Alexandre\", \"Manette\", \"Apparently\", \"Revolution\", \"Hah\", \"Kiss\", \"Republican\", \"English\", \"Lorry\", \"Jarvis\", \"Behold\", \"One\", \"Lucie\", \"Look\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-98-043-02-12cf49ec", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nBut he seemed inclined to push the affair to a clear conclusion now that he had commenced. After the lapse of another day or two he proceeded to fulfil his promise to the rector, and advertised for the missing woman in three of the London papers. The advertisement was a carefully considered and even attractive effusion, calculated to win the heart, or at least the understanding, of any woman who had a spark of her own nature left in her.\nThere was no answer.\nThree days later he repeated the experiment; with the same result as before.\n'I cannot try any further,' said Manston speciously to the rector, his sole auditor throughout the proceedings. 'Mr. Raunham, I'll tell you the truth plainly: I don't love her; I do love Cytherea, and the whole of this business of searching for the other woman goes altogether against me. I hope to God I shall never see her again.'\n'But you will do your duty at least?' said Mr. Raunham.\n'I have done it,' said Manston. 'If ever a man on the face of this earth has done his duty towards an absent wife, I have towards her--living or dead--at least,' he added, correcting himself, 'since I have lived at Knapwater. I neglected her before that time--I own that, as I have owned it before.'\n'I should, if I were you, adopt other means to get tidings of her if advertising fails, in spite of my feelings,' said the rector emphatically. 'But at any rate, try advertising once more. There's a satisfaction in having made any attempt three several times.'\nWhen Manston had left the study, the rector stood looking at the fire for a considerable length of time, lost in profound reflection. He went to his private diary, and after many pauses, which he varied only by dipping his pen, letting it dry, wiping it on his sleeve, and then dipping it again, he took the following note of events:--\n'January 25.--Mr. Manston has just seen me for the third time on the subject of his lost wife. There have been these peculiarities attending the three interviews:--\n'The first. My visitor, whilst expressing by words his great anxiety to do everything for her recovery, showed plainly by his bearing that he was convinced he should never see her again.\n'The second. He had left off feigning anxiety to do rightly by his first wife, and honestly asked after Cytherea's welfare.\n'The third (and most remarkable). He seemed to have lost all consistency. Whilst expressing his love for Cytherea (which certainly is strong) and evincing the usual indifference to the first Mrs. Manston's fate, he was unable to conceal the intensity of his eagerness for me to advise him to advertise again for her.'\nA week after the second, the third advertisement was inserted. A paragraph was attached, which stated that this would be the last time the announcement would appear.\n3. THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY\nAt this, the eleventh hour, the postman brought a letter for Manston, directed in a woman's hand.\nA bachelor friend of the steward's, Mr. Dickson by name, who was somewhat of a chatterer--plenus rimarum--and who boasted of an endless string of acquaintances, had come over from Casterbridge the preceding day by invitation--an invitation which had been a pleasant surprise to Dickson himself, insomuch that Manston, as a rule, voted him a bore almost to his face. He had stayed over the night, and was sitting at breakfast with his host when the important missive arrived.\nManston did not attempt to conceal the subject of the letter, or the name of the writer. First glancing the pages through, he read aloud as follows:--\n'\"MY HUSBAND,--I implore your forgiveness.\n'\"During the last thirteen months I have repeated to myself a hundred times that you should never discover what I voluntarily tell you now, namely, that I am alive and in perfect health.\n'\"I have seen all your advertisements. Nothing but your persistence has won me round. Surely, I thought, he must love me still. Why else should he try to win back a woman who, faithful unto death as she will be, can, in a social sense, aid him towards acquiring nothing?--rather the reverse, indeed.\n'\"You yourself state my own mind--that the only grounds upon which we can meet and live together, with a reasonable hope of happiness, must be a mutual consent to bury in oblivion all past differences. I heartily and willingly forget everything--and forgive everything. You will do the same, as your actions show.\n'\"There will be plenty of opportunity for me to explain the few facts relating to my escape on the night of the fire. I will only give the heads in this hurried note. I was grieved at your not coming to fetch me, more grieved at your absence from the station, most of all by your absence from home. On my journey to the inn I writhed under a passionate sense of wrong done me. When I had been shown to my room I waited and hoped for you till the landlord had gone upstairs to bed. I still found that you did not come, and then I finally made up my mind to leave. I had half undressed, but I put on my things again, forgetting my watch (and I suppose dropping my keys, though I am not sure where) in my hurry, and slipped out of the house. The--\"'\n'Well, that's a rum story,' said Mr. Dickson, interrupting.\n'What's a rum story?' said Manston hastily, and flushing in the face.\n'Forgetting her watch and dropping her keys in her hurry.'\n'I don't see anything particularly wonderful in it. Any woman might do such a thing.'\n'Any woman might if escaping from fire or shipwreck, or any such immediate danger. But it seems incomprehensible to me that any woman in her senses, who quietly decides to leave a house, should be so forgetful.'\n'All that is required to reconcile your seeming with her facts is to assume that she was not in her senses, for that's what she did plainly, or how could the things have been found there? Besides, she's truthful enough.' He spoke eagerly and peremptorily.\n'Yes, yes, I know that. I merely meant that it seemed rather odd.'\n'O yes.' Manston read on:--\n'\"--and slipped out of the house. The rubbish-heap was burning up brightly, but the thought that the house was in danger did not strike me; I did not consider that it might be thatched.\n'\"I idled in the lane behind the wood till the last down-train had come in, not being in a mood to face strangers. Whilst I was there the fire broke out, and this perplexed me still more. However, I was still determined not to stay in the place. I went to the railway-station, which was now quiet, and inquired of the solitary man on duty there concerning the trains. It was not till I had left the man that I saw the effect the fire might have on my history. I considered also, though not in any detailed manner, that the event, by attracting the attention of the village to my former abode, might set people on my track should they doubt my death, and a sudden dread of having to go back again to Knapwater--a place which had seemed inimical to me from first to last--prompted me to run back and bribe the porter to secrecy. I then walked on to Anglebury, lingering about the outskirts of the town till the morning train came in, when I proceeded by it to London, and then took these lodgings, where I have been supporting myself ever since by needlework, endeavouring to save enough money to pay my passage home to America, but making melancholy progress in my attempt. However, all that is changed--can I be otherwise than happy at it? Of course not. I am happy. Tell me what I am to do, and believe me still to be your faithful wife, EUNICE.\n'\"My name here is (as before)\n'\"MRS. RONDLEY, and my address, 79 ADDINGTON STREET, LAMBETH.'\"\nThe name and address were written on a separate slip of paper.", "chosen": "But, After, The, There, Three, I, Mr., Raunham,, I, Raunham., I, If, I, But, There's, He, Manston, There, My, The, He, The, He, Whilst, Manston's, A, 3., THE, A, Dickson, He, Manston, First, During, I, Nothing, Surely,, Why, You, I, You, There, I, I, On, When, I, I, The--\"', Dickson,, What's, Forgetting, Any, But, Besides,, Yes,, I, The, I, Whilst, However,, I, It, I, I, However,, Of, I, Tell, My, RONDLEY,", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nBut, After, The, There, Three, I, Mr., Raunham,, I, Raunham., I, If, I, But, There's, He, Manston, There, My, The, He, The, He, Whilst, Manston's, A, 3., THE, A, Dickson, He, Manston, First, During, I, Nothing, Surely,, Why, You, I, You, There, I, I, On, When, I, I, The--\"', Dickson,, What's, Forgetting, Any, But, Besides,, Yes,, I, The, I, Whilst, However,, I, It, I, I, However,, Of, I, Tell, My, RONDLEY,\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-3044-009-01-ba4249a3", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe Minor Canon props him by the elbow with a strong hand (in a strictly scientific manner, worthy of his morning trainings), and turns him into his own little book-room, and shuts the door.\n\"I have begun ill, sir. I have begun dreadfully ill.\"\n\"Too true. You are not sober, Mr. Neville.\"\n\"I am afraid I am not, sir, though I can satisfy you at another time that I have had a very little indeed to drink, and that it overcame me in the strangest and most sudden manner.\"\n\"Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville,\" says the Minor Canon, shaking his head with a sorrowful smile; \"I have heard that said before.\"\n\"I think—my mind is much confused, but I think—it is equally true of Mr. Jasper's nephew, sir.\"\n\"Very likely,\" is the dry rejoinder.\n\"We quarrelled, sir. He insulted me most grossly. He had heated that tigerish blood I told you of to-day, before then.\"\n\"Mr. Neville,\" rejoins the Minor Canon, mildly, but firmly: \"I request you not to speak to me with that clenched right hand. Unclench it, if you please.\"\n\"He goaded me, sir,\" pursues the young man, instantly obeying, \"beyond my power of endurance. I cannot say whether or no he meant it at first, but he did it. He certainly meant it at last. In short, sir,\" with an irrepressible outburst, \"in the passion into which he lashed me, I would have cut him down if I could, and I tried to do it.\"\n\"You have clenched that hand again,\" is Mr. Crisparkle's quiet commentary.\n\"I beg your pardon, sir.\"\n\"You know your room, for I showed it you before dinner; but I will accompany you to it once more. Your arm, if you please. Softly, for the house is all a-bed.\"\nScooping his hand into the same scientific elbow-rest as before, and backing it up with the inert strength of his arm, as skilfully as a Police Expert, and with an apparent repose quite unattainable by novices, Mr. Crisparkle conducts his pupil to the pleasant and orderly old room prepared for him. Arrived there, the young man throws himself into a chair, and, flinging his arms upon his reading-table, rests his head upon them with an air of wretched self-reproach.\nThe gentle Minor Canon has had it in his thoughts to leave the room, without a word. But looking round at the door, and seeing this dejected figure, he turns back to it, touches it with a mild hand, says \"Good night!\" A sob is his only acknowledgment. He might have had many a worse; perhaps, could have had few better.\nAnother soft knock at the outer door attracts his attention as he goes down-stairs. He opens it to Mr. Jasper, holding in his hand the pupil's hat.\n\"We have had an awful scene with him,\" says Jasper, in a low voice.\n\"Has it been so bad as that?\"\n\"Murderous!\"\nMr. Crisparkle remonstrates: \"No, no, no. Do not use such strong words.\"\n\"He might have laid my dear boy dead at my feet. It is no fault of his, that he did not. But that I was, through the mercy of God, swift and strong with him, he would have cut him down on my hearth.\"\nThe phrase smites home. \"Ah!\" thinks Mr. Crisparkle, \"his own words!\"\n\"Seeing what I have seen to-night, and hearing what I have heard,\" adds Jasper, with great earnestness, \"I shall never know peace of mind when there is danger of those two coming together, with no one else to interfere. It was horrible. There is something of the tiger in his dark blood.\"\n\"Ah!\" thinks Mr. Crisparkle, \"so he said!\"\n\"You, my dear sir,\" pursues Jasper, taking his hand, \"even you, have accepted a dangerous charge.\"\n\"You need have no fear for me, Jasper,\" returns Mr. Crisparkle, with a quiet smile. \"I have none for myself.\"\n\"I have none for myself,\" returns Jasper, with an emphasis on the last pronoun, \"because I am not, nor am I in the way of being, the object of his hostility. But you may be, and my dear boy has been. Good night!\"\nMr. Crisparkle goes in, with the hat that has so easily, so almost imperceptibly, acquired the right to be hung up in his hall; hangs it up; and goes thoughtfully to bed.", "chosen": "44", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n44\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-564-008-02-907f0cd0", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"I came back by Lowick, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke, not as if with any intention to arrest her departure, but apparently from his usual tendency to say what he had said before. This fundamental principle of human speech was markedly exhibited in Mr. Brooke. \"I lunched there and saw Casaubon's library, and that kind of thing. There's a sharp air, driving. Won't you sit down, my dear? You look cold.\"\nDorothea felt quite inclined to accept the invitation. Some times, when her uncle's easy way of taking things did not happen to be exasperating, it was rather soothing. She threw off her mantle and bonnet, and sat down opposite to him, enjoying the glow, but lifting up her beautiful hands for a screen. They were not thin hands, or small hands; but powerful, feminine, maternal hands. She seemed to be holding them up in propitiation for her passionate desire to know and to think, which in the unfriendly mediums of Tipton and Freshitt had issued in crying and red eyelids.\nShe bethought herself now of the condemned criminal. \"What news have you brought about the sheep-stealer, uncle?\"\n\"What, poor Bunch?—well, it seems we can't get him off—he is to be hanged.\"\nDorothea's brow took an expression of reprobation and pity.\n\"Hanged, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke, with a quiet nod. \"Poor Romilly! he would have helped us. I knew Romilly. Casaubon didn't know Romilly. He is a little buried in books, you know, Casaubon is.\"\n\"When a man has great studies and is writing a great work, he must of course give up seeing much of the world. How can he go about making acquaintances?\"\n\"That's true. But a man mopes, you know. I have always been a bachelor too, but I have that sort of disposition that I never moped; it was my way to go about everywhere and take in everything. I never moped: but I can see that Casaubon does, you know. He wants a companion—a companion, you know.\"\n\"It would be a great honor to any one to be his companion,\" said Dorothea, energetically.\n\"You like him, eh?\" said Mr. Brooke, without showing any surprise, or other emotion. \"Well, now, I've known Casaubon ten years, ever since he came to Lowick. But I never got anything out of him—any ideas, you know. However, he is a tiptop man and may be a bishop—that kind of thing, you know, if Peel stays in. And he has a very high opinion of you, my dear.\"\nDorothea could not speak.\n\"The fact is, he has a very high opinion indeed of you. And he speaks uncommonly well—does Casaubon. He has deferred to me, you not being of age. In short, I have promised to speak to you, though I told him I thought there was not much chance. I was bound to tell him that. I said, my niece is very young, and that kind of thing. But I didn't think it necessary to go into everything. However, the long and the short of it is, that he has asked my permission to make you an offer of marriage—of marriage, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke, with his explanatory nod. \"I thought it better to tell you, my dear.\"\nNo one could have detected any anxiety in Mr. Brooke's manner, but he did really wish to know something of his niece's mind, that, if there were any need for advice, he might give it in time. What feeling he, as a magistrate who had taken in so many ideas, could make room for, was unmixedly kind. Since Dorothea did not speak immediately, he repeated, \"I thought it better to tell you, my dear.\"\n\"Thank you, uncle,\" said Dorothea, in a clear unwavering tone. \"I am very grateful to Mr. Casaubon. If he makes me an offer, I shall accept him. I admire and honor him more than any man I ever saw.\"\nMr. Brooke paused a little, and then said in a lingering low tone, \"Ah? … Well! He is a good match in some respects. But now, Chettam is a good match. And our land lies together. I shall never interfere against your wishes, my dear. People should have their own way in marriage, and that sort of thing—up to a certain point, you know. I have always said that, up to a certain point. I wish you to marry well; and I have good reason to believe that Chettam wishes to marry you. I mention it, you know.\"\n\"It is impossible that I should ever marry Sir James Chettam,\" said Dorothea. \"If he thinks of marrying me, he has made a great mistake.\"\n\"That is it, you see. One never knows. I should have thought Chettam was just the sort of man a woman would like, now.\"\n\"Pray do not mention him in that light again, uncle,\" said Dorothea, feeling some of her late irritation revive.\nMr. Brooke wondered, and felt that women were an inexhaustible subject of study, since even he at his age was not in a perfect state of scientific prediction about them. Here was a fellow like Chettam with no chance at all.\n\"Well, but Casaubon, now. There is no hurry—I mean for you. It's true, every year will tell upon him. He is over five-and-forty, you know. I should say a good seven-and-twenty years older than you. To be sure,—if you like learning and standing, and that sort of thing, we can't have everything. And his income is good—he has a handsome property independent of the Church—his income is good. Still he is not young, and I must not conceal from you, my dear, that I think his health is not over-strong. I know nothing else against him.\"\n\"I should not wish to have a husband very near my own age,\" said Dorothea, with grave decision. \"I should wish to have a husband who was above me in judgment and in all knowledge.\"\nMr. Brooke repeated his subdued, \"Ah?—I thought you had more of your own opinion than most girls. I thought you liked your own opinion—liked it, you know.\"\n\"I cannot imagine myself living without some opinions, but I should wish to have good reasons for them, and a wise man could help me to see which opinions had the best foundation, and would help me to live according to them.\"\n\"Very true. You couldn't put the thing better—couldn't put it better, beforehand, you know. But there are oddities in things,\" continued Mr. Brooke, whose conscience was really roused to do the best he could for his niece on this occasion. \"Life isn't cast in a mould—not cut out by rule and line, and that sort of thing. I never married myself, and it will be the better for you and yours. The fact is, I never loved any one well enough to put myself into a noose for them. It is a noose, you know. Temper, now. There is temper. And a husband likes to be master.\"\n\"I know that I must expect trials, uncle. Marriage is a state of higher duties. I never thought of it as mere personal ease,\" said poor Dorothea.\n\"Well, you are not fond of show, a great establishment, balls, dinners, that kind of thing. I can see that Casaubon's ways might suit you better than Chettam's. And you shall do as you like, my dear. I would not hinder Casaubon; I said so at once; for there is no knowing how anything may turn out. You have not the same tastes as every young lady; and a clergyman and scholar—who may be a bishop—that kind of thing—may suit you better than Chettam. Chettam is a good fellow, a good sound-hearted fellow, you know; but he doesn't go much into ideas. I did, when I was his age. But Casaubon's eyes, now. I think he has hurt them a little with too much reading.\"\n\"I should be all the happier, uncle, the more room there was for me to help him,\" said Dorothea, ardently.\n\"You have quite made up your mind, I see. Well, my dear, the fact is, I have a letter for you in my pocket.\" Mr. Brooke handed the letter to Dorothea, but as she rose to go away, he added, \"There is not too much hurry, my dear. Think about it, you know.\"", "chosen": "I thought you liked your own opinion—liked it, you know.\"\n\"I cannot imagine myself living without some opinions, but I should wish to have good reasons for them, and a wise man could help me to see which opinions had the best foundation, and would help me to live according to them.\"\n\"Very true.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nI thought you liked your own opinion—liked it, you know.\"\n\"I cannot imagine myself living without some opinions, but I should wish to have good reasons for them, and a wise man could help me to see which opinions had the best foundation, and would help me to live according to them.\"\n\"Very true.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-005-01-1d15f6ba", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nBut this gossip about Bulstrode spread through Middlemarch like the smell of fire. Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his information by sending a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court on a pretext of inquiring about hay, but really to gather all that could be learned about Raffles and his illness from Mrs. Abel. In this way it came to his knowledge that Mr. Garth had carried the man to Stone Court in his gig; and Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of seeing Caleb, calling at his office to ask whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it were required, and then asking him incidentally about Raffles. Caleb was betrayed into no word injurious to Bulstrode beyond the fact which he was forced to admit, that he had given up acting for him within the last week. Mr Hawley drew his inferences, and feeling convinced that Raffles had told his story to Garth, and that Garth had given up Bulstrode's affairs in consequence, said so a few hours later to Mr. Toller. The statement was passed on until it had quite lost the stamp of an inference, and was taken as information coming straight from Garth, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors.\nMr. Hawley was not slow to perceive that there was no handle for the law either in the revelations made by Raffles or in the circumstances of his death. He had himself ridden to Lowick village that he might look at the register and talk over the whole matter with Mr. Farebrother, who was not more surprised than the lawyer that an ugly secret should have come to light about Bulstrode, though he had always had justice enough in him to hinder his antipathy from turning into conclusions. But while they were talking another combination was silently going forward in Mr. Farebrother's mind, which foreshadowed what was soon to be loudly spoken of in Middlemarch as a necessary \"putting of two and two together.\" With the reasons which kept Bulstrode in dread of Raffles there flashed the thought that the dread might have something to do with his munificence towards his medical man; and though he resisted the suggestion that it had been consciously accepted in any way as a bribe, he had a foreboding that this complication of things might be of malignant effect on Lydgate's reputation. He perceived that Mr. Hawley knew nothing at present of the sudden relief from debt, and he himself was careful to glide away from all approaches towards the subject.\n\"Well,\" he said, with a deep breath, wanting to wind up the illimitable discussion of what might have been, though nothing could be legally proven, \"it is a strange story. So our mercurial Ladislaw has a queer genealogy! A high-spirited young lady and a musical Polish patriot made a likely enough stock for him to spring from, but I should never have suspected a grafting of the Jew pawnbroker. However, there's no knowing what a mixture will turn out beforehand. Some sorts of dirt serve to clarify.\"\n\"It's just what I should have expected,\" said Mr. Hawley, mounting his horse. \"Any cursed alien blood, Jew, Corsican, or Gypsy.\"\n\"I know he's one of your black sheep, Hawley. But he is really a disinterested, unworldly fellow,\" said Mr. Farebrother, smiling.\n\"Ay, ay, that is your Whiggish twist,\" said Mr. Hawley, who had been in the habit of saying apologetically that Farebrother was such a damned pleasant good-hearted fellow you would mistake him for a Tory.\nMr. Hawley rode home without thinking of Lydgate's attendance on Raffles in any other light than as a piece of evidence on the side of Bulstrode. But the news that Lydgate had all at once become able not only to get rid of the execution in his house but to pay all his debts in Middlemarch was spreading fast, gathering round it conjectures and comments which gave it new body and impetus, and soon filling the ears of other persons besides Mr. Hawley, who were not slow to see a significant relation between this sudden command of money and Bulstrode's desire to stifle the scandal of Raffles. That the money came from Bulstrode would infallibly have been guessed even if there had been no direct evidence of it; for it had beforehand entered into the gossip about Lydgate's affairs, that neither his father-in-law nor his own family would do anything for him, and direct evidence was furnished not only by a clerk at the Bank, but by innocent Mrs. Bulstrode herself, who mentioned the loan to Mrs. Plymdale, who mentioned it to her daughter-in-law of the house of Toller, who mentioned it generally. The business was felt to be so public and important that it required dinners to feed it, and many invitations were just then issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the Green Dragon to Dollop's, gathered a zest which could not be won from the question whether the Lords would throw out the Reform Bill.\nFor hardly anybody doubted that some scandalous reason or other was at the bottom of Bulstrode's liberality to Lydgate. Mr. Hawley indeed, in the first instance, invited a select party, including the two physicians, with Mr Toller and Mr. Wrench, expressly to hold a close discussion as to the probabilities of Raffles's illness, reciting to them all the particulars which had been gathered from Mrs. Abel in connection with Lydgate's certificate, that the death was due to delirium tremens; and the medical gentlemen, who all stood undisturbedly on the old paths in relation to this disease, declared that they could see nothing in these particulars which could be transformed into a positive ground of suspicion. But the moral grounds of suspicion remained: the strong motives Bulstrode clearly had for wishing to be rid of Raffles, and the fact that at this critical moment he had given Lydgate the help which he must for some time have known the need for; the disposition, moreover, to believe that Bulstrode would be unscrupulous, and the absence of any indisposition to believe that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other haughty-minded men when they have found themselves in want of money. Even if the money had been given merely to make him hold his tongue about the scandal of Bulstrode's earlier life, the fact threw an odious light on Lydgate, who had long been sneered at as making himself subservient to the banker for the sake of working himself into predominance, and discrediting the elder members of his profession. Hence, in spite of the negative as to any direct sign of guilt in relation to the death at Stone Court, Mr. Hawley's select party broke up with the sense that the affair had \"an ugly look.\"\nBut this vague conviction of indeterminable guilt, which was enough to keep up much head-shaking and biting innuendo even among substantial professional seniors, had for the general mind all the superior power of mystery over fact. Everybody liked better to conjecture how the thing was, than simply to know it; for conjecture soon became more confident than knowledge, and had a more liberal allowance for the incompatible. Even the more definite scandal concerning Bulstrode's earlier life was, for some minds, melted into the mass of mystery, as so much lively metal to be poured out in dialogue, and to take such fantastic shapes as heaven pleased.\nThis was the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs. Dollop, the spirited landlady of the Tankard in Slaughter Lane, who had often to resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to think that their reports from the outer world were of equal force with what had \"come up\" in her mind. How it had been brought to her she didn't know, but it was there before her as if it had been \"scored with the chalk on the chimney-board—\" as Bulstrode should say, \"his inside was that black as if the hairs of his head knowed the thoughts of his heart, he'd tear 'em up by the roots.\"", "chosen": "roots", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nroots\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-071-01-b293e3ad", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAs he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward was shown into the room.\n\"I am so glad I have found you, Dorian,\" he said gravely. \"I called last night, and they told me you were at the opera. Of course, I knew that was impossible. But I wish you had left word where you had really gone to. I passed a dreadful evening, half afraid that one tragedy might be followed by another. I think you might have telegraphed for me when you heard of it first. I read of it quite by chance in a late edition of The Globe that I picked up at the club. I came here at once and was miserable at not finding you. I can't tell you how heart-broken I am about the whole thing. I know what you must suffer. But where were you? Did you go down and see the girl's mother? For a moment I thought of following you there. They gave the address in the paper. Somewhere in the Euston Road, isn't it? But I was afraid of intruding upon a sorrow that I could not lighten. Poor woman! What a state she must be in! And her only child, too! What did she say about it all?\"\n\"My dear Basil, how do I know?\" murmured Dorian Gray, sipping some pale-yellow wine from a delicate, gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass and looking dreadfully bored. \"I was at the opera. You should have come on there. I met Lady Gwendolen, Harry's sister, for the first time. We were in her box. She is perfectly charming; and Patti sang divinely. Don't talk about horrid subjects. If one doesn't talk about a thing, it has never happened. It is simply expression, as Harry says, that gives reality to things. I may mention that she was not the woman's only child. There is a son, a charming fellow, I believe. But he is not on the stage. He is a sailor, or something. And now, tell me about yourself and what you are painting.\"\n\"You went to the opera?\" said Hallward, speaking very slowly and with a strained touch of pain in his voice. \"You went to the opera while Sibyl Vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging? You can talk to me of other women being charming, and of Patti singing divinely, before the girl you loved has even the quiet of a grave to sleep in? Why, man, there are horrors in store for that little white body of hers!\"\n\"Stop, Basil! I won't hear it!\" cried Dorian, leaping to his feet. \"You must not tell me about things. What is done is done. What is past is past.\"\n\"You call yesterday the past?\"\n\"What has the actual lapse of time got to do with it? It is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion. A man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure. I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.\"\n\"Dorian, this is horrible! Something has changed you completely. You look exactly the same wonderful boy who, day after day, used to come down to my studio to sit for his picture. But you were simple, natural, and affectionate then. You were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world. Now, I don't know what has come over you. You talk as if you had no heart, no pity in you. It is all Harry's influence. I see that.\"\nThe lad flushed up and, going to the window, looked out for a few moments on the green, flickering, sun-lashed garden. \"I owe a great deal to Harry, Basil,\" he said at last, \"more than I owe to you. You only taught me to be vain.\"\n\"Well, I am punished for that, Dorian—or shall be some day.\"\n\"I don't know what you mean, Basil,\" he exclaimed, turning round. \"I don't know what you want. What do you want?\"\n\"I want the Dorian Gray I used to paint,\" said the artist sadly.\n\"Basil,\" said the lad, going over to him and putting his hand on his shoulder, \"you have come too late. Yesterday, when I heard that Sibyl Vane had killed herself—\"\n\"Killed herself! Good heavens! is there no doubt about that?\" cried Hallward, looking up at him with an expression of horror.\n\"My dear Basil! Surely you don't think it was a vulgar accident? Of course she killed herself.\"\nThe elder man buried his face in his hands. \"How fearful,\" he muttered, and a shudder ran through him.\n\"No,\" said Dorian Gray, \"there is nothing fearful about it. It is one of the great romantic tragedies of the age. As a rule, people who act lead the most commonplace lives. They are good husbands, or faithful wives, or something tedious. You know what I mean—middle-class virtue and all that kind of thing. How different Sibyl was! She lived her finest tragedy. She was always a heroine. The last night she played—the night you saw her—she acted badly because she had known the reality of love. When she knew its unreality, she died, as Juliet might have died. She passed again into the sphere of art. There is something of the martyr about her. Her death has all the pathetic uselessness of martyrdom, all its wasted beauty. But, as I was saying, you must not think I have not suffered. If you had come in yesterday at a particular moment—about half-past five, perhaps, or a quarter to six—you would have found me in tears. Even Harry, who was here, who brought me the news, in fact, had no idea what I was going through. I suffered immensely. Then it passed away. I cannot repeat an emotion. No one can, except sentimentalists. And you are awfully unjust, Basil. You come down here to console me. That is charming of you. You find me consoled, and you are furious. How like a sympathetic person! You remind me of a story Harry told me about a certain philanthropist who spent twenty years of his life in trying to get some grievance redressed, or some unjust law altered—I forget exactly what it was. Finally he succeeded, and nothing could exceed his disappointment. He had absolutely nothing to do, almost died of ennui, and became a confirmed misanthrope. And besides, my dear old Basil, if you really want to console me, teach me rather to forget what has happened, or to see it from a proper artistic point of view. Was it not Gautier who used to write about la consolation des arts? I remember picking up a little vellum-covered book in your studio one day and chancing on that delightful phrase. Well, I am not like that young man you told me of when we were down at Marlow together, the young man who used to say that yellow satin could console one for all the miseries of life. I love beautiful things that one can touch and handle. Old brocades, green bronzes, lacquer-work, carved ivories, exquisite surroundings, luxury, pomp—there is much to be got from all these. But the artistic temperament that they create, or at any rate reveal, is still more to me. To become the spectator of one's own life, as Harry says, is to escape the suffering of life. I know you are surprised at my talking to you like this. You have not realized how I have developed. I was a schoolboy when you knew me. I am a man now. I have new passions, new thoughts, new ideas. I am different, but you must not like me less. I am changed, but you must always be my friend. Of course, I am very fond of Harry. But I know that you are better than he is. You are not stronger—you are too much afraid of life—but you are better. And how happy we used to be together! Don't leave me, Basil, and don't quarrel with me. I am what I am. There is nothing more to be said.\"", "chosen": "[\"Basil\", \"Hallward\", \"Dorian\", \"Globe\", \"Euston\", \"Road\", \"Gray\", \"Venetian\", \"Gwendolen\", \"Harry\", \"Patti\", \"Sibyl\", \"Vane\", \"Stop\", \"Killed\", \"Juliet\", \"Gautier\", \"Marlow\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Basil\", \"Hallward\", \"Dorian\", \"Globe\", \"Euston\", \"Road\", \"Gray\", \"Venetian\", \"Gwendolen\", \"Harry\", \"Patti\", \"Sibyl\", \"Vane\", \"Stop\", \"Killed\", \"Juliet\", \"Gautier\", \"Marlow\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-174-009-00-01e0f75c", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"We shall see each other then in the world. We shall meet before I am thirty, when I shall begin to turn aside from the cup. Father doesn't want to turn aside from his cup till he is seventy, he dreams of hanging on to eighty in fact, so he says. He means it only too seriously, though he is a buffoon. He stands on a firm rock, too, he stands on his sensuality—though after we are thirty, indeed, there may be nothing else to stand on.... But to hang on to seventy is nasty, better only to thirty; one might retain 'a shadow of nobility' by deceiving oneself. Have you seen Dmitri to-day?\"\n\"No, but I saw Smerdyakov,\" and Alyosha rapidly, though minutely, described his meeting with Smerdyakov. Ivan began listening anxiously and questioned him.\n\"But he begged me not to tell Dmitri that he had told me about him,\" added Alyosha. Ivan frowned and pondered.\n\"Are you frowning on Smerdyakov's account?\" asked Alyosha.\n\"Yes, on his account. Damn him, I certainly did want to see Dmitri, but now there's no need,\" said Ivan reluctantly.\n\"But are you really going so soon, brother?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"What of Dmitri and father? how will it end?\" asked Alyosha anxiously.\n\"You are always harping upon it! What have I to do with it? Am I my brother Dmitri's keeper?\" Ivan snapped irritably, but then he suddenly smiled bitterly. \"Cain's answer about his murdered brother, wasn't it? Perhaps that's what you're thinking at this moment? Well, damn it all, I can't stay here to be their keeper, can I? I've finished what I had to do, and I am going. Do you imagine I am jealous of Dmitri, that I've been trying to steal his beautiful Katerina Ivanovna for the last three months? Nonsense, I had business of my own. I finished it. I am going. I finished it just now, you were witness.\"\n\"At Katerina Ivanovna's?\"\n\"Yes, and I've released myself once for all. And after all, what have I to do with Dmitri? Dmitri doesn't come in. I had my own business to settle with Katerina Ivanovna. You know, on the contrary, that Dmitri behaved as though there was an understanding between us. I didn't ask him to do it, but he solemnly handed her over to me and gave us his blessing. It's all too funny. Ah, Alyosha, if you only knew how light my heart is now! Would you believe, it, I sat here eating my dinner and was nearly ordering champagne to celebrate my first hour of freedom. Tfoo! It's been going on nearly six months, and all at once I've thrown it off. I could never have guessed even yesterday, how easy it would be to put an end to it if I wanted.\"\n\"You are speaking of your love, Ivan?\"\n\"Of my love, if you like. I fell in love with the young lady, I worried myself over her and she worried me. I sat watching over her ... and all at once it's collapsed! I spoke this morning with inspiration, but I went away and roared with laughter. Would you believe it? Yes, it's the literal truth.\"\n\"You seem very merry about it now,\" observed Alyosha, looking into his face, which had suddenly grown brighter.\n\"But how could I tell that I didn't care for her a bit! Ha ha! It appears after all I didn't. And yet how she attracted me! How attractive she was just now when I made my speech! And do you know she attracts me awfully even now, yet how easy it is to leave her. Do you think I am boasting?\"\n\"No, only perhaps it wasn't love.\"\n\"Alyosha,\" laughed Ivan, \"don't make reflections about love, it's unseemly for you. How you rushed into the discussion this morning! I've forgotten to kiss you for it.... But how she tormented me! It certainly was sitting by a 'laceration.' Ah, she knew how I loved her! She loved me and not Dmitri,\" Ivan insisted gayly. \"Her feeling for Dmitri was simply a self-laceration. All I told her just now was perfectly true, but the worst of it is, it may take her fifteen or twenty years to find out that she doesn't care for Dmitri, and loves me whom she torments, and perhaps she may never find it out at all, in spite of her lesson to-day. Well, it's better so; I can simply go away for good. By the way, how is she now? What happened after I departed?\"\nAlyosha told him she had been hysterical, and that she was now, he heard, unconscious and delirious.\n\"Isn't Madame Hohlakov laying it on?\"\n\"I think not.\"\n\"I must find out. Nobody dies of hysterics, though. They don't matter. God gave woman hysterics as a relief. I won't go to her at all. Why push myself forward again?\"\n\"But you told her that she had never cared for you.\"\n\"I did that on purpose. Alyosha, shall I call for some champagne? Let us drink to my freedom. Ah, if only you knew how glad I am!\"\n\"No, brother, we had better not drink,\" said Alyosha suddenly. \"Besides I feel somehow depressed.\"\n\"Yes, you've been depressed a long time, I've noticed it.\"\n\"Have you settled to go to-morrow morning, then?\"\n\"Morning? I didn't say I should go in the morning.... But perhaps it may be the morning. Would you believe it, I dined here to-day only to avoid dining with the old man, I loathe him so. I should have left long ago, so far as he is concerned. But why are you so worried about my going away? We've plenty of time before I go, an eternity!\"\n\"If you are going away to-morrow, what do you mean by an eternity?\"\n\"But what does it matter to us?\" laughed Ivan. \"We've time enough for our talk, for what brought us here. Why do you look so surprised? Answer: why have we met here? To talk of my love for Katerina Ivanovna, of the old man and Dmitri? of foreign travel? of the fatal position of Russia? Of the Emperor Napoleon? Is that it?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Then you know what for. It's different for other people; but we in our green youth have to settle the eternal questions first of all. That's what we care about. Young Russia is talking about nothing but the eternal questions now. Just when the old folks are all taken up with practical questions. Why have you been looking at me in expectation for the last three months? To ask me, 'What do you believe, or don't you believe at all?' That's what your eyes have been meaning for these three months, haven't they?\"\n\"Perhaps so,\" smiled Alyosha. \"You are not laughing at me, now, Ivan?\"\n\"Me laughing! I don't want to wound my little brother who has been watching me with such expectation for three months. Alyosha, look straight at me! Of course I am just such a little boy as you are, only not a novice. And what have Russian boys been doing up till now, some of them, I mean? In this stinking tavern, for instance, here, they meet and sit down in a corner. They've never met in their lives before and, when they go out of the tavern, they won't meet again for forty years. And what do they talk about in that momentary halt in the tavern? Of the eternal questions, of the existence of God and immortality. And those who do not believe in God talk of socialism or anarchism, of the transformation of all humanity on a new pattern, so that it all comes to the same, they're the same questions turned inside out. And masses, masses of the most original Russian boys do nothing but talk of the eternal questions! Isn't it so?\"\n\"Yes, for real Russians the questions of God's existence and of immortality, or, as you say, the same questions turned inside out, come first and foremost, of course, and so they should,\" said Alyosha, still watching his brother with the same gentle and inquiring smile.\n\"Well, Alyosha, it's sometimes very unwise to be a Russian at all, but anything stupider than the way Russian boys spend their time one can hardly imagine. But there's one Russian boy called Alyosha I am awfully fond of.\"", "chosen": "We, We, Father, He, He, But, Have, Ivan, But, Ivan, Are, Yes,, Damn, But, how, You, What, Am, Cain's, Perhaps, Well,, I've, Do, Nonsense,, I, I, I, And, Dmitri, I, You, I, It's, Ah,, Would, Tfoo!, It's, I, I, I, and, I, Would, Yes,, But, Ha, It, And, How, And, Do, How, I've, But, It, She, Her, All, Well,, By, What, Isn't, Nobody, They, God, I, Why, Alyosha,, Let, Ah,, Besides, I, But, Would, I, But, We've, We've, Why, Answer:, To, of, of, Of, Is, It's, That's, Young, Just, Why, To, You, I, Alyosha,, Of, And, In, They've, And, Of, And, And, Isn't, Well,, But", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nWe, We, Father, He, He, But, Have, Ivan, But, Ivan, Are, Yes,, Damn, But, how, You, What, Am, Cain's, Perhaps, Well,, I've, Do, Nonsense,, I, I, I, And, Dmitri, I, You, I, It's, Ah,, Would, Tfoo!, It's, I, I, I, and, I, Would, Yes,, But, Ha, It, And, How, And, Do, How, I've, But, It, She, Her, All, Well,, By, What, Isn't, Nobody, They, God, I, Why, Alyosha,, Let, Ah,, Besides, I, But, Would, I, But, We've, We've, Why, Answer:, To, of, of, Of, Is, It's, That's, Young, Just, Why, To, You, I, Alyosha,, Of, And, In, They've, And, Of, And, And, Isn't, Well,, But\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-034-01-3ae9896d", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nNext morning five bewildered but hilarious people took the boat for Dover. The poor old Colonel might have had some cause to complain, having been first forced to fight for two factions that didn't exist, and then knocked down with an iron lantern. But he was a magnanimous old gentleman, and being much relieved that neither party had anything to do with dynamite, he saw them off on the pier with great geniality.\nThe five reconciled detectives had a hundred details to explain to each other. The Secretary had to tell Syme how they had come to wear masks originally in order to approach the supposed enemy as fellow-conspirators.\nSyme had to explain how they had fled with such swiftness through a civilised country. But above all these matters of detail which could be explained, rose the central mountain of the matter that they could not explain. What did it all mean? If they were all harmless officers, what was Sunday? If he had not seized the world, what on earth had he been up to? Inspector Ratcliffe was still gloomy about this.\n\"I can't make head or tail of old Sunday's little game any more than you can,\" he said. \"But whatever else Sunday is, he isn't a blameless citizen. Damn it! do you remember his face?\"\n\"I grant you,\" answered Syme, \"that I have never been able to forget it.\"\n\"Well,\" said the Secretary, \"I suppose we can find out soon, for tomorrow we have our next general meeting. You will excuse me,\" he said, with a rather ghastly smile, \"for being well acquainted with my secretarial duties.\"\n\"I suppose you are right,\" said the Professor reflectively. \"I suppose we might find it out from him; but I confess that I should feel a bit afraid of asking Sunday who he really is.\"\n\"Why,\" asked the Secretary, \"for fear of bombs?\"\n\"No,\" said the Professor, \"for fear he might tell me.\"\n\"Let us have some drinks,\" said Dr. Bull, after a silence.\nThroughout their whole journey by boat and train they were highly convivial, but they instinctively kept together. Dr. Bull, who had always been the optimist of the party, endeavoured to persuade the other four that the whole company could take the same hansom cab from Victoria; but this was overruled, and they went in a four-wheeler, with Dr. Bull on the box, singing. They finished their journey at an hotel in Piccadilly Circus, so as to be close to the early breakfast next morning in Leicester Square. Yet even then the adventures of the day were not entirely over. Dr. Bull, discontented with the general proposal to go to bed, had strolled out of the hotel at about eleven to see and taste some of the beauties of London. Twenty minutes afterwards, however, he came back and made quite a clamour in the hall. Syme, who tried at first to soothe him, was forced at last to listen to his communication with quite new attention.\n\"I tell you I've seen him!\" said Dr. Bull, with thick emphasis.\n\"Whom?\" asked Syme quickly. \"Not the President?\"\n\"Not so bad as that,\" said Dr. Bull, with unnecessary laughter, \"not so bad as that. I've got him here.\"\n\"Got whom here?\" asked Syme impatiently.\n\"Hairy man,\" said the other lucidly, \"man that used to be hairy man—Gogol. Here he is,\" and he pulled forward by a reluctant elbow the identical young man who five days before had marched out of the Council with thin red hair and a pale face, the first of all the sham anarchists who had been exposed.\n\"Why do you worry with me?\" he cried. \"You have expelled me as a spy.\"\n\"We are all spies!\" whispered Syme.\n\"We're all spies!\" shouted Dr. Bull. \"Come and have a drink.\"\nNext morning the battalion of the reunited six marched stolidly towards the hotel in Leicester Square.\n\"This is more cheerful,\" said Dr. Bull; \"we are six men going to ask one man what he means.\"\n\"I think it is a bit queerer than that,\" said Syme. \"I think it is six men going to ask one man what they mean.\"\nThey turned in silence into the Square, and though the hotel was in the opposite corner, they saw at once the little balcony and a figure that looked too big for it. He was sitting alone with bent head, poring over a newspaper. But all his councillors, who had come to vote him down, crossed that Square as if they were watched out of heaven by a hundred eyes.\nThey had disputed much upon their policy, about whether they should leave the unmasked Gogol without and begin diplomatically, or whether they should bring him in and blow up the gunpowder at once. The influence of Syme and Bull prevailed for the latter course, though the Secretary to the last asked them why they attacked Sunday so rashly.\n\"My reason is quite simple,\" said Syme. \"I attack him rashly because I am afraid of him.\"\nThey followed Syme up the dark stair in silence, and they all came out simultaneously into the broad sunlight of the morning and the broad sunlight of Sunday's smile.\n\"Delightful!\" he said. \"So pleased to see you all. What an exquisite day it is. Is the Czar dead?\"\nThe Secretary, who happened to be foremost, drew himself together for a dignified outburst.\n\"No, sir,\" he said sternly \"there has been no massacre. I bring you news of no such disgusting spectacles.\"\n\"Disgusting spectacles?\" repeated the President, with a bright, inquiring smile. \"You mean Dr. Bull's spectacles?\"\nThe Secretary choked for a moment, and the President went on with a sort of smooth appeal—\n\"Of course, we all have our opinions and even our eyes, but really to call them disgusting before the man himself—\"\nDr. Bull tore off his spectacles and broke them on the table.\n\"My spectacles are blackguardly,\" he said, \"but I'm not. Look at my face.\"\n\"I dare say it's the sort of face that grows on one,\" said the President, \"in fact, it grows on you; and who am I to quarrel with the wild fruits upon the Tree of Life? I dare say it will grow on me some day.\"\n\"We have no time for tomfoolery,\" said the Secretary, breaking in savagely. \"We have come to know what all this means. Who are you? What are you? Why did you get us all here? Do you know who and what we are? Are you a half-witted man playing the conspirator, or are you a clever man playing the fool? Answer me, I tell you.\"\n\"Candidates,\" murmured Sunday, \"are only required to answer eight out of the seventeen questions on the paper. As far as I can make out, you want me to tell you what I am, and what you are, and what this table is, and what this Council is, and what this world is for all I know. Well, I will go so far as to rend the veil of one mystery. If you want to know what you are, you are a set of highly well-intentioned young jackasses.\"\n\"And you,\" said Syme, leaning forward, \"what are you?\"\n\"I? What am I?\" roared the President, and he rose slowly to an incredible height, like some enormous wave about to arch above them and break. \"You want to know what I am, do you? Bull, you are a man of science. Grub in the roots of those trees and find out the truth about them. Syme, you are a poet. Stare at those morning clouds. But I tell you this, that you will have found out the truth of the last tree and the top-most cloud before the truth about me. You will understand the sea, and I shall be still a riddle; you shall know what the stars are, and not know what I am. Since the beginning of the world all men have hunted me like a wolf—kings and sages, and poets and lawgivers, all the churches, and all the philosophies. But I have never been caught yet, and the skies will fall in the time I turn to bay. I have given them a good run for their money, and I will now.\"", "chosen": "83", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n83\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-1695-013-00-dffc21de", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"For there can live no hatred in thine eye, Therefore in that I cannot know thy change: In many's looks the false heart's history Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange: But Heaven in thy creation did decree That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell: Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.\" —SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets.\nAt the time when Mr. Vincy uttered that presentiment about Rosamond, she herself had never had the idea that she should be driven to make the sort of appeal which he foresaw. She had not yet had any anxiety about ways and means, although her domestic life had been expensive as well as eventful. Her baby had been born prematurely, and all the embroidered robes and caps had to be laid by in darkness. This misfortune was attributed entirely to her having persisted in going out on horseback one day when her husband had desired her not to do so; but it must not be supposed that she had shown temper on the occasion, or rudely told him that she would do as she liked.\nWhat led her particularly to desire horse-exercise was a visit from Captain Lydgate, the baronet's third son, who, I am sorry to say, was detested by our Tertius of that name as a vapid fop \"parting his hair from brow to nape in a despicable fashion\" (not followed by Tertius himself), and showing an ignorant security that he knew the proper thing to say on every topic. Lydgate inwardly cursed his own folly that he had drawn down this visit by consenting to go to his uncle's on the wedding-tour, and he made himself rather disagreeable to Rosamond by saying so in private. For to Rosamond this visit was a source of unprecedented but gracefully concealed exultation. She was so intensely conscious of having a cousin who was a baronet's son staying in the house, that she imagined the knowledge of what was implied by his presence to be diffused through all other minds; and when she introduced Captain Lydgate to her guests, she had a placid sense that his rank penetrated them as if it had been an odor. The satisfaction was enough for the time to melt away some disappointment in the conditions of marriage with a medical man even of good birth: it seemed now that her marriage was visibly as well as ideally floating her above the Middlemarch level, and the future looked bright with letters and visits to and from Quallingham, and vague advancement in consequence for Tertius. Especially as, probably at the Captain's suggestion, his married sister, Mrs. Mengan, had come with her maid, and stayed two nights on her way from town. Hence it was clearly worth while for Rosamond to take pains with her music and the careful selection of her lace.\nAs to Captain Lydgate himself, his low brow, his aquiline nose bent on one side, and his rather heavy utterance, might have been disadvantageous in any young gentleman who had not a military bearing and mustache to give him what is doted on by some flower-like blond heads as \"style.\" He had, moreover, that sort of high-breeding which consists in being free from the petty solicitudes of middle-class gentility, and he was a great critic of feminine charms. Rosamond delighted in his admiration now even more than she had done at Quallingham, and he found it easy to spend several hours of the day in flirting with her. The visit altogether was one of the pleasantest larks he had ever had, not the less so perhaps because he suspected that his queer cousin Tertius wished him away: though Lydgate, who would rather (hyperbolically speaking) have died than have failed in polite hospitality, suppressed his dislike, and only pretended generally not to hear what the gallant officer said, consigning the task of answering him to Rosamond. For he was not at all a jealous husband, and preferred leaving a feather-headed young gentleman alone with his wife to bearing him company.\n\"I wish you would talk more to the Captain at dinner, Tertius,\" said Rosamond, one evening when the important guest was gone to Loamford to see some brother officers stationed there. \"You really look so absent sometimes—you seem to be seeing through his head into something behind it, instead of looking at him.\"\n\"My dear Rosy, you don't expect me to talk much to such a conceited ass as that, I hope,\" said Lydgate, brusquely. \"If he got his head broken, I might look at it with interest, not before.\"\n\"I cannot conceive why you should speak of your cousin so contemptuously,\" said Rosamond, her fingers moving at her work while she spoke with a mild gravity which had a touch of disdain in it.\n\"Ask Ladislaw if he doesn't think your Captain the greatest bore he ever met with. Ladislaw has almost forsaken the house since he came.\"\nRosamond thought she knew perfectly well why Mr. Ladislaw disliked the Captain: he was jealous, and she liked his being jealous.\n\"It is impossible to say what will suit eccentric persons,\" she answered, \"but in my opinion Captain Lydgate is a thorough gentleman, and I think you ought not, out of respect to Sir Godwin, to treat him with neglect.\"\n\"No, dear; but we have had dinners for him. And he comes in and goes out as he likes. He doesn't want me.\"\n\"Still, when he is in the room, you might show him more attention. He may not be a phoenix of cleverness in your sense; his profession is different; but it would be all the better for you to talk a little on his subjects. I think his conversation is quite agreeable. And he is anything but an unprincipled man.\"\n\"The fact is, you would wish me to be a little more like him, Rosy,\" said Lydgate, in a sort of resigned murmur, with a smile which was not exactly tender, and certainly not merry. Rosamond was silent and did not smile again; but the lovely curves of her face looked good-tempered enough without smiling.\nThose words of Lydgate's were like a sad milestone marking how far he had travelled from his old dreamland, in which Rosamond Vincy appeared to be that perfect piece of womanhood who would reverence her husband's mind after the fashion of an accomplished mermaid, using her comb and looking-glass and singing her song for the relaxation of his adored wisdom alone. He had begun to distinguish between that imagined adoration and the attraction towards a man's talent because it gives him prestige, and is like an order in his button-hole or an Honorable before his name.\nIt might have been supposed that Rosamond had travelled too, since she had found the pointless conversation of Mr. Ned Plymdale perfectly wearisome; but to most mortals there is a stupidity which is unendurable and a stupidity which is altogether acceptable—else, indeed, what would become of social bonds? Captain Lydgate's stupidity was delicately scented, carried itself with \"style,\" talked with a good accent, and was closely related to Sir Godwin. Rosamond found it quite agreeable and caught many of its phrases.\nTherefore since Rosamond, as we know, was fond of horseback, there were plenty of reasons why she should be tempted to resume her riding when Captain Lydgate, who had ordered his man with two horses to follow him and put up at the \"Green Dragon,\" begged her to go out on the gray which he warranted to be gentle and trained to carry a lady—indeed, he had bought it for his sister, and was taking it to Quallingham. Rosamond went out the first time without telling her husband, and came back before his return; but the ride had been so thorough a success, and she declared herself so much the better in consequence, that he was informed of it with full reliance on his consent that she should go riding again.\nOn the contrary Lydgate was more than hurt—he was utterly confounded that she had risked herself on a strange horse without referring the matter to his wish. After the first almost thundering exclamations of astonishment, which sufficiently warned Rosamond of what was coming, he was silent for some moments.", "chosen": "As to Captain Lydgate himself, his low brow, his aquiline nose bent on one side, and his rather heavy utterance, might have been disadvantageous in any young gentleman who had not a military bearing and mustache to give him what is doted on by some flower-like blond heads as \"style.\" He had, moreover, that sort of high-breeding which consists in being free from the petty solicitudes of middle-class gentility, and he was a great critic of feminine charms.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nAs to Captain Lydgate himself, his low brow, his aquiline nose bent on one side, and his rather heavy utterance, might have been disadvantageous in any young gentleman who had not a military bearing and mustache to give him what is doted on by some flower-like blond heads as \"style.\" He had, moreover, that sort of high-breeding which consists in being free from the petty solicitudes of middle-class gentility, and he was a great critic of feminine charms.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-058-00-7d4e024a", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe surprise of such an application was great indeed; it was too great for her to know in what manner she acceded to it. She immediately felt that whatever desire Miss Darcy might have of being acquainted with her, must be the work of her brother, and without looking farther, it was satisfactory; it was gratifying to know that his resentment had not made him think really ill of her.\nThey now walked on in silence; each of them deep in thought. Elizabeth was not comfortable; that was impossible; but she was flattered and pleased. His wish of introducing his sister to her was a compliment of the highest kind. They soon outstripped the others; and when they had reached the carriage, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were half a quarter of a mile behind.\nHe then asked her to walk into the house--but she declared herself not tired, and they stood together on the lawn. At such a time much might have been said, and silence was very awkward. She wanted to talk, but there seemed an embargo on every subject. At last she recollected that she had been travelling, and they talked of Matlock and Dovedale with great perseverance. Yet time and her aunt moved slowly--and her patience and her ideas were nearly worn out before the tête-à-tête was over.\nOn Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's coming up they were all pressed to go into the house and take some refreshment; but this was declined, and they parted on each side with the utmost politeness. Mr. Darcy handed the ladies into the carriage; and when it drove off, Elizabeth saw him walking slowly towards the house.\nThe observations of her uncle and aunt now began; and each of them pronounced him to be infinitely superior to anything they had expected.\n\"He is perfectly well-behaved, polite, and unassuming,\" said her uncle.\n\"There is something a little stately in him, to be sure,\" replied her aunt; \"but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming. I can now say with the housekeeper, that though some people may call him proud, I have seen nothing of it.\"\n\"I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us. It was more than civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity for such attention. His acquaintance with Elizabeth was very trifling.\"\n\"To be sure, Lizzy,\" said her aunt, \"he is not so handsome as Wickham; or rather he has not Wickham's countenance, for his features are perfectly good. But how came you to tell us that he was so disagreeable?\"\nElizabeth excused herself as well as she could: said that she had liked him better when they met in Kent than before, and that she had never seen him so pleasant as this morning.\n\"But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities,\" replied her uncle. \"Your great men often are; and therefore I shall not take him at his word about fishing, as he might change his mind another day, and warn me off his grounds.\"\nElizabeth felt that they had entirely mistaken his character, but said nothing.\n\"From what we have seen of him,\" continued Mrs. Gardiner, \"I really should not have thought that he could have behaved in so cruel a way by anybody as he has done by poor Wickham. He has not an ill-natured look. On the contrary, there is something pleasing about his mouth when he speaks. And there is something of dignity in his countenance, that would not give one an unfavourable idea of his heart. But, to be sure, the good lady who showed us the house did give him a most flaming character! I could hardly help laughing aloud sometimes. But he is a liberal master, I suppose, and that, in the eye of a servant, comprehends every virtue.\"\nElizabeth here felt herself called on to say something in vindication of his behaviour to Wickham; and, therefore, gave them to understand, in as guarded a manner as she could, that by what she had heard from his relations in Kent, his actions were capable of a very different construction; and that his character was by no means so faulty, nor Wickham's so amiable, as they had been considered in Hertfordshire. In confirmation of this, she related the particulars of all the pecuniary transactions in which they had been connected, without actually naming her authority, but stating it to be such as might be relied on.\nMrs. Gardiner was surprised and concerned: but as they were now approaching the scene of her former pleasures, every idea gave way to the charm of recollection; and she was too much engaged in pointing out to her husband all the interesting spots in its environs, to think of anything else. Fatigued as she had been by the morning's walk, they had no sooner dined than she set off again in quest of her former acquaintance, and the evening was spent in the satisfactions of an intercourse renewed after many years' discontinuance.\nThe occurrences of the day were too full of interest to leave Elizabeth much attention for any of these new friends; and she could do nothing but think, and think with wonder, of Mr. Darcy's civility, and, above all, of his wishing her to be acquainted with his sister.", "chosen": "[\"He is perfectly well-behaved, polite, and unassuming,\", \"There is something a little stately in him, to be sure,\", \"but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming. I can now say with the housekeeper, that though some people may call him proud, I have seen nothing of it.\", \"To be sure, Lizzy,\", \"he is not so handsome as Wickham; or rather he has not Wickham's countenance, for his features are perfectly good. But how came you to tell us that he was so disagreeable?\", \"But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities,\", \"Your great men often are; and therefore I shall not take him at his word about fishing, as he might change his mind another day, and warn me off his grounds.\", \"From what we have seen of him,\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"He is perfectly well-behaved, polite, and unassuming,\", \"There is something a little stately in him, to be sure,\", \"but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming. I can now say with the housekeeper, that though some people may call him proud, I have seen nothing of it.\", \"To be sure, Lizzy,\", \"he is not so handsome as Wickham; or rather he has not Wickham's countenance, for his features are perfectly good. But how came you to tell us that he was so disagreeable?\", \"But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities,\", \"Your great men often are; and therefore I shall not take him at his word about fishing, as he might change his mind another day, and warn me off his grounds.\", \"From what we have seen of him,\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-1342-043-03-bbbd9d4a", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nCity Sights\nTHE old French part of New Orleans--anciently the Spanish part--bears no resemblance to the American end of the city: the American end which lies beyond the intervening brick business-center. The houses are massed in blocks; are austerely plain and dignified; uniform of pattern, with here and there a departure from it with pleasant effect; all are plastered on the outside, and nearly all have long, iron-railed verandas running along the several stories. Their chief beauty is the deep, warm, varicolored stain with which time and the weather have enriched the plaster. It harmonizes with all the surroundings, and has as natural a look of belonging there as has the flush upon sunset clouds. This charming decoration cannot be successfully imitated; neither is it to be found elsewhere in America.\nThe iron railings are a specialty, also. The pattern is often exceedingly light and dainty, and airy and graceful--with a large cipher or monogram in the center, a delicate cobweb of baffling, intricate forms, wrought in steel. The ancient railings are hand-made, and are now comparatively rare and proportionately valuable. They are become bric-a-brac.\nThe party had the privilege of idling through this ancient quarter of New Orleans with the South's finest literary genius, the author of 'the Grandissimes.' In him the South has found a masterly delineator of its interior life and its history. In truth, I find by experience, that the untrained eye and vacant mind can inspect it, and learn of it, and judge of it, more clearly and profitably in his books than by personal contact with it.\nWith Mr. Cable along to see for you, and describe and explain and illuminate, a jog through that old quarter is a vivid pleasure. And you have a vivid sense as of unseen or dimly seen things--vivid, and yet fitful and darkling; you glimpse salient features, but lose the fine shades or catch them imperfectly through the vision of the imagination: a case, as it were, of ignorant near-sighted stranger traversing the rim of wide vague horizons of Alps with an inspired and enlightened long-sighted native.\nWe visited the old St. Louis Hotel, now occupied by municipal offices. There is nothing strikingly remarkable about it; but one can say of it as of the Academy of Music in New York, that if a broom or a shovel has ever been used in it there is no circumstantial evidence to back up the fact. It is curious that cabbages and hay and things do not grow in the Academy of Music; but no doubt it is on account of the interruption of the light by the benches, and the impossibility of hoeing the crop except in the aisles. The fact that the ushers grow their buttonhole-bouquets on the premises shows what might be done if they had the right kind of an agricultural head to the establishment.\nWe visited also the venerable Cathedral, and the pretty square in front of it; the one dim with religious light, the other brilliant with the worldly sort, and lovely with orange-trees and blossomy shrubs; then we drove in the hot sun through the wilderness of houses and out on to the wide dead level beyond, where the villas are, and the water wheels to drain the town, and the commons populous with cows and children; passing by an old cemetery where we were told lie the ashes of an early pirate; but we took him on trust, and did not visit him. He was a pirate with a tremendous and sanguinary history; and as long as he preserved unspotted, in retirement, the dignity of his name and the grandeur of his ancient calling, homage and reverence were his from high and low; but when at last he descended into politics and became a paltry alderman, the public 'shook' him, and turned aside and wept. When he died, they set up a monument over him; and little by little he has come into respect again; but it is respect for the pirate, not the alderman. To-day the loyal and generous remember only what he was, and charitably forget what he became.\nThence, we drove a few miles across a swamp, along a raised shell road, with a canal on one hand and a dense wood on the other; and here and there, in the distance, a ragged and angular-limbed and moss-bearded cypress, top standing out, clear cut against the sky, and as quaint of form as the apple-trees in Japanese pictures--such was our course and the surroundings of it. There was an occasional alligator swimming comfortably along in the canal, and an occasional picturesque colored person on the bank, flinging his statue-rigid reflection upon the still water and watching for a bite.\nAnd by-and-bye we reached the West End, a collection of hotels of the usual light summer-resort pattern, with broad verandas all around, and the waves of the wide and blue Lake Pontchartrain lapping the thresholds. We had dinner on a ground-veranda over the water--the chief dish the renowned fish called the pompano, delicious as the less criminal forms of sin.\nThousands of people come by rail and carriage to West End and to Spanish Fort every evening, and dine, listen to the bands, take strolls in the open air under the electric lights, go sailing on the lake, and entertain themselves in various and sundry other ways.\nWe had opportunities on other days and in other places to test the pompano. Notably, at an editorial dinner at one of the clubs in the city. He was in his last possible perfection there, and justified his fame. In his suite was a tall pyramid of scarlet cray-fish--large ones; as large as one's thumb--delicate, palatable, appetizing. Also deviled whitebait; also shrimps of choice quality; and a platter of small soft-shell crabs of a most superior breed. The other dishes were what one might get at Delmonico's, or Buckingham Palace; those I have spoken of can be had in similar perfection in New Orleans only, I suppose.\nIn the West and South they have a new institution--the Broom Brigade. It is composed of young ladies who dress in a uniform costume, and go through the infantry drill, with broom in place of musket. It is a very pretty sight, on private view. When they perform on the stage of a theater, in the blaze of colored fires, it must be a fine and fascinating spectacle. I saw them go through their complex manual with grace, spirit, and admirable precision. I saw them do everything which a human being can possibly do with a broom, except sweep. I did not see them sweep. But I know they could learn. What they have already learned proves that. And if they ever should learn, and should go on the war-path down Tchoupitoulas or some of those other streets around there, those thoroughfares would bear a greatly improved aspect in a very few minutes. But the girls themselves wouldn't; so nothing would be really gained, after all.\nThe drill was in the Washington Artillery building. In this building we saw many interesting relics of the war. Also a fine oil-painting representing Stonewall Jackson's last interview with General Lee. Both men are on horseback. Jackson has just ridden up, and is accosting Lee. The picture is very valuable, on account of the portraits, which are authentic. But, like many another historical picture, it means nothing without its label. And one label will fit it as well as another--\nFirst Interview between Lee and Jackson.\nLast Interview between Lee and Jackson.\nJackson Introducing Himself to Lee.\nJackson Accepting Lee's Invitation to Dinner.\nJackson Declining Lee's Invitation to Dinner--with Thanks.\nJackson Apologizing for a Heavy Defeat.\nJackson Reporting a Great Victory.\nJackson Asking Lee for a Match.", "chosen": "Match", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nMatch\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-245-043-00-3bd1bbe4", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nWhen they entered the parlor Caleb had thrown down his hat and was seated at his desk.\n\"What! Fred, my boy!\" he said, in a tone of mild surprise, holding his pen still undipped; \"you are here betimes.\" But missing the usual expression of cheerful greeting in Fred's face, he immediately added, \"Is there anything up at home?—anything the matter?\"\n\"Yes, Mr. Garth, I am come to tell something that I am afraid will give you a bad opinion of me. I am come to tell you and Mrs. Garth that I can't keep my word. I can't find the money to meet the bill after all. I have been unfortunate; I have only got these fifty pounds towards the hundred and sixty.\"\nWhile Fred was speaking, he had taken out the notes and laid them on the desk before Mr. Garth. He had burst forth at once with the plain fact, feeling boyishly miserable and without verbal resources. Mrs. Garth was mutely astonished, and looked at her husband for an explanation. Caleb blushed, and after a little pause said—\n\"Oh, I didn't tell you, Susan: I put my name to a bill for Fred; it was for a hundred and sixty pounds. He made sure he could meet it himself.\"\nThere was an evident change in Mrs. Garth's face, but it was like a change below the surface of water which remains smooth. She fixed her eyes on Fred, saying—\n\"I suppose you have asked your father for the rest of the money and he has refused you.\"\n\"No,\" said Fred, biting his lip, and speaking with more difficulty; \"but I know it will be of no use to ask him; and unless it were of use, I should not like to mention Mr. Garth's name in the matter.\"\n\"It has come at an unfortunate time,\" said Caleb, in his hesitating way, looking down at the notes and nervously fingering the paper, \"Christmas upon us—I'm rather hard up just now. You see, I have to cut out everything like a tailor with short measure. What can we do, Susan? I shall want every farthing we have in the bank. It's a hundred and ten pounds, the deuce take it!\"\n\"I must give you the ninety-two pounds that I have put by for Alfred's premium,\" said Mrs. Garth, gravely and decisively, though a nice ear might have discerned a slight tremor in some of the words. \"And I have no doubt that Mary has twenty pounds saved from her salary by this time. She will advance it.\"\nMrs. Garth had not again looked at Fred, and was not in the least calculating what words she should use to cut him the most effectively. Like the eccentric woman she was, she was at present absorbed in considering what was to be done, and did not fancy that the end could be better achieved by bitter remarks or explosions. But she had made Fred feel for the first time something like the tooth of remorse. Curiously enough, his pain in the affair beforehand had consisted almost entirely in the sense that he must seem dishonorable, and sink in the opinion of the Garths: he had not occupied himself with the inconvenience and possible injury that his breach might occasion them, for this exercise of the imagination on other people's needs is not common with hopeful young gentlemen. Indeed we are most of us brought up in the notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the wrong. But at this moment he suddenly saw himself as a pitiful rascal who was robbing two women of their savings.\n\"I shall certainly pay it all, Mrs. Garth—ultimately,\" he stammered out.\n\"Yes, ultimately,\" said Mrs. Garth, who having a special dislike to fine words on ugly occasions, could not now repress an epigram. \"But boys cannot well be apprenticed ultimately: they should be apprenticed at fifteen.\" She had never been so little inclined to make excuses for Fred.\n\"I was the most in the wrong, Susan,\" said Caleb. \"Fred made sure of finding the money. But I'd no business to be fingering bills. I suppose you have looked all round and tried all honest means?\" he added, fixing his merciful gray eyes on Fred. Caleb was too delicate to specify Mr. Featherstone.\n\"Yes, I have tried everything—I really have. I should have had a hundred and thirty pounds ready but for a misfortune with a horse which I was about to sell. My uncle had given me eighty pounds, and I paid away thirty with my old horse in order to get another which I was going to sell for eighty or more—I meant to go without a horse—but now it has turned out vicious and lamed itself. I wish I and the horses too had been at the devil, before I had brought this on you. There's no one else I care so much for: you and Mrs. Garth have always been so kind to me. However, it's no use saying that. You will always think me a rascal now.\"\nFred turned round and hurried out of the room, conscious that he was getting rather womanish, and feeling confusedly that his being sorry was not of much use to the Garths. They could see him mount, and quickly pass through the gate.\n\"I am disappointed in Fred Vincy,\" said Mrs. Garth. \"I would not have believed beforehand that he would have drawn you into his debts. I knew he was extravagant, but I did not think that he would be so mean as to hang his risks on his oldest friend, who could the least afford to lose.\"\n\"I was a fool, Susan.\"\n\"That you were,\" said the wife, nodding and smiling. \"But I should not have gone to publish it in the market-place. Why should you keep such things from me? It is just so with your buttons: you let them burst off without telling me, and go out with your wristband hanging. If I had only known I might have been ready with some better plan.\"\n\"You are sadly cut up, I know, Susan,\" said Caleb, looking feelingly at her. \"I can't abide your losing the money you've scraped together for Alfred.\"\n\"It is very well that I had scraped it together; and it is you who will have to suffer, for you must teach the boy yourself. You must give up your bad habits. Some men take to drinking, and you have taken to working without pay. You must indulge yourself a little less in that. And you must ride over to Mary, and ask the child what money she has.\"\nCaleb had pushed his chair back, and was leaning forward, shaking his head slowly, and fitting his finger-tips together with much nicety.\n\"Poor Mary!\" he said. \"Susan,\" he went on in a lowered tone, \"I'm afraid she may be fond of Fred.\"\n\"Oh no! She always laughs at him; and he is not likely to think of her in any other than a brotherly way.\"\nCaleb made no rejoinder, but presently lowered his spectacles, drew up his chair to the desk, and said, \"Deuce take the bill—I wish it was at Hanover! These things are a sad interruption to business!\"\nThe first part of this speech comprised his whole store of maledictory expression, and was uttered with a slight snarl easy to imagine. But it would be difficult to convey to those who never heard him utter the word \"business,\" the peculiar tone of fervid veneration, of religious regard, in which he wrapped it, as a consecrated symbol is wrapped in its gold-fringed linen.", "chosen": "[\"Caleb\", \"Fred\", \"Susan\", \"Christmas\", \"Alfred\", \"Mary\", \"Garths\", \"Vincy\", \"Poor\", \"Deuce\", \"Hanover\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Caleb\", \"Fred\", \"Susan\", \"Christmas\", \"Alfred\", \"Mary\", \"Garths\", \"Vincy\", \"Poor\", \"Deuce\", \"Hanover\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-145-025-02-b0ea0eab", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nAs the earliest suspicion of dawn appeared on Sunday morning, Huck came groping up the hill and rapped gently at the old Welshman's door. The inmates were asleep, but it was a sleep that was set on a hair-trigger, on account of the exciting episode of the night. A call came from a window:\n\"Who's there!\"\nHuck's scared voice answered in a low tone:\n\"Please let me in! It's only Huck Finn!\"\n\"It's a name that can open this door night or day, lad!—and welcome!\"\nThese were strange words to the vagabond boy's ears, and the pleasantest he had ever heard. He could not recollect that the closing word had ever been applied in his case before. The door was quickly unlocked, and he entered. Huck was given a seat and the old man and his brace of tall sons speedily dressed themselves.\n\"Now, my boy, I hope you're good and hungry, because breakfast will be ready as soon as the sun's up, and we'll have a piping hot one, too—make yourself easy about that! I and the boys hoped you'd turn up and stop here last night.\"\n\"I was awful scared,\" said Huck, \"and I run. I took out when the pistols went off, and I didn't stop for three mile. I've come now becuz I wanted to know about it, you know; and I come before daylight becuz I didn't want to run across them devils, even if they was dead.\"\n\"Well, poor chap, you do look as if you'd had a hard night of it—but there's a bed here for you when you've had your breakfast. No, they ain't dead, lad—we are sorry enough for that. You see we knew right where to put our hands on them, by your description; so we crept along on tiptoe till we got within fifteen feet of them—dark as a cellar that sumach path was—and just then I found I was going to sneeze. It was the meanest kind of luck! I tried to keep it back, but no use—'twas bound to come, and it did come! I was in the lead with my pistol raised, and when the sneeze started those scoundrels a-rustling to get out of the path, I sung out, 'Fire boys!' and blazed away at the place where the rustling was. So did the boys. But they were off in a jiffy, those villains, and we after them, down through the woods. I judge we never touched them. They fired a shot apiece as they started, but their bullets whizzed by and didn't do us any harm. As soon as we lost the sound of their feet we quit chasing, and went down and stirred up the constables. They got a posse together, and went off to guard the river bank, and as soon as it is light the sheriff and a gang are going to beat up the woods. My boys will be with them presently. I wish we had some sort of description of those rascals—'twould help a good deal. But you couldn't see what they were like, in the dark, lad, I suppose?\"\n\"Oh yes; I saw them downtown and follered them.\"\n\"Splendid! Describe them—describe them, my boy!\"\n\"One's the old deaf and dumb Spaniard that's ben around here once or twice, and t'other's a mean-looking, ragged—\"\n\"That's enough, lad, we know the men! Happened on them in the woods back of the widow's one day, and they slunk away. Off with you, boys, and tell the sheriff—get your breakfast tomorrow morning!\"\nThe Welshman's sons departed at once. As they were leaving the room Huck sprang up and exclaimed:\n\"Oh, please don't tell anybody it was me that blowed on them! Oh, please!\"\n\"All right if you say it, Huck, but you ought to have the credit of what you did.\"\n\"Oh no, no! Please don't tell!\"\nWhen the young men were gone, the old Welshman said:\n\"They won't tell—and I won't. But why don't you want it known?\"\nHuck would not explain, further than to say that he already knew too much about one of those men and would not have the man know that he knew anything against him for the whole world—he would be killed for knowing it, sure.\nThe old man promised secrecy once more, and said:\n\"How did you come to follow these fellows, lad? Were they looking suspicious?\"\nHuck was silent while he framed a duly cautious reply. Then he said:\n\"Well, you see, I'm a kind of a hard lot,—least everybody says so, and I don't see nothing agin it—and sometimes I can't sleep much, on account of thinking about it and sort of trying to strike out a new way of doing. That was the way of it last night. I couldn't sleep, and so I come along upstreet 'bout midnight, a-turning it all over, and when I got to that old shackly brick store by the Temperance Tavern, I backed up agin the wall to have another think. Well, just then along comes these two chaps slipping along close by me, with something under their arm, and I reckoned they'd stole it. One was a-smoking, and t'other one wanted a light; so they stopped right before me and the cigars lit up their faces and I see that the big one was the deaf and dumb Spaniard, by his white whiskers and the patch on his eye, and t'other one was a rusty, ragged-looking devil.\"\n\"Could you see the rags by the light of the cigars?\"\nThis staggered Huck for a moment. Then he said:\n\"Well, I don't know—but somehow it seems as if I did.\"\n\"Then they went on, and you—\"\n\"Follered 'em—yes. That was it. I wanted to see what was up—they sneaked along so. I dogged 'em to the widder's stile, and stood in the dark and heard the ragged one beg for the widder, and the Spaniard swear he'd spile her looks just as I told you and your two—\"\n\"What! The deaf and dumb man said all that!\"\nHuck had made another terrible mistake! He was trying his best to keep the old man from getting the faintest hint of who the Spaniard might be, and yet his tongue seemed determined to get him into trouble in spite of all he could do. He made several efforts to creep out of his scrape, but the old man's eye was upon him and he made blunder after blunder. Presently the Welshman said:\n\"My boy, don't be afraid of me. I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head for all the world. No—I'd protect you—I'd protect you. This Spaniard is not deaf and dumb; you've let that slip without intending it; you can't cover that up now. You know something about that Spaniard that you want to keep dark. Now trust me—tell me what it is, and trust me—I won't betray you.\"\nHuck looked into the old man's honest eyes a moment, then bent over and whispered in his ear:\n\"'Tain't a Spaniard—it's Injun Joe!\"\nThe Welshman almost jumped out of his chair. In a moment he said:\n\"It's all plain enough, now. When you talked about notching ears and slitting noses I judged that that was your own embellishment, because white men don't take that sort of revenge. But an Injun! That's a different matter altogether.\"\nDuring breakfast the talk went on, and in the course of it the old man said that the last thing which he and his sons had done, before going to bed, was to get a lantern and examine the stile and its vicinity for marks of blood. They found none, but captured a bulky bundle of—\n\"Of what?\"\nIf the words had been lightning they could not have leaped with a more stunning suddenness from Huck's blanched lips. His eyes were staring wide, now, and his breath suspended—waiting for the answer. The Welshman started—stared in return—three seconds—five seconds—ten—then replied:\n\"Of burglar's tools. Why, what's the matter with you?\"\nHuck sank back, panting gently, but deeply, unutterably grateful. The Welshman eyed him gravely, curiously—and presently said:\n\"Yes, burglar's tools. That appears to relieve you a good deal. But what did give you that turn? What were you expecting we'd found?\"", "chosen": "As, The, A, It's, He, The, Huck, Now,, I, I, I've, No,, You, It, I, I, So, But, I, They, As, They, My, I, But, Describe, Happened, Off, As, Oh,, Please, But, The, Were, Then, That, I, Well,, One, Then, That, I, I, The, He, He, Presently, I, No—I'd, This, You, Now, In, When, But, That's, They, His, The, Why,, The, That, But, What", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nAs, The, A, It's, He, The, Huck, Now,, I, I, I've, No,, You, It, I, I, So, But, I, They, As, They, My, I, But, Describe, Happened, Off, As, Oh,, Please, But, The, Were, Then, That, I, Well,, One, Then, That, I, I, The, He, He, Presently, I, No—I'd, This, You, Now, In, When, But, That's, They, His, The, Why,, The, That, But, What\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-74-029-00-03de9318", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe vicar explained things as he went on: \"The fact is, Mr. Smith, I didn't want this bother of church restoration at all, but it was necessary to do something in self-defence, on account of those d——dissenters: I use the word in its scriptural meaning, of course, not as an expletive.\"\n\"How very odd!\" said Stephen, with the concern demanded of serious friendliness.\n\"Odd? That's nothing to how it is in the parish of Twinkley. Both the churchwardens are——; there, I won't say what they are; and the clerk and the sexton as well.\"\n\"How very strange!\" said Stephen.\n\"Strange? My dear sir, that's nothing to how it is in the parish of Sinnerton. However, as to our own parish, I hope we shall make some progress soon.\"\n\"You must trust to circumstances.\"\n\"There are no circumstances to trust to. We may as well trust in Providence if we trust at all. But here we are. A wild place, isn't it? But I like it on such days as these.\"\nThe churchyard was entered on this side by a stone stile, over which having clambered, you remained still on the wild hill, the within not being so divided from the without as to obliterate the sense of open freedom. A delightful place to be buried in, postulating that delight can accompany a man to his tomb under any circumstances. There was nothing horrible in this churchyard, in the shape of tight mounds bonded with sticks, which shout imprisonment in the ears rather than whisper rest; or trim garden-flowers, which only raise images of people in new black crape and white handkerchiefs coming to tend them; or wheel-marks, which remind us of hearses and mourning coaches; or cypress-bushes, which make a parade of sorrow; or coffin-boards and bones lying behind trees, showing that we are only leaseholders of our graves. No; nothing but long, wild, untutored grass, diversifying the forms of the mounds it covered,—themselves irregularly shaped, with no eye to effect; the impressive presence of the old mountain that all this was a part of being nowhere excluded by disguising art. Outside were similar slopes and similar grass; and then the serene impassive sea, visible to a width of half the horizon, and meeting the eye with the effect of a vast concave, like the interior of a blue vessel. Detached rocks stood upright afar, a collar of foam girding their bases, and repeating in its whiteness the plumage of a countless multitude of gulls that restlessly hovered about.\n\"Now, Worm!\" said Mr. Swancourt sharply; and Worm started into an attitude of attention at once to receive orders. Stephen and himself were then left in possession, and the work went on till early in the afternoon, when dinner was announced by Unity of the vicarage kitchen running up the hill without a bonnet.\nElfride did not make her appearance inside the building till late in the afternoon, and came then by special invitation from Stephen during dinner. She looked so intensely LIVING and full of movement as she came into the old silent place, that young Smith's world began to be lit by \"the purple light\" in all its definiteness. Worm was got rid of by sending him to measure the height of the tower.\nWhat could she do but come close—so close that a minute arc of her skirt touched his foot—and asked him how he was getting on with his sketches, and set herself to learn the principles of practical mensuration as applied to irregular buildings? Then she must ascend the pulpit to re-imagine for the hundredth time how it would seem to be a preacher.\nPresently she leant over the front of the pulpit.\n\"Don't you tell papa, will you, Mr. Smith, if I tell you something?\" she said with a sudden impulse to make a confidence.\n\"Oh no, that I won't,\" said he, staring up.\n\"Well, I write papa's sermons for him very often, and he preaches them better than he does his own; and then afterwards he talks to people and to me about what he said in his sermon to-day, and forgets that I wrote it for him. Isn't it absurd?\"\n\"How clever you must be!\" said Stephen. \"I couldn't write a sermon for the world.\"\n\"Oh, it's easy enough,\" she said, descending from the pulpit and coming close to him to explain more vividly. \"You do it like this. Did you ever play a game of forfeits called 'When is it? where is it? what is it?'\"\n\"No, never.\"\n\"Ah, that's a pity, because writing a sermon is very much like playing that game. You take the text. You think, why is it? what is it? and so on. You put that down under 'Generally.' Then you proceed to the First, Secondly, and Thirdly. Papa won't have Fourthlys—says they are all my eye. Then you have a final Collectively, several pages of this being put in great black brackets, writing opposite, 'LEAVE THIS OUT IF THE FARMERS ARE FALLING ASLEEP.' Then comes your In Conclusion, then A Few Words And I Have Done. Well, all this time you have put on the back of each page, 'KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN'—I mean,\" she added, correcting herself, \"that's how I do in papa's sermon-book, because otherwise he gets louder and louder, till at last he shouts like a farmer up a-field. Oh, papa is so funny in some things!\"\nThen, after this childish burst of confidence, she was frightened, as if warned by womanly instinct, which for the moment her ardour had outrun, that she had been too forward to a comparative stranger.\nElfride saw her father then, and went away into the wind, being caught by a gust as she ascended the churchyard slope, in which gust she had the motions, without the motives, of a hoiden; the grace, without the self-consciousness, of a pirouetter. She conversed for a minute or two with her father, and proceeded homeward, Mr. Swancourt coming on to the church to Stephen. The wind had freshened his warm complexion as it freshens the glow of a brand. He was in a mood of jollity, and watched Elfride down the hill with a smile.\n\"You little flyaway! you look wild enough now,\" he said, and turned to Stephen. \"But she's not a wild child at all, Mr. Smith. As steady as you; and that you are steady I see from your diligence here.\"\n\"I think Miss Swancourt very clever,\" Stephen observed.\n\"Yes, she is; certainly, she is,\" said papa, turning his voice as much as possible to the neutral tone of disinterested criticism. \"Now, Smith, I'll tell you something; but she mustn't know it for the world—not for the world, mind, for she insists upon keeping it a dead secret. Why, SHE WRITES MY SERMONS FOR ME OFTEN, and a very good job she makes of them!\"\n\"She can do anything.\"\n\"She can do that. The little rascal has the very trick of the trade. But, mind you, Smith, not a word about it to her, not a single word!\"\n\"Not a word,\" said Smith.\n\"Look there,\" said Mr. Swancourt. \"What do you think of my roofing?\" He pointed with his walking-stick at the chancel roof,\n\"Did you do that, sir?\"\n\"Yes, I worked in shirt-sleeves all the time that was going on. I pulled down the old rafters, fixed the new ones, put on the battens, slated the roof, all with my own hands, Worm being my assistant. We worked like slaves, didn't we, Worm?\"\n\"Ay, sure, we did; harder than some here and there—hee, hee!\" said William Worm, cropping up from somewhere. \"Like slaves, 'a b'lieve—hee, hee! And weren't ye foaming mad, sir, when the nails wouldn't go straight? Mighty I! There, 'tisn't so bad to cuss and keep it in as to cuss and let it out, is it, sir?\"\n\"Well—why?\"\n\"Because you, sir, when ye were a-putting on the roof, only used to cuss in your mind, which is, I suppose, no harm at all.\"\n\"I don't think you know what goes on in my mind, Worm.\"", "chosen": "69", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n69\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-224-003-01-5c1038bb", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"So this is it, this is it at last--contact with real life,\" I muttered as I ran headlong downstairs. \"This is very different from the Pope's leaving Rome and going to Brazil, very different from the ball on Lake Como!\"\n\"You are a scoundrel,\" a thought flashed through my mind, \"if you laugh at this now.\"\n\"No matter!\" I cried, answering myself. \"Now everything is lost!\"\nThere was no trace to be seen of them, but that made no difference--I knew where they had gone.\nAt the steps was standing a solitary night sledge-driver in a rough peasant coat, powdered over with the still falling, wet, and as it were warm, snow. It was hot and steamy. The little shaggy piebald horse was also covered with snow and coughing, I remember that very well. I made a rush for the roughly made sledge; but as soon as I raised my foot to get into it, the recollection of how Simonov had just given me six roubles seemed to double me up and I tumbled into the sledge like a sack.\n\"No, I must do a great deal to make up for all that,\" I cried. \"But I will make up for it or perish on the spot this very night. Start!\"\nWe set off. There was a perfect whirl in my head.\n\"They won't go down on their knees to beg for my friendship. That is a mirage, cheap mirage, revolting, romantic and fantastical--that's another ball on Lake Como. And so I am bound to slap Zverkov's face! It is my duty to. And so it is settled; I am flying to give him a slap in the face. Hurry up!\"\nThe driver tugged at the reins.\n\"As soon as I go in I'll give it him. Ought I before giving him the slap to say a few words by way of preface? No. I'll simply go in and give it him. They will all be sitting in the drawing-room, and he with Olympia on the sofa. That damned Olympia! She laughed at my looks on one occasion and refused me. I'll pull Olympia's hair, pull Zverkov's ears! No, better one ear, and pull him by it round the room. Maybe they will all begin beating me and will kick me out. That's most likely, indeed. No matter! Anyway, I shall first slap him; the initiative will be mine; and by the laws of honour that is everything: he will be branded and cannot wipe off the slap by any blows, by nothing but a duel. He will be forced to fight. And let them beat me now. Let them, the ungrateful wretches! Trudolyubov will beat me hardest, he is so strong; Ferfitchkin will be sure to catch hold sideways and tug at my hair. But no matter, no matter! That's what I am going for. The blockheads will be forced at last to see the tragedy of it all! When they drag me to the door I shall call out to them that in reality they are not worth my little finger. Get on, driver, get on!\" I cried to the driver. He started and flicked his whip, I shouted so savagely.\n\"We shall fight at daybreak, that's a settled thing. I've done with the office. Ferfitchkin made a joke about it just now. But where can I get pistols? Nonsense! I'll get my salary in advance and buy them. And powder, and bullets? That's the second's business. And how can it all be done by daybreak? And where am I to get a second? I have no friends. Nonsense!\" I cried, lashing myself up more and more. \"It's of no consequence! the first person I meet in the street is bound to be my second, just as he would be bound to pull a drowning man out of water. The most eccentric things may happen. Even if I were to ask the director himself to be my second to-morrow, he would be bound to consent, if only from a feeling of chivalry, and to keep the secret! Anton Antonitch....\"\nThe fact is, that at that very minute the disgusting absurdity of my plan and the other side of the question was clearer and more vivid to my imagination than it could be to any one on earth. But....\n\"Get on, driver, get on, you rascal, get on!\"\n\"Ugh, sir!\" said the son of toil.\nCold shivers suddenly ran down me. Wouldn't it be better ... to go straight home? My God, my God! Why did I invite myself to this dinner yesterday? But no, it's impossible. And my walking up and down for three hours from the table to the stove? No, they, they and no one else must pay for my walking up and down! They must wipe out this dishonour! Drive on!\nAnd what if they give me into custody? They won't dare! They'll be afraid of the scandal. And what if Zverkov is so contemptuous that he refuses to fight a duel? He is sure to; but in that case I'll show them ... I will turn up at the posting station when he is setting off to-morrow, I'll catch him by the leg, I'll pull off his coat when he gets into the carriage. I'll get my teeth into his hand, I'll bite him. \"See what lengths you can drive a desperate man to!\" He may hit me on the head and they may belabour me from behind. I will shout to the assembled multitude: \"Look at this young puppy who is driving off to captivate the Circassian girls after letting me spit in his face!\"\nOf course, after that everything will be over! The office will have vanished off the face of the earth. I shall be arrested, I shall be tried, I shall be dismissed from the service, thrown in prison, sent to Siberia. Never mind! In fifteen years when they let me out of prison I will trudge off to him, a beggar, in rags. I shall find him in some provincial town. He will be married and happy. He will have a grown-up daughter.... I shall say to him: \"Look, monster, at my hollow cheeks and my rags! I've lost everything--my career, my happiness, art, science, the woman I loved, and all through you. Here are pistols. I have come to discharge my pistol and ... and I ... forgive you. Then I shall fire into the air and he will hear nothing more of me....\"\nI was actually on the point of tears, though I knew perfectly well at that moment that all this was out of Pushkin's Silvio and Lermontov's Masquerade. And all at once I felt horribly ashamed, so ashamed that I stopped the horse, got out of the sledge, and stood still in the snow in the middle of the street. The driver gazed at me, sighing and astonished.\nWhat was I to do? I could not go on there--it was evidently stupid, and I could not leave things as they were, because that would seem as though.... Heavens, how could I leave things! And after such insults! \"No!\" I cried, throwing myself into the sledge again. \"It is ordained! It is fate! Drive on, drive on!\"\nAnd in my impatience I punched the sledge-driver on the back of the neck.\n\"What are you up to? What are you hitting me for?\" the peasant shouted, but he whipped up his nag so that it began kicking.\nThe wet snow was falling in big flakes; I unbuttoned myself, regardless of it. I forgot everything else, for I had finally decided on the slap, and felt with horror that it was going to happen now, at once, and that no force could stop it. The deserted street lamps gleamed sullenly in the snowy darkness like torches at a funeral. The snow drifted under my great-coat, under my coat, under my cravat, and melted there. I did not wrap myself up--all was lost, anyway.", "chosen": "I made a rush for the roughly made sledge; but as soon as I raised my foot to get into it, the recollection of how Simonov had just given me six roubles seemed to double me up and I tumbled into the sledge like a sack.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nI made a rush for the roughly made sledge; but as soon as I raised my foot to get into it, the recollection of how Simonov had just given me six roubles seemed to double me up and I tumbled into the sledge like a sack.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-36034-006-00-7e8c1aaa", "source": "pg-36034", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nBut they had; they undoubtedly had; for the low-toned comments behind him left no doubt in Archer's mind that the young woman was May Welland's cousin, the cousin always referred to in the family as \"poor Ellen Olenska.\" Archer knew that she had suddenly arrived from Europe a day or two previously; he had even heard from Miss Welland (not disapprovingly) that she had been to see poor Ellen, who was staying with old Mrs. Mingott. Archer entirely approved of family solidarity, and one of the qualities he most admired in the Mingotts was their resolute championship of the few black sheep that their blameless stock had produced. There was nothing mean or ungenerous in the young man's heart, and he was glad that his future wife should not be restrained by false prudery from being kind (in private) to her unhappy cousin; but to receive Countess Olenska in the family circle was a different thing from producing her in public, at the Opera of all places, and in the very box with the young girl whose engagement to him, Newland Archer, was to be announced within a few weeks. No, he felt as old Sillerton Jackson felt; he did not think the Mingotts would have tried it on!\nHe knew, of course, that whatever man dared (within Fifth Avenue's limits) that old Mrs. Manson Mingott, the Matriarch of the line, would dare. He had always admired the high and mighty old lady, who, in spite of having been only Catherine Spicer of Staten Island, with a father mysteriously discredited, and neither money nor position enough to make people forget it, had allied herself with the head of the wealthy Mingott line, married two of her daughters to \"foreigners\" (an Italian marquis and an English banker), and put the crowning touch to her audacities by building a large house of pale cream-coloured stone (when brown sandstone seemed as much the only wear as a frock-coat in the afternoon) in an inaccessible wilderness near the Central Park.\nOld Mrs. Mingott's foreign daughters had become a legend. They never came back to see their mother, and the latter being, like many persons of active mind and dominating will, sedentary and corpulent in her habit, had philosophically remained at home. But the cream-coloured house (supposed to be modelled on the private hotels of the Parisian aristocracy) was there as a visible proof of her moral courage; and she throned in it, among pre-Revolutionary furniture and souvenirs of the Tuileries of Louis Napoleon (where she had shone in her middle age), as placidly as if there were nothing peculiar in living above Thirty-fourth Street, or in having French windows that opened like doors instead of sashes that pushed up.\nEvery one (including Mr. Sillerton Jackson) was agreed that old Catherine had never had beauty--a gift which, in the eyes of New York, justified every success, and excused a certain number of failings. Unkind people said that, like her Imperial namesake, she had won her way to success by strength of will and hardness of heart, and a kind of haughty effrontery that was somehow justified by the extreme decency and dignity of her private life. Mr. Manson Mingott had died when she was only twenty-eight, and had \"tied up\" the money with an additional caution born of the general distrust of the Spicers; but his bold young widow went her way fearlessly, mingled freely in foreign society, married her daughters in heaven knew what corrupt and fashionable circles, hobnobbed with Dukes and Ambassadors, associated familiarly with Papists, entertained Opera singers, and was the intimate friend of Mme. Taglioni; and all the while (as Sillerton Jackson was the first to proclaim) there had never been a breath on her reputation; the only respect, he always added, in which she differed from the earlier Catherine.\nMrs. Manson Mingott had long since succeeded in untying her husband's fortune, and had lived in affluence for half a century; but memories of her early straits had made her excessively thrifty, and though, when she bought a dress or a piece of furniture, she took care that it should be of the best, she could not bring herself to spend much on the transient pleasures of the table. Therefore, for totally different reasons, her food was as poor as Mrs. Archer's, and her wines did nothing to redeem it. Her relatives considered that the penury of her table discredited the Mingott name, which had always been associated with good living; but people continued to come to her in spite of the \"made dishes\" and flat champagne, and in reply to the remonstrances of her son Lovell (who tried to retrieve the family credit by having the best chef in New York) she used to say laughingly: \"What's the use of two good cooks in one family, now that I've married the girls and can't eat sauces?\"\nNewland Archer, as he mused on these things, had once more turned his eyes toward the Mingott box. He saw that Mrs. Welland and her sister-in-law were facing their semicircle of critics with the Mingottian aplomb which old Catherine had inculcated in all her tribe, and that only May Welland betrayed, by a heightened colour (perhaps due to the knowledge that he was watching her) a sense of the gravity of the situation. As for the cause of the commotion, she sat gracefully in her corner of the box, her eyes fixed on the stage, and revealing, as she leaned forward, a little more shoulder and bosom than New York was accustomed to seeing, at least in ladies who had reasons for wishing to pass unnoticed.\nFew things seemed to Newland Archer more awful than an offence against \"Taste,\" that far-off divinity of whom \"Form\" was the mere visible representative and vicegerent. Madame Olenska's pale and serious face appealed to his fancy as suited to the occasion and to her unhappy situation; but the way her dress (which had no tucker) sloped away from her thin shoulders shocked and troubled him. He hated to think of May Welland's being exposed to the influence of a young woman so careless of the dictates of Taste.\n\"After all,\" he heard one of the younger men begin behind him (everybody talked through the Mephistopheles-and-Martha scenes), \"after all, just what happened?\"\n\"Well--she left him; nobody attempts to deny that.\"\n\"He's an awful brute, isn't he?\" continued the young enquirer, a candid Thorley, who was evidently preparing to enter the lists as the lady's champion.\n\"The very worst; I knew him at Nice,\" said Lawrence Lefferts with authority. \"A half-paralysed white sneering fellow--rather handsome head, but eyes with a lot of lashes. Well, I'll tell you the sort: when he wasn't with women he was collecting china. Paying any price for both, I understand.\"\nThere was a general laugh, and the young champion said: \"Well, then----?\"\n\"Well, then; she bolted with his secretary.\"\n\"Oh, I see.\" The champion's face fell.\n\"It didn't last long, though: I heard of her a few months later living alone in Venice. I believe Lovell Mingott went out to get her. He said she was desperately unhappy. That's all right--but this parading her at the Opera's another thing.\"\n\"Perhaps,\" young Thorley hazarded, \"she's too unhappy to be left at home.\"\nThis was greeted with an irreverent laugh, and the youth blushed deeply, and tried to look as if he had meant to insinuate what knowing people called a \"double entendre.\"\n\"Well--it's queer to have brought Miss Welland, anyhow,\" some one said in a low tone, with a side-glance at Archer.\n\"Oh, that's part of the campaign: Granny's orders, no doubt,\" Lefferts laughed. \"When the old lady does a thing she does it thoroughly.\"\nThe act was ending, and there was a general stir in the box. Suddenly Newland Archer felt himself impelled to decisive action. The desire to be the first man to enter Mrs. Mingott's box, to proclaim to the waiting world his engagement to May Welland, and to see her through whatever difficulties her cousin's anomalous situation might involve her in; this impulse had abruptly overruled all scruples and hesitations, and sent him hurrying through the red corridors to the farther side of the house.", "chosen": "house", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nhouse\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-541-001-02-7676cb65", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nTo scan the lines of his face, or feel the bumps on the head of this Leviathan; this is a thing which no Physiognomist or Phrenologist has as yet undertaken. Such an enterprise would seem almost as hopeful as for Lavater to have scrutinized the wrinkles on the Rock of Gibraltar, or for Gall to have mounted a ladder and manipulated the Dome of the Pantheon. Still, in that famous work of his, Lavater not only treats of the various faces of men, but also attentively studies the faces of horses, birds, serpents, and fish; and dwells in detail upon the modifications of expression discernible therein. Nor have Gall and his disciple Spurzheim failed to throw out some hints touching the phrenological characteristics of other beings than man. Therefore, though I am but ill qualified for a pioneer, in the application of these two semi-sciences to the whale, I will do my endeavor. I try all things; I achieve what I can.\nPhysiognomically regarded, the Sperm Whale is an anomalous creature. He has no proper nose. And since the nose is the central and most conspicuous of the features; and since it perhaps most modifies and finally controls their combined expression; hence it would seem that its entire absence, as an external appendage, must very largely affect the countenance of the whale. For as in landscape gardening, a spire, cupola, monument, or tower of some sort, is deemed almost indispensable to the completion of the scene; so no face can be physiognomically in keeping without the elevated open-work belfry of the nose. Dash the nose from Phidias's marble Jove, and what a sorry remainder! Nevertheless, Leviathan is of so mighty a magnitude, all his proportions are so stately, that the same deficiency which in the sculptured Jove were hideous, in him is no blemish at all. Nay, it is an added grandeur. A nose to the whale would have been impertinent. As on your physiognomical voyage you sail round his vast head in your jolly-boat, your noble conceptions of him are never insulted by the reflection that he has a nose to be pulled. A pestilent conceit, which so often will insist upon obtruding even when beholding the mightiest royal beadle on his throne.\nIn some particulars, perhaps the most imposing physiognomical view to be had of the Sperm Whale, is that of the full front of his head. This aspect is sublime.\nIn thought, a fine human brow is like the East when troubled with the morning. In the repose of the pasture, the curled brow of the bull has a touch of the grand in it. Pushing heavy cannon up mountain defiles, the elephant's brow is majestic. Human or animal, the mystical brow is as that great golden seal affixed by the German emperors to their decrees. It signifies—\"God: done this day by my hand.\" But in most creatures, nay in man himself, very often the brow is but a mere strip of alpine land lying along the snow line. Few are the foreheads which like Shakespeare's or Melancthon's rise so high, and descend so low, that the eyes themselves seem clear, eternal, tideless mountain lakes; and all above them in the forehead's wrinkles, you seem to track the antlered thoughts descending there to drink, as the Highland hunters track the snow prints of the deer. But in the great Sperm Whale, this high and mighty god-like dignity inherent in the brow is so immensely amplified, that gazing on it, in that full front view, you feel the Deity and the dread powers more forcibly than in beholding any other object in living nature. For you see no one point precisely; not one distinct feature is revealed; no nose, eyes, ears, or mouth; no face; he has none, proper; nothing but that one broad firmament of a forehead, pleated with riddles; dumbly lowering with the doom of boats, and ships, and men. Nor, in profile, does this wondrous brow diminish; though that way viewed its grandeur does not domineer upon you so. In profile, you plainly perceive that horizontal, semi-crescentic depression in the forehead's middle, which, in man, is Lavater's mark of genius.\nBut how? Genius in the Sperm Whale? Has the Sperm Whale ever written a book, spoken a speech? No, his great genius is declared in his doing nothing particular to prove it. It is moreover declared in his pyramidical silence. And this reminds me that had the great Sperm Whale been known to the young Orient World, he would have been deified by their child-magian thoughts. They deified the crocodile of the Nile, because the crocodile is tongueless; and the Sperm Whale has no tongue, or at least it is so exceedingly small, as to be incapable of protrusion. If hereafter any highly cultured, poetical nation shall lure back to their birth-right, the merry May-day gods of old; and livingly enthrone them again in the now egotistical sky; in the now unhaunted hill; then be sure, exalted to Jove's high seat, the great Sperm Whale shall lord it.\nChampollion deciphered the wrinkled granite hieroglyphics. But there is no Champollion to decipher the Egypt of every man's and every being's face. Physiognomy, like every other human science, is but a passing fable. If then, Sir William Jones, who read in thirty languages, could not read the simplest peasant's face in its profounder and more subtle meanings, how may unlettered Ishmael hope to read the awful Chaldee of the Sperm Whale's brow? I but put that brow before you. Read it if you can.", "chosen": "[\"Leviathan\", \"Physiognomist\", \"Phrenologist\", \"Lavater\", \"Rock\", \"Gibraltar\", \"Gall\", \"Dome\", \"Pantheon\", \"Spurzheim\", \"Sperm\", \"Whale\", \"Phidias\", \"Jove\", \"East\", \"German\", \"God\", \"Shakespeare\", \"Melancthon\", \"Highland\", \"Deity\", \"Orient\", \"World\", \"Nile\", \"May\", \"Champollion\", \"Egypt\", \"William\", \"Jones\", \"Ishmael\", \"Chaldee\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Leviathan\", \"Physiognomist\", \"Phrenologist\", \"Lavater\", \"Rock\", \"Gibraltar\", \"Gall\", \"Dome\", \"Pantheon\", \"Spurzheim\", \"Sperm\", \"Whale\", \"Phidias\", \"Jove\", \"East\", \"German\", \"God\", \"Shakespeare\", \"Melancthon\", \"Highland\", \"Deity\", \"Orient\", \"World\", \"Nile\", \"May\", \"Champollion\", \"Egypt\", \"William\", \"Jones\", \"Ishmael\", \"Chaldee\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-068-00-3e85bcd8", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Rakitin wouldn't understand it,\" he began in a sort of exaltation; \"but you, you'll understand it all. That's why I was thirsting for you. You see, there's so much I've been wanting to tell you for ever so long, here, within these peeling walls, but I haven't said a word about what matters most; the moment never seems to have come. Now I can wait no longer. I must pour out my heart to you. Brother, these last two months I've found in myself a new man. A new man has risen up in me. He was hidden in me, but would never have come to the surface, if it hadn't been for this blow from heaven. I am afraid! And what do I care if I spend twenty years in the mines, breaking ore with a hammer? I am not a bit afraid of that—it's something else I am afraid of now: that that new man may leave me. Even there, in the mines, under-ground, I may find a human heart in another convict and murderer by my side, and I may make friends with him, for even there one may live and love and suffer. One may thaw and revive a frozen heart in that convict, one may wait upon him for years, and at last bring up from the dark depths a lofty soul, a feeling, suffering creature; one may bring forth an angel, create a hero! There are so many of them, hundreds of them, and we are all to blame for them. Why was it I dreamed of that 'babe' at such a moment? 'Why is the babe so poor?' That was a sign to me at that moment. It's for the babe I'm going. Because we are all responsible for all. For all the 'babes,' for there are big children as well as little children. All are 'babes.' I go for all, because some one must go for all. I didn't kill father, but I've got to go. I accept it. It's all come to me here, here, within these peeling walls. There are numbers of them there, hundreds of them underground, with hammers in their hands. Oh, yes, we shall be in chains and there will be no freedom, but then, in our great sorrow, we shall rise again to joy, without which man cannot live nor God exist, for God gives joy: it's His privilege—a grand one. Ah, man should be dissolved in prayer! What should I be underground there without God? Rakitin's laughing! If they drive God from the earth, we shall shelter Him underground. One cannot exist in prison without God; it's even more impossible than out of prison. And then we men underground will sing from the bowels of the earth a glorious hymn to God, with Whom is joy. Hail to God and His joy! I love Him!\"\nMitya was almost gasping for breath as he uttered his wild speech. He turned pale, his lips quivered, and tears rolled down his cheeks.\n\"Yes, life is full, there is life even underground,\" he began again. \"You wouldn't believe, Alexey, how I want to live now, what a thirst for existence and consciousness has sprung up in me within these peeling walls. Rakitin doesn't understand that; all he cares about is building a house and letting flats. But I've been longing for you. And what is suffering? I am not afraid of it, even if it were beyond reckoning. I am not afraid of it now. I was afraid of it before. Do you know, perhaps I won't answer at the trial at all.... And I seem to have such strength in me now, that I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, 'I exist.' In thousands of agonies—I exist. I'm tormented on the rack—but I exist! Though I sit alone on a pillar—I exist! I see the sun, and if I don't see the sun, I know it's there. And there's a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there. Alyosha, my angel, all these philosophies are the death of me. Damn them! Brother Ivan—\"\n\"What of brother Ivan?\" interrupted Alyosha, but Mitya did not hear.\n\"You see, I never had any of these doubts before, but it was all hidden away in me. It was perhaps just because ideas I did not understand were surging up in me, that I used to drink and fight and rage. It was to stifle them in myself, to still them, to smother them. Ivan is not Rakitin, there is an idea in him. Ivan is a sphinx and is silent; he is always silent. It's God that's worrying me. That's the only thing that's worrying me. What if He doesn't exist? What if Rakitin's right—that it's an idea made up by men? Then if He doesn't exist, man is the chief of the earth, of the universe. Magnificent! Only how is he going to be good without God? That's the question. I always come back to that. For whom is man going to love then? To whom will he be thankful? To whom will he sing the hymn? Rakitin laughs. Rakitin says that one can love humanity without God. Well, only a sniveling idiot can maintain that. I can't understand it. Life's easy for Rakitin. 'You'd better think about the extension of civic rights, or even of keeping down the price of meat. You will show your love for humanity more simply and directly by that, than by philosophy.' I answered him, 'Well, but you, without a God, are more likely to raise the price of meat, if it suits you, and make a rouble on every copeck.' He lost his temper. But after all, what is goodness? Answer me that, Alexey. Goodness is one thing with me and another with a Chinaman, so it's a relative thing. Or isn't it? Is it not relative? A treacherous question! You won't laugh if I tell you it's kept me awake two nights. I only wonder now how people can live and think nothing about it. Vanity! Ivan has no God. He has an idea. It's beyond me. But he is silent. I believe he is a free-mason. I asked him, but he is silent. I wanted to drink from the springs of his soul—he was silent. But once he did drop a word.\"\n\"What did he say?\" Alyosha took it up quickly.\n\"I said to him, 'Then everything is lawful, if it is so?' He frowned. 'Fyodor Pavlovitch, our papa,' he said, 'was a pig, but his ideas were right enough.' That was what he dropped. That was all he said. That was going one better than Rakitin.\"\n\"Yes,\" Alyosha assented bitterly. \"When was he with you?\"\n\"Of that later; now I must speak of something else. I have said nothing about Ivan to you before. I put it off to the last. When my business here is over and the verdict has been given, then I'll tell you something. I'll tell you everything. We've something tremendous on hand.... And you shall be my judge in it. But don't begin about that now; be silent. You talk of to-morrow, of the trial; but, would you believe it, I know nothing about it.\"\n\"Have you talked to the counsel?\"", "chosen": "Rakitin, That's, You, Now, I, Brother,, A, He, I, And, I, Even, One, There, Why, Why, It's, Because, For, All, I, I, It's, There, Oh,, Ah,, What, Rakitin's, If, One, And, Hail, I, He, Yes,, You, Rakitin, But, And, I, I, I, Do, And, I'm, Though, I, And, Alyosha,, Damn, Brother, You, It, It, Ivan, Ivan, It's, That's, What, What, Then, Magnificent!, Only, That's, I, For, To, To, Rakitin, Rakitin, Well,, I, Life's, You'd, You, But, Answer, Goodness, Or, Is, A, You, I, Vanity!, Ivan, He, It's, But, I, I, I, But, I, Fyodor, That, That, When, I, I, When, I'll, We've, And, But, You", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nRakitin, That's, You, Now, I, Brother,, A, He, I, And, I, Even, One, There, Why, Why, It's, Because, For, All, I, I, It's, There, Oh,, Ah,, What, Rakitin's, If, One, And, Hail, I, He, Yes,, You, Rakitin, But, And, I, I, I, Do, And, I'm, Though, I, And, Alyosha,, Damn, Brother, You, It, It, Ivan, Ivan, It's, That's, What, What, Then, Magnificent!, Only, That's, I, For, To, To, Rakitin, Rakitin, Well,, I, Life's, You'd, You, But, Answer, Goodness, Or, Is, A, You, I, Vanity!, Ivan, He, It's, But, I, I, I, But, I, Fyodor, That, That, When, I, I, When, I'll, We've, And, But, You\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-071-02-19952e12", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe whale never figured in any grand imposing way? In one of the mighty triumphs given to a Roman general upon his entering the world's capital, the bones of a whale, brought all the way from the Syrian coast, were the most conspicuous object in the cymballed procession.*\n*See subsequent chapters for something more on this head.\nGrant it, since you cite it; but, say what you will, there is no real dignity in whaling.\nNo dignity in whaling? The dignity of our calling the very heavens attest. Cetus is a constellation in the South! No more! Drive down your hat in presence of the Czar, and take it off to Queequeg! No more! I know a man that, in his lifetime, has taken three hundred and fifty whales. I account that man more honorable than that great captain of antiquity who boasted of taking as many walled towns.\nAnd, as for me, if, by any possibility, there be any as yet undiscovered prime thing in me; if I shall ever deserve any real repute in that small but high hushed world which I might not be unreasonably ambitious of; if hereafter I shall do anything that, upon the whole, a man might rather have done than to have left undone; if, at my death, my executors, or more properly my creditors, find any precious MSS. in my desk, then here I prospectively ascribe all the honor and the glory to whaling; for a whale-ship was my Yale College and my Harvard.", "chosen": "13", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n13\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-023-01-5b7c009f", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nThe previous chapter gave account of an immense body or herd of Sperm Whales, and there was also then given the probable cause inducing those vast aggregations.\nNow, though such great bodies are at times encountered, yet, as must have been seen, even at the present day, small detached bands are occasionally observed, embracing from twenty to fifty individuals each. Such bands are known as schools. They generally are of two sorts; those composed almost entirely of females, and those mustering none but young vigorous males, or bulls, as they are familiarly designated.\nIn cavalier attendance upon the school of females, you invariably see a male of full grown magnitude, but not old; who, upon any alarm, evinces his gallantry by falling in the rear and covering the flight of his ladies. In truth, this gentleman is a luxurious Ottoman, swimming about over the watery world, surroundingly accompanied by all the solaces and endearments of the harem. The contrast between this Ottoman and his concubines is striking; because, while he is always of the largest leviathanic proportions, the ladies, even at full growth, are not more than one-third of the bulk of an average-sized male. They are comparatively delicate, indeed; I dare say, not to exceed half a dozen yards round the waist. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied, that upon the whole they are hereditarily entitled to en bon point.\nIt is very curious to watch this harem and its lord in their indolent ramblings. Like fashionables, they are for ever on the move in leisurely search of variety. You meet them on the Line in time for the full flower of the Equatorial feeding season, having just returned, perhaps, from spending the summer in the Northern seas, and so cheating summer of all unpleasant weariness and warmth. By the time they have lounged up and down the promenade of the Equator awhile, they start for the Oriental waters in anticipation of the cool season there, and so evade the other excessive temperature of the year.\nWhen serenely advancing on one of these journeys, if any strange suspicious sights are seen, my lord whale keeps a wary eye on his interesting family. Should any unwarrantably pert young Leviathan coming that way, presume to draw confidentially close to one of the ladies, with what prodigious fury the Bashaw assails him, and chases him away! High times, indeed, if unprincipled young rakes like him are to be permitted to invade the sanctity of domestic bliss; though do what the Bashaw will, he cannot keep the most notorious Lothario out of his bed; for, alas! all fish bed in common. As ashore, the ladies often cause the most terrible duels among their rival admirers; just so with the whales, who sometimes come to deadly battle, and all for love. They fence with their long lower jaws, sometimes locking them together, and so striving for the supremacy like elks that warringly interweave their antlers. Not a few are captured having the deep scars of these encounters,—furrowed heads, broken teeth, scolloped fins; and in some instances, wrenched and dislocated mouths.\nBut supposing the invader of domestic bliss to betake himself away at the first rush of the harem's lord, then is it very diverting to watch that lord. Gently he insinuates his vast bulk among them again and revels there awhile, still in tantalizing vicinity to young Lothario, like pious Solomon devoutly worshipping among his thousand concubines. Granting other whales to be in sight, the fishermen will seldom give chase to one of these Grand Turks; for these Grand Turks are too lavish of their strength, and hence their unctuousness is small. As for the sons and the daughters they beget, why, those sons and daughters must take care of themselves; at least, with only the maternal help. For like certain other omnivorous roving lovers that might be named, my Lord Whale has no taste for the nursery, however much for the bower; and so, being a great traveller, he leaves his anonymous babies all over the world; every baby an exotic. In good time, nevertheless, as the ardour of youth declines; as years and dumps increase; as reflection lends her solemn pauses; in short, as a general lassitude overtakes the sated Turk; then a love of ease and virtue supplants the love for maidens; our Ottoman enters upon the impotent, repentant, admonitory stage of life, forswears, disbands the harem, and grown to an exemplary, sulky old soul, goes about all alone among the meridians and parallels saying his prayers, and warning each young Leviathan from his amorous errors.\nNow, as the harem of whales is called by the fishermen a school, so is the lord and master of that school technically known as the schoolmaster. It is therefore not in strict character, however admirably satirical, that after going to school himself, he should then go abroad inculcating not what he learned there, but the folly of it. His title, schoolmaster, would very naturally seem derived from the name bestowed upon the harem itself, but some have surmised that the man who first thus entitled this sort of Ottoman whale, must have read the memoirs of Vidocq, and informed himself what sort of a country-schoolmaster that famous Frenchman was in his younger days, and what was the nature of those occult lessons he inculcated into some of his pupils.\nThe same secludedness and isolation to which the schoolmaster whale betakes himself in his advancing years, is true of all aged Sperm Whales. Almost universally, a lone whale—as a solitary Leviathan is called—proves an ancient one. Like venerable moss-bearded Daniel Boone, he will have no one near him but Nature herself; and her he takes to wife in the wilderness of waters, and the best of wives she is, though she keeps so many moody secrets.\nThe schools composing none but young and vigorous males, previously mentioned, offer a strong contrast to the harem schools. For while those female whales are characteristically timid, the young males, or forty-barrel-bulls, as they call them, are by far the most pugnacious of all Leviathans, and proverbially the most dangerous to encounter; excepting those wondrous grey-headed, grizzled whales, sometimes met, and these will fight you like grim fiends exasperated by a penal gout.\nThe Forty-barrel-bull schools are larger than the harem schools. Like a mob of young collegians, they are full of fight, fun, and wickedness, tumbling round the world at such a reckless, rollicking rate, that no prudent underwriter would insure them any more than he would a riotous lad at Yale or Harvard. They soon relinquish this turbulence though, and when about three-fourths grown, break up, and separately go about in quest of settlements, that is, harems.\nAnother point of difference between the male and female schools is still more characteristic of the sexes. Say you strike a Forty-barrel-bull—poor devil! all his comrades quit him. But strike a member of the harem school, and her companions swim around her with every token of concern, sometimes lingering so near her and so long, as themselves to fall a prey.", "chosen": "In good time, nevertheless, as the ardour of youth declines; as years and dumps increase; as reflection lends her solemn pauses; in short, as a general lassitude overtakes the sated Turk; then a love of ease and virtue supplants the love for maidens; our Ottoman enters upon the impotent, repentant, admonitory stage of life, forswears, disbands the harem, and grown to an exemplary, sulky old soul, goes about all alone among the meridians and parallels saying his prayers, and warning each young Leviathan from his amorous errors.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nIn good time, nevertheless, as the ardour of youth declines; as years and dumps increase; as reflection lends her solemn pauses; in short, as a general lassitude overtakes the sated Turk; then a love of ease and virtue supplants the love for maidens; our Ottoman enters upon the impotent, repentant, admonitory stage of life, forswears, disbands the harem, and grown to an exemplary, sulky old soul, goes about all alone among the meridians and parallels saying his prayers, and warning each young Leviathan from his amorous errors.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2701-077-00-4a237d67", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"It will be time enough, then, if you are back at half-past seven, Francis. Or stay: just leave my things out for dressing. You can have the evening to yourself. I am not dining at home, so I shall not want you.\"\n\"Thank you, sir,\" said the man, leaving the room.\n\"Now, Alan, there is not a moment to be lost. How heavy this chest is! I'll take it for you. You bring the other things.\" He spoke rapidly and in an authoritative manner. Campbell felt dominated by him. They left the room together.\nWhen they reached the top landing, Dorian took out the key and turned it in the lock. Then he stopped, and a troubled look came into his eyes. He shuddered. \"I don't think I can go in, Alan,\" he murmured.\n\"It is nothing to me. I don't require you,\" said Campbell coldly.\nDorian half opened the door. As he did so, he saw the face of his portrait leering in the sunlight. On the floor in front of it the torn curtain was lying. He remembered that the night before he had forgotten, for the first time in his life, to hide the fatal canvas, and was about to rush forward, when he drew back with a shudder.\nWhat was that loathsome red dew that gleamed, wet and glistening, on one of the hands, as though the canvas had sweated blood? How horrible it was!—more horrible, it seemed to him for the moment, than the silent thing that he knew was stretched across the table, the thing whose grotesque misshapen shadow on the spotted carpet showed him that it had not stirred, but was still there, as he had left it.\nHe heaved a deep breath, opened the door a little wider, and with half-closed eyes and averted head, walked quickly in, determined that he would not look even once upon the dead man. Then, stooping down and taking up the gold-and-purple hanging, he flung it right over the picture.\nThere he stopped, feeling afraid to turn round, and his eyes fixed themselves on the intricacies of the pattern before him. He heard Campbell bringing in the heavy chest, and the irons, and the other things that he had required for his dreadful work. He began to wonder if he and Basil Hallward had ever met, and, if so, what they had thought of each other.\n\"Leave me now,\" said a stern voice behind him.\nHe turned and hurried out, just conscious that the dead man had been thrust back into the chair and that Campbell was gazing into a glistening yellow face. As he was going downstairs, he heard the key being turned in the lock.\nIt was long after seven when Campbell came back into the library. He was pale, but absolutely calm. \"I have done what you asked me to do,\" he muttered. \"And now, good-bye. Let us never see each other again.\"\n\"You have saved me from ruin, Alan. I cannot forget that,\" said Dorian simply.\nAs soon as Campbell had left, he went upstairs. There was a horrible smell of nitric acid in the room. But the thing that had been sitting at the table was gone.", "chosen": "[\"Thank you, sir,\", \"Now, Alan, there is not a moment to be lost. How heavy this chest is! I'll take it for you. You bring the other things.\", \"I don't think I can go in, Alan,\", \"It is nothing to me. I don't require you,\", \"Leave me now,\", \"I have done what you asked me to do,\", \"And now, good-bye. Let us never see each other again.\", \"You have saved me from ruin, Alan. I cannot forget that,\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Thank you, sir,\", \"Now, Alan, there is not a moment to be lost. How heavy this chest is! I'll take it for you. You bring the other things.\", \"I don't think I can go in, Alan,\", \"It is nothing to me. I don't require you,\", \"Leave me now,\", \"I have done what you asked me to do,\", \"And now, good-bye. Let us never see each other again.\", \"You have saved me from ruin, Alan. I cannot forget that,\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-174-014-03-a4b0c0be", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIt seemed that the Jeroboam had not long left home, when upon speaking a whale-ship, her people were reliably apprised of the existence of Moby Dick, and the havoc he had made. Greedily sucking in this intelligence, Gabriel solemnly warned the captain against attacking the White Whale, in case the monster should be seen; in his gibbering insanity, pronouncing the White Whale to be no less a being than the Shaker God incarnated; the Shakers receiving the Bible. But when, some year or two afterwards, Moby Dick was fairly sighted from the mast-heads, Macey, the chief mate, burned with ardour to encounter him; and the captain himself being not unwilling to let him have the opportunity, despite all the archangel's denunciations and forewarnings, Macey succeeded in persuading five men to man his boat. With them he pushed off; and, after much weary pulling, and many perilous, unsuccessful onsets, he at last succeeded in getting one iron fast. Meantime, Gabriel, ascending to the main-royal mast-head, was tossing one arm in frantic gestures, and hurling forth prophecies of speedy doom to the sacrilegious assailants of his divinity. Now, while Macey, the mate, was standing up in his boat's bow, and with all the reckless energy of his tribe was venting his wild exclamations upon the whale, and essaying to get a fair chance for his poised lance, lo! a broad white shadow rose from the sea; by its quick, fanning motion, temporarily taking the breath out of the bodies of the oarsmen. Next instant, the luckless mate, so full of furious life, was smitten bodily into the air, and making a long arc in his descent, fell into the sea at the distance of about fifty yards. Not a chip of the boat was harmed, nor a hair of any oarsman's head; but the mate for ever sank.\nIt is well to parenthesize here, that of the fatal accidents in the Sperm-Whale Fishery, this kind is perhaps almost as frequent as any. Sometimes, nothing is injured but the man who is thus annihilated; oftener the boat's bow is knocked off, or the thigh-board, in which the headsman stands, is torn from its place and accompanies the body. But strangest of all is the circumstance, that in more instances than one, when the body has been recovered, not a single mark of violence is discernible; the man being stark dead.\nThe whole calamity, with the falling form of Macey, was plainly descried from the ship. Raising a piercing shriek—\"The vial! the vial!\" Gabriel called off the terror-stricken crew from the further hunting of the whale. This terrible event clothed the archangel with added influence; because his credulous disciples believed that he had specifically fore-announced it, instead of only making a general prophecy, which any one might have done, and so have chanced to hit one of many marks in the wide margin allowed. He became a nameless terror to the ship.\nMayhew having concluded his narration, Ahab put such questions to him, that the stranger captain could not forbear inquiring whether he intended to hunt the White Whale, if opportunity should offer. To which Ahab answered—\"Aye.\" Straightway, then, Gabriel once more started to his feet, glaring upon the old man, and vehemently exclaimed, with downward pointed finger—\"Think, think of the blasphemer—dead, and down there!—beware of the blasphemer's end!\"\nAhab stolidly turned aside; then said to Mayhew, \"Captain, I have just bethought me of my letter-bag; there is a letter for one of thy officers, if I mistake not. Starbuck, look over the bag.\"\nEvery whale-ship takes out a goodly number of letters for various ships, whose delivery to the persons to whom they may be addressed, depends upon the mere chance of encountering them in the four oceans. Thus, most letters never reach their mark; and many are only received after attaining an age of two or three years or more.\nSoon Starbuck returned with a letter in his hand. It was sorely tumbled, damp, and covered with a dull, spotted, green mould, in consequence of being kept in a dark locker of the cabin. Of such a letter, Death himself might well have been the post-boy.\n\"Can'st not read it?\" cried Ahab. \"Give it me, man. Aye, aye, it's but a dim scrawl;—what's this?\" As he was studying it out, Starbuck took a long cutting-spade pole, and with his knife slightly split the end, to insert the letter there, and in that way, hand it to the boat, without its coming any closer to the ship.\nMeantime, Ahab holding the letter, muttered, \"Mr. Har—yes, Mr. Harry—(a woman's pinny hand,—the man's wife, I'll wager)—Aye—Mr. Harry Macey, Ship Jeroboam;—why it's Macey, and he's dead!\"\n\"Poor fellow! poor fellow! and from his wife,\" sighed Mayhew; \"but let me have it.\"\n\"Nay, keep it thyself,\" cried Gabriel to Ahab; \"thou art soon going that way.\"\n\"Curses throttle thee!\" yelled Ahab. \"Captain Mayhew, stand by now to receive it\"; and taking the fatal missive from Starbuck's hands, he caught it in the slit of the pole, and reached it over towards the boat. But as he did so, the oarsmen expectantly desisted from rowing; the boat drifted a little towards the ship's stern; so that, as if by magic, the letter suddenly ranged along with Gabriel's eager hand. He clutched it in an instant, seized the boat-knife, and impaling the letter on it, sent it thus loaded back into the ship. It fell at Ahab's feet. Then Gabriel shrieked out to his comrades to give way with their oars, and in that manner the mutinous boat rapidly shot away from the Pequod.\nAs, after this interlude, the seamen resumed their work upon the jacket of the whale, many strange things were hinted in reference to this wild affair.", "chosen": "affair", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\naffair\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-060-01-167eca41", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHalf-way up the backwater, we got out and lunched; and it was during this lunch that George and I received rather a trying shock.\nHarris received a shock, too; but I do not think Harris's shock could have been anything like so bad as the shock that George and I had over the business.\nYou see, it was in this way: we were sitting in a meadow, about ten yards from the water's edge, and we had just settled down comfortably to feed. Harris had the beefsteak pie between his knees, and was carving it, and George and I were waiting with our plates ready.\n\"Have you got a spoon there?\" says Harris; \"I want a spoon to help the gravy with.\"\nThe hamper was close behind us, and George and I both turned round to reach one out. We were not five seconds getting it. When we looked round again, Harris and the pie were gone!\nIt was a wide, open field. There was not a tree or a bit of hedge for hundreds of yards. He could not have tumbled into the river, because we were on the water side of him, and he would have had to climb over us to do it.\nGeorge and I gazed all about. Then we gazed at each other.\n\"Has he been snatched up to heaven?\" I queried.\n\"They'd hardly have taken the pie too,\" said George.\nThere seemed weight in this objection, and we discarded the heavenly theory.\n\"I suppose the truth of the matter is,\" suggested George, descending to the commonplace and practicable, \"that there has been an earthquake.\"\nAnd then he added, with a touch of sadness in his voice: \"I wish he hadn't been carving that pie.\"\nWith a sigh, we turned our eyes once more towards the spot where Harris and the pie had last been seen on earth; and there, as our blood froze in our veins and our hair stood up on end, we saw Harris's head—and nothing but his head—sticking bolt upright among the tall grass, the face very red, and bearing upon it an expression of great indignation!\nGeorge was the first to recover.\n\"Speak!\" he cried, \"and tell us whether you are alive or dead—and where is the rest of you?\"\n\"Oh, don't be a stupid ass!\" said Harris's head. \"I believe you did it on purpose.\"\n\"Did what?\" exclaimed George and I.\n\"Why, put me to sit here—darn silly trick! Here, catch hold of the pie.\"\n[Picture: Rescuing the pie] And out of the middle of the earth, as it seemed to us, rose the pie—very much mixed up and damaged; and, after it, scrambled Harris—tumbled, grubby, and wet.\nHe had been sitting, without knowing it, on the very verge of a small gully, the long grass hiding it from view; and in leaning a little back he had shot over, pie and all.\nHe said he had never felt so surprised in all his life, as when he first felt himself going, without being able to conjecture in the slightest what had happened. He thought at first that the end of the world had come.\nHarris believes to this day that George and I planned it all beforehand. Thus does unjust suspicion follow even the most blameless for, as the poet says, \"Who shall escape calumny?\"\nWho, indeed!", "chosen": "[\"George\", \"Harris\", \"Have\", \"Has\", \"Speak\", \"Did\", \"Rescuing\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"George\", \"Harris\", \"Have\", \"Has\", \"Speak\", \"Did\", \"Rescuing\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-308-013-03-2c59aabb", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThat table often remained covered with the relics of the family breakfast long after Mr. Vincy had gone with his second son to the warehouse, and when Miss Morgan was already far on in morning lessons with the younger girls in the schoolroom. It awaited the family laggard, who found any sort of inconvenience (to others) less disagreeable than getting up when he was called. This was the case one morning of the October in which we have lately seen Mr. Casaubon visiting the Grange; and though the room was a little overheated with the fire, which had sent the spaniel panting to a remote corner, Rosamond, for some reason, continued to sit at her embroidery longer than usual, now and then giving herself a little shake, and laying her work on her knee to contemplate it with an air of hesitating weariness. Her mamma, who had returned from an excursion to the kitchen, sat on the other side of the small work-table with an air of more entire placidity, until, the clock again giving notice that it was going to strike, she looked up from the lace-mending which was occupying her plump fingers and rang the bell.\n\"Knock at Mr. Fred's door again, Pritchard, and tell him it has struck half-past ten.\"\nThis was said without any change in the radiant good-humor of Mrs. Vincy's face, in which forty-five years had delved neither angles nor parallels; and pushing back her pink capstrings, she let her work rest on her lap, while she looked admiringly at her daughter.\n\"Mamma,\" said Rosamond, \"when Fred comes down I wish you would not let him have red herrings. I cannot bear the smell of them all over the house at this hour of the morning.\"\n\"Oh, my dear, you are so hard on your brothers! It is the only fault I have to find with you. You are the sweetest temper in the world, but you are so tetchy with your brothers.\"\n\"Not tetchy, mamma: you never hear me speak in an unladylike way.\"\n\"Well, but you want to deny them things.\"\n\"Brothers are so unpleasant.\"\n\"Oh, my dear, you must allow for young men. Be thankful if they have good hearts. A woman must learn to put up with little things. You will be married some day.\"\n\"Not to any one who is like Fred.\"\n\"Don't decry your own brother, my dear. Few young men have less against them, although he couldn't take his degree—I'm sure I can't understand why, for he seems to me most clever. And you know yourself he was thought equal to the best society at college. So particular as you are, my dear, I wonder you are not glad to have such a gentlemanly young man for a brother. You are always finding fault with Bob because he is not Fred.\"\n\"Oh no, mamma, only because he is Bob.\"\n\"Well, my dear, you will not find any Middlemarch young man who has not something against him.\"\n\"But\"—here Rosamond's face broke into a smile which suddenly revealed two dimples. She herself thought unfavorably of these dimples and smiled little in general society. \"But I shall not marry any Middlemarch young man.\"\n\"So it seems, my love, for you have as good as refused the pick of them; and if there's better to be had, I'm sure there's no girl better deserves it.\"\n\"Excuse me, mamma—I wish you would not say, 'the pick of them.'\"\n\"Why, what else are they?\"\n\"I mean, mamma, it is rather a vulgar expression.\"\n\"Very likely, my dear; I never was a good speaker. What should I say?\"\n\"The best of them.\"\n\"Why, that seems just as plain and common. If I had had time to think, I should have said, 'the most superior young men.' But with your education you must know.\"\n\"What must Rosy know, mother?\" said Mr. Fred, who had slid in unobserved through the half-open door while the ladies were bending over their work, and now going up to the fire stood with his back towards it, warming the soles of his slippers.\n\"Whether it's right to say 'superior young men,'\" said Mrs. Vincy, ringing the bell.\n\"Oh, there are so many superior teas and sugars now. Superior is getting to be shopkeepers' slang.\"\n\"Are you beginning to dislike slang, then?\" said Rosamond, with mild gravity.\n\"Only the wrong sort. All choice of words is slang. It marks a class.\"\n\"There is correct English: that is not slang.\"\n\"I beg your pardon: correct English is the slang of prigs who write history and essays. And the strongest slang of all is the slang of poets.\"\n\"You will say anything, Fred, to gain your point.\"\n\"Well, tell me whether it is slang or poetry to call an ox a leg-plaiter.\"\n\"Of course you can call it poetry if you like.\"\n\"Aha, Miss Rosy, you don't know Homer from slang. I shall invent a new game; I shall write bits of slang and poetry on slips, and give them to you to separate.\"\n\"Dear me, how amusing it is to hear young people talk!\" said Mrs. Vincy, with cheerful admiration.\n\"Have you got nothing else for my breakfast, Pritchard?\" said Fred, to the servant who brought in coffee and buttered toast; while he walked round the table surveying the ham, potted beef, and other cold remnants, with an air of silent rejection, and polite forbearance from signs of disgust.\n\"Should you like eggs, sir?\"\n\"Eggs, no! Bring me a grilled bone.\"\n\"Really, Fred,\" said Rosamond, when the servant had left the room, \"if you must have hot things for breakfast, I wish you would come down earlier. You can get up at six o'clock to go out hunting; I cannot understand why you find it so difficult to get up on other mornings.\"\n\"That is your want of understanding, Rosy. I can get up to go hunting because I like it.\"\n\"What would you think of me if I came down two hours after every one else and ordered grilled bone?\"\n\"I should think you were an uncommonly fast young lady,\" said Fred, eating his toast with the utmost composure.\n\"I cannot see why brothers are to make themselves disagreeable, any more than sisters.\"\n\"I don't make myself disagreeable; it is you who find me so. Disagreeable is a word that describes your feelings and not my actions.\"\n\"I think it describes the smell of grilled bone.\"\n\"Not at all. It describes a sensation in your little nose associated with certain finicking notions which are the classics of Mrs. Lemon's school. Look at my mother; you don't see her objecting to everything except what she does herself. She is my notion of a pleasant woman.\"\n\"Bless you both, my dears, and don't quarrel,\" said Mrs. Vincy, with motherly cordiality. \"Come, Fred, tell us all about the new doctor. How is your uncle pleased with him?\"\n\"Pretty well, I think. He asks Lydgate all sorts of questions and then screws up his face while he hears the answers, as if they were pinching his toes. That's his way. Ah, here comes my grilled bone.\"\n\"But how came you to stay out so late, my dear? You only said you were going to your uncle's.\"\n\"Oh, I dined at Plymdale's. We had whist. Lydgate was there too.\"\n\"And what do you think of him? He is very gentlemanly, I suppose. They say he is of excellent family—his relations quite county people.\"\n\"Yes,\" said Fred. \"There was a Lydgate at John's who spent no end of money. I find this man is a second cousin of his. But rich men may have very poor devils for second cousins.\"\n\"It always makes a difference, though, to be of good family,\" said Rosamond, with a tone of decision which showed that she had thought on this subject. Rosamond felt that she might have been happier if she had not been the daughter of a Middlemarch manufacturer. She disliked anything which reminded her that her mother's father had been an innkeeper. Certainly any one remembering the fact might think that Mrs. Vincy had the air of a very handsome good-humored landlady, accustomed to the most capricious orders of gentlemen.", "chosen": "That, Vincy, It, This, Casaubon, Her, Knock, Fred's, Vincy's, Mamma,\", I, It, You, Be, A, You, Few, And, So, You, She, But, What, If, Fred,, Whether, Vincy,, Oh,, Superior, Only, All, It, And, I, Vincy,, Have, Should, Bring, You, I, I, Disagreeable, It, Lemon's, Look, She, Vincy,, Come,, How, He, That's, Ah,, You, We, Lydgate, He, They, There, I, But, Rosamond, She, Certainly, Vincy", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nThat, Vincy, It, This, Casaubon, Her, Knock, Fred's, Vincy's, Mamma,\", I, It, You, Be, A, You, Few, And, So, You, She, But, What, If, Fred,, Whether, Vincy,, Oh,, Superior, Only, All, It, And, I, Vincy,, Have, Should, Bring, You, I, I, Disagreeable, It, Lemon's, Look, She, Vincy,, Come,, How, He, That's, Ah,, You, We, Lydgate, He, They, There, I, But, Rosamond, She, Certainly, Vincy\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-012-01-2dcd7031", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nRacing Days\nIT was always the custom for the boats to leave New Orleans between four and five o'clock in the afternoon. From three o'clock onward they would be burning rosin and pitch pine (the sign of preparation), and so one had the picturesque spectacle of a rank, some two or three miles long, of tall, ascending columns of coal-black smoke; a colonnade which supported a sable roof of the same smoke blended together and spreading abroad over the city. Every outward-bound boat had its flag flying at the jack-staff, and sometimes a duplicate on the verge staff astern. Two or three miles of mates were commanding and swearing with more than usual emphasis; countless processions of freight barrels and boxes were spinning athwart the levee and flying aboard the stage-planks, belated passengers were dodging and skipping among these frantic things, hoping to reach the forecastle companion way alive, but having their doubts about it; women with reticules and bandboxes were trying to keep up with husbands freighted with carpet-sacks and crying babies, and making a failure of it by losing their heads in the whirl and roar and general distraction; drays and baggage-vans were clattering hither and thither in a wild hurry, every now and then getting blocked and jammed together, and then during ten seconds one could not see them for the profanity, except vaguely and dimly; every windlass connected with every forehatch, from one end of that long array of steamboats to the other, was keeping up a deafening whiz and whir, lowering freight into the hold, and the half-naked crews of perspiring negroes that worked them were roaring such songs as 'De Las' Sack! De Las' Sack!'--inspired to unimaginable exaltation by the chaos of turmoil and racket that was driving everybody else mad.\nBy this time the hurricane and boiler decks of the steamers would be packed and black with passengers. The 'last bells' would begin to clang, all down the line, and then the powwow seemed to double; in a moment or two the final warning came,--a simultaneous din of Chinese gongs, with the cry, 'All dat ain't goin', please to git asho'!'--and behold, the powwow quadrupled! People came swarming ashore, overturning excited stragglers that were trying to swarm aboard. One more moment later a long array of stage-planks was being hauled in, each with its customary latest passenger clinging to the end of it with teeth, nails, and everything else, and the customary latest procrastinator making a wild spring shoreward over his head.\nNow a number of the boats slide backward into the stream, leaving wide gaps in the serried rank of steamers. Citizens crowd the decks of boats that are not to go, in order to see the sight. Steamer after steamer straightens herself up, gathers all her strength, and presently comes swinging by, under a tremendous head of steam, with flag flying, black smoke rolling, and her entire crew of firemen and deck-hands (usually swarthy negroes) massed together on the forecastle, the best 'voice' in the lot towering from the midst (being mounted on the capstan), waving his hat or a flag, and all roaring a mighty chorus, while the parting cannons boom and the multitudinous spectators swing their hats and huzza! Steamer after steamer falls into line, and the stately procession goes winging its flight up the river.\nIn the old times, whenever two fast boats started out on a race, with a big crowd of people looking on, it was inspiring to hear the crews sing, especially if the time were night-fall, and the forecastle lit up with the red glare of the torch-baskets. Racing was royal fun. The public always had an idea that racing was dangerous; whereas the opposite was the case--that is, after the laws were passed which restricted each boat to just so many pounds of steam to the square inch. No engineer was ever sleepy or careless when his heart was in a race. He was constantly on the alert, trying gauge-cocks and watching things. The dangerous place was on slow, plodding boats, where the engineers drowsed around and allowed chips to get into the 'doctor' and shut off the water supply from the boilers.\nIn the 'flush times' of steamboating, a race between two notoriously fleet steamers was an event of vast importance. The date was set for it several weeks in advance, and from that time forward, the whole Mississippi Valley was in a state of consuming excitement. Politics and the weather were dropped, and people talked only of the coming race. As the time approached, the two steamers 'stripped' and got ready. Every encumbrance that added weight, or exposed a resisting surface to wind or water, was removed, if the boat could possibly do without it. The 'spars,' and sometimes even their supporting derricks, were sent ashore, and no means left to set the boat afloat in case she got aground. When the 'Eclipse' and the 'A. L. Shotwell' ran their great race many years ago, it was said that pains were taken to scrape the gilding off the fanciful device which hung between the 'Eclipse's' chimneys, and that for that one trip the captain left off his kid gloves and had his head shaved. But I always doubted these things.\nIf the boat was known to make her best speed when drawing five and a half feet forward and five feet aft, she was carefully loaded to that exact figure--she wouldn't enter a dose of homoeopathic pills on her manifest after that. Hardly any passengers were taken, because they not only add weight but they never will 'trim boat.' They always run to the side when there is anything to see, whereas a conscientious and experienced steamboatman would stick to the center of the boat and part his hair in the middle with a spirit level.\nNo way-freights and no way-passengers were allowed, for the racers would stop only at the largest towns, and then it would be only 'touch and go.' Coal flats and wood flats were contracted for beforehand, and these were kept ready to hitch on to the flying steamers at a moment's warning. Double crews were carried, so that all work could be quickly done.\nThe chosen date being come, and all things in readiness, the two great steamers back into the stream, and lie there jockeying a moment, and apparently watching each other's slightest movement, like sentient creatures; flags drooping, the pent steam shrieking through safety-valves, the black smoke rolling and tumbling from the chimneys and darkening all the air. People, people everywhere; the shores, the house-tops, the steamboats, the ships, are packed with them, and you know that the borders of the broad Mississippi are going to be fringed with humanity thence northward twelve hundred miles, to welcome these racers.\nPresently tall columns of steam burst from the 'scape-pipes of both steamers, two guns boom a good-bye, two red-shirted heroes mounted on capstans wave their small flags above the massed crews on the forecastles, two plaintive solos linger on the air a few waiting seconds, two mighty choruses burst forth--and here they come! Brass bands bray Hail Columbia, huzza after huzza thunders from the shores, and the stately creatures go whistling by like the wind.\nThose boats will never halt a moment between New Orleans and St. Louis, except for a second or two at large towns, or to hitch thirty-cord wood-boats alongside. You should be on board when they take a couple of those wood-boats in tow and turn a swarm of men into each; by the time you have wiped your glasses and put them on, you will be wondering what has become of that wood.", "chosen": "40", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n40\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-245-017-00-cd076e62", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nNow, this is a subject on which I flatter myself I really am au fait. The gentleman who, when I was young, bathed me at wisdom's font for nine guineas a term--no extras--used to say he never knew a boy who could do less work in more time; and I remember my poor grandmother once incidentally observing, in the course of an instruction upon the use of the Prayer-book, that it was highly improbable that I should ever do much that I ought not to do, but that she felt convinced beyond a doubt that I should leave undone pretty well everything that I ought to do.\nI am afraid I have somewhat belied half the dear old lady's prophecy. Heaven help me! I have done a good many things that I ought not to have done, in spite of my laziness. But I have fully confirmed the accuracy of her judgment so far as neglecting much that I ought not to have neglected is concerned. Idling always has been my strong point. I take no credit to myself in the matter--it is a gift. Few possess it. There are plenty of lazy people and plenty of slow-coaches, but a genuine idler is a rarity. He is not a man who slouches about with his hands in his pockets. On the contrary, his most startling characteristic is that he is always intensely busy.\nIt is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do. There is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do. Wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most exhausting one. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen.\nMany years ago, when I was a young man, I was taken very ill--I never could see myself that much was the matter with me, except that I had a beastly cold. But I suppose it was something very serious, for the doctor said that I ought to have come to him a month before, and that if it (whatever it was) had gone on for another week he would not have answered for the consequences. It is an extraordinary thing, but I never knew a doctor called into any case yet but what it transpired that another day's delay would have rendered cure hopeless. Our medical guide, philosopher, and friend is like the hero in a melodrama--he always comes upon the scene just, and only just, in the nick of time. It is Providence, that is what it is.\nWell, as I was saying, I was very ill and was ordered to Buxton for a month, with strict injunctions to do nothing whatever all the while that I was there. \"Rest is what you require,\" said the doctor, \"perfect rest.\"\nIt seemed a delightful prospect. \"This man evidently understands my complaint,\" said I, and I pictured to myself a glorious time--a four weeks' dolce far niente with a dash of illness in it. Not too much illness, but just illness enough--just sufficient to give it the flavor of suffering and make it poetical. I should get up late, sip chocolate, and have my breakfast in slippers and a dressing-gown. I should lie out in the garden in a hammock and read sentimental novels with a melancholy ending, until the books should fall from my listless hand, and I should recline there, dreamily gazing into the deep blue of the firmament, watching the fleecy clouds floating like white-sailed ships across its depths, and listening to the joyous song of the birds and the low rustling of the trees. Or, on becoming too weak to go out of doors, I should sit propped up with pillows at the open window of the ground-floor front, and look wasted and interesting, so that all the pretty girls would sigh as they passed by.\nAnd twice a day I should go down in a Bath chair to the Colonnade to drink the waters. Oh, those waters! I knew nothing about them then, and was rather taken with the idea. \"Drinking the waters\" sounded fashionable and Queen Anne-fied, and I thought I should like them. But, ugh! after the first three or four mornings! Sam Weller's description of them as \"having a taste of warm flat-irons\" conveys only a faint idea of their hideous nauseousness. If anything could make a sick man get well quickly, it would be the knowledge that he must drink a glassful of them every day until he was recovered. I drank them neat for six consecutive days, and they nearly killed me; but after then I adopted the plan of taking a stiff glass of brandy-and-water immediately on the top of them, and found much relief thereby. I have been informed since, by various eminent medical gentlemen, that the alcohol must have entirely counteracted the effects of the chalybeate properties contained in the water. I am glad I was lucky enough to hit upon the right thing.\nBut \"drinking the waters\" was only a small portion of the torture I experienced during that memorable month--a month which was, without exception, the most miserable I have ever spent. During the best part of it I religiously followed the doctor's mandate and did nothing whatever, except moon about the house and garden and go out for two hours a day in a Bath chair. That did break the monotony to a certain extent. There is more excitement about Bath-chairing--especially if you are not used to the exhilarating exercise--than might appear to the casual observer. A sense of danger, such as a mere outsider might not understand, is ever present to the mind of the occupant. He feels convinced every minute that the whole concern is going over, a conviction which becomes especially lively whenever a ditch or a stretch of newly macadamized road comes in sight. Every vehicle that passes he expects is going to run into him; and he never finds himself ascending or descending a hill without immediately beginning to speculate upon his chances, supposing--as seems extremely probable--that the weak-kneed controller of his destiny should let go.\nBut even this diversion failed to enliven after awhile, and the ennui became perfectly unbearable. I felt my mind giving way under it. It is not a strong mind, and I thought it would be unwise to tax it too far. So somewhere about the twentieth morning I got up early, had a good breakfast, and walked straight off to Hayfield, at the foot of the Kinder Scout--a pleasant, busy little town, reached through a lovely valley, and with two sweetly pretty women in it. At least they were sweetly pretty then; one passed me on the bridge and, I think, smiled; and the other was standing at an open door, making an unremunerative investment of kisses upon a red-faced baby. But it is years ago, and I dare say they have both grown stout and snappish since that time. Coming back, I saw an old man breaking stones, and it roused such strong longing in me to use my arms that I offered him a drink to let me take his place. He was a kindly old man and he humored me. I went for those stones with the accumulated energy of three weeks, and did more work in half an hour than he had done all day. But it did not make him jealous.\nHaving taken the plunge, I went further and further into dissipation, going out for a long walk every morning and listening to the band in the pavilion every evening. But the days still passed slowly notwithstanding, and I was heartily glad when the last one came and I was being whirled away from gouty, consumptive Buxton to London with its stern work and life. I looked out of the carriage as we rushed through Hendon in the evening. The lurid glare overhanging the mighty city seemed to warm my heart, and when, later on, my cab rattled out of St. Pancras' station, the old familiar roar that came swelling up around me sounded the sweetest music I had heard for many a long day.", "chosen": "The gentleman who, when I was young, bathed me at wisdom's font for nine guineas a term--no extras--used to say he never knew a boy who could do less work in more time; and I remember my poor grandmother once incidentally observing, in the course of an instruction upon the use of the Prayer-book, that it was highly improbable that I should ever do much that I ought not to do, but that she felt convinced beyond a doubt that I should leave undone pretty well everything that I ought to do.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nThe gentleman who, when I was young, bathed me at wisdom's font for nine guineas a term--no extras--used to say he never knew a boy who could do less work in more time; and I remember my poor grandmother once incidentally observing, in the course of an instruction upon the use of the Prayer-book, that it was highly improbable that I should ever do much that I ought not to do, but that she felt convinced beyond a doubt that I should leave undone pretty well everything that I ought to do.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-849-001-00-ff1bd5f2", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHe spent that evening till ten o'clock going from one low haunt to another. Katia too turned up and sang another gutter song, how a certain \"villain and tyrant\"\n\"began kissing Katia.\"\nSvidrigaïlov treated Katia and the organ-grinder and some singers and the waiters and two little clerks. He was particularly drawn to these clerks by the fact that they both had crooked noses, one bent to the left and the other to the right. They took him finally to a pleasure garden, where he paid for their entrance. There was one lanky three-year-old pine-tree and three bushes in the garden, besides a \"Vauxhall,\" which was in reality a drinking-bar where tea too was served, and there were a few green tables and chairs standing round it. A chorus of wretched singers and a drunken but exceedingly depressed German clown from Munich with a red nose entertained the public. The clerks quarrelled with some other clerks and a fight seemed imminent. Svidrigaïlov was chosen to decide the dispute. He listened to them for a quarter of an hour, but they shouted so loud that there was no possibility of understanding them. The only fact that seemed certain was that one of them had stolen something and had even succeeded in selling it on the spot to a Jew, but would not share the spoil with his companion. Finally it appeared that the stolen object was a teaspoon belonging to the Vauxhall. It was missed and the affair began to seem troublesome. Svidrigaïlov paid for the spoon, got up, and walked out of the garden. It was about six o'clock. He had not drunk a drop of wine all this time and had ordered tea more for the sake of appearances than anything.\nIt was a dark and stifling evening. Threatening storm-clouds came over the sky about ten o'clock. There was a clap of thunder, and the rain came down like a waterfall. The water fell not in drops, but beat on the earth in streams. There were flashes of lightning every minute and each flash lasted while one could count five.\nDrenched to the skin, he went home, locked himself in, opened the bureau, took out all his money and tore up two or three papers. Then, putting the money in his pocket, he was about to change his clothes, but, looking out of the window and listening to the thunder and the rain, he gave up the idea, took up his hat and went out of the room without locking the door. He went straight to Sonia. She was at home.\nShe was not alone: the four Kapernaumov children were with her. She was giving them tea. She received Svidrigaïlov in respectful silence, looking wonderingly at his soaking clothes. The children all ran away at once in indescribable terror.\nSvidrigaïlov sat down at the table and asked Sonia to sit beside him. She timidly prepared to listen.\n\"I may be going to America, Sofya Semyonovna,\" said Svidrigaïlov, \"and as I am probably seeing you for the last time, I have come to make some arrangements. Well, did you see the lady to-day? I know what she said to you, you need not tell me.\" (Sonia made a movement and blushed.) \"Those people have their own way of doing things. As to your sisters and your brother, they are really provided for and the money assigned to them I've put into safe keeping and have received acknowledgments. You had better take charge of the receipts, in case anything happens. Here, take them! Well now, that's settled. Here are three 5-per-cent bonds to the value of three thousand roubles. Take those for yourself, entirely for yourself, and let that be strictly between ourselves, so that no one knows of it, whatever you hear. You will need the money, for to go on living in the old way, Sofya Semyonovna, is bad, and besides there is no need for it now.\"\n\"I am so much indebted to you, and so are the children and my stepmother,\" said Sonia hurriedly, \"and if I've said so little... please don't consider...\"\n\"That's enough! that's enough!\"\n\"But as for the money, Arkady Ivanovitch, I am very grateful to you, but I don't need it now. I can always earn my own living. Don't think me ungrateful. If you are so charitable, that money....\"\n\"It's for you, for you, Sofya Semyonovna, and please don't waste words over it. I haven't time for it. You will want it. Rodion Romanovitch has two alternatives: a bullet in the brain or Siberia.\" (Sonia looked wildly at him, and started.) \"Don't be uneasy, I know all about it from himself and I am not a gossip; I won't tell anyone. It was good advice when you told him to give himself up and confess. It would be much better for him. Well, if it turns out to be Siberia, he will go and you will follow him. That's so, isn't it? And if so, you'll need money. You'll need it for him, do you understand? Giving it to you is the same as my giving it to him. Besides, you promised Amalia Ivanovna to pay what's owing. I heard you. How can you undertake such obligations so heedlessly, Sofya Semyonovna? It was Katerina Ivanovna's debt and not yours, so you ought not to have taken any notice of the German woman. You can't get through the world like that. If you are ever questioned about me--to-morrow or the day after you will be asked--don't say anything about my coming to see you now and don't show the money to anyone or say a word about it. Well, now good-bye.\" (He got up.) \"My greetings to Rodion Romanovitch. By the way, you'd better put the money for the present in Mr. Razumihin's keeping. You know Mr. Razumihin? Of course you do. He's not a bad fellow. Take it to him to-morrow or... when the time comes. And till then, hide it carefully.\"\nSonia too jumped up from her chair and looked in dismay at Svidrigaïlov. She longed to speak, to ask a question, but for the first moments she did not dare and did not know how to begin.\n\"How can you... how can you be going now, in such rain?\"\n\"Why, be starting for America, and be stopped by rain! Ha, ha! Good-bye, Sofya Semyonovna, my dear! Live and live long, you will be of use to others. By the way... tell Mr. Razumihin I send my greetings to him. Tell him Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlov sends his greetings. Be sure to.\"\nHe went out, leaving Sonia in a state of wondering anxiety and vague apprehension.\nIt appeared afterwards that on the same evening, at twenty past eleven, he made another very eccentric and unexpected visit. The rain still persisted. Drenched to the skin, he walked into the little flat where the parents of his betrothed lived, in Third Street in Vassilyevsky Island. He knocked some time before he was admitted, and his visit at first caused great perturbation; but Svidrigaïlov could be very fascinating when he liked, so that the first, and indeed very intelligent surmise of the sensible parents that Svidrigaïlov had probably had so much to drink that he did not know what he was doing vanished immediately. The decrepit father was wheeled in to see Svidrigaïlov by the tender and sensible mother, who as usual began the conversation with various irrelevant questions. She never asked a direct question, but began by smiling and rubbing her hands and then, if she were obliged to ascertain something--for instance, when Svidrigaïlov would like to have the wedding--she would begin by interested and almost eager questions about Paris and the court life there, and only by degrees brought the conversation round to Third Street. On other occasions this had of course been very impressive, but this time Arkady Ivanovitch seemed particularly impatient, and insisted on seeing his betrothed at once, though he had been informed, to begin with, that she had already gone to bed. The girl of course appeared.", "chosen": "[\"villain and tyrant\", \"began kissing Katia.\", \"Vauxhall,\", \"I may be going to America, Sofya Semyonovna,\", \"and as I am probably seeing you for the last time, I have come to make some arrangements. Well, did you see the lady to-day? I know what she said to you, you need not tell me.\", \"I am so much indebted to you, and so are the children and my stepmother,\", \"and if I've said so little... please don't consider...\", \"That's enough! that's enough!\", \"But as for the money, Arkady Ivanovitch, I am very grateful to you, but I don't need it now. I can always earn my own living. Don't think me ungrateful. If you are so charitable, that money....\", \"It's for you, for you, Sofya Semyonovna, and please don't waste words over it. I haven't time for it. You will want it. Rodion Romanovitch has two alternatives: a bullet in the brain or Siberia.\", \" (He got up.) \", \"\\nSonia too jumped up from her chair and looked in dismay at Svidriga\\u00eflov. She longed to speak, to ask a question, but for the first moments she did not dare and did not know how to begin.\\n\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"villain and tyrant\", \"began kissing Katia.\", \"Vauxhall,\", \"I may be going to America, Sofya Semyonovna,\", \"and as I am probably seeing you for the last time, I have come to make some arrangements. Well, did you see the lady to-day? I know what she said to you, you need not tell me.\", \"I am so much indebted to you, and so are the children and my stepmother,\", \"and if I've said so little... please don't consider...\", \"That's enough! that's enough!\", \"But as for the money, Arkady Ivanovitch, I am very grateful to you, but I don't need it now. I can always earn my own living. Don't think me ungrateful. If you are so charitable, that money....\", \"It's for you, for you, Sofya Semyonovna, and please don't waste words over it. I haven't time for it. You will want it. Rodion Romanovitch has two alternatives: a bullet in the brain or Siberia.\", \" (He got up.) \", \"\\nSonia too jumped up from her chair and looked in dismay at Svidriga\\u00eflov. She longed to speak, to ask a question, but for the first moments she did not dare and did not know how to begin.\\n\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-2554-007-00-810926cc", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Women of the people are here too now, lying in the portico there waiting. But for ladies of higher rank two rooms have been built adjoining the portico, but outside the precincts—you can see the windows—and the elder goes out to them by an inner passage when he is well enough. They are always outside the precincts. There is a Harkov lady, Madame Hohlakov, waiting there now with her sick daughter. Probably he has promised to come out to her, though of late he has been so weak that he has hardly shown himself even to the people.\"\n\"So then there are loopholes, after all, to creep out of the hermitage to the ladies. Don't suppose, holy father, that I mean any harm. But do you know that at Athos not only the visits of women are not allowed, but no creature of the female sex—no hens, nor turkey-hens, nor cows.\"\n\"Fyodor Pavlovitch, I warn you I shall go back and leave you here. They'll turn you out when I'm gone.\"\n\"But I'm not interfering with you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. Look,\" he cried suddenly, stepping within the precincts, \"what a vale of roses they live in!\"\nThough there were no roses now, there were numbers of rare and beautiful autumn flowers growing wherever there was space for them, and evidently tended by a skillful hand; there were flower-beds round the church, and between the tombs; and the one-storied wooden house where the elder lived was also surrounded with flowers.\n\"And was it like this in the time of the last elder, Varsonofy? He didn't care for such elegance. They say he used to jump up and thrash even ladies with a stick,\" observed Fyodor Pavlovitch, as he went up the steps.\n\"The elder Varsonofy did sometimes seem rather strange, but a great deal that's told is foolishness. He never thrashed any one,\" answered the monk. \"Now, gentlemen, if you will wait a minute I will announce you.\"\n\"Fyodor Pavlovitch, for the last time, your compact, do you hear? Behave properly or I will pay you out!\" Miüsov had time to mutter again.\n\"I can't think why you are so agitated,\" Fyodor Pavlovitch observed sarcastically. \"Are you uneasy about your sins? They say he can tell by one's eyes what one has come about. And what a lot you think of their opinion! you, a Parisian, and so advanced. I'm surprised at you.\"\nBut Miüsov had no time to reply to this sarcasm. They were asked to come in. He walked in, somewhat irritated.\n\"Now, I know myself, I am annoyed, I shall lose my temper and begin to quarrel—and lower myself and my ideas,\" he reflected.", "chosen": "reflected", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nreflected\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-006-01-ea8e2523", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe phantoms, for so they then seemed, were flitting on the other side of the deck, and, with a noiseless celerity, were casting loose the tackles and bands of the boat which swung there. This boat had always been deemed one of the spare boats, though technically called the captain's, on account of its hanging from the starboard quarter. The figure that now stood by its bows was tall and swart, with one white tooth evilly protruding from its steel-like lips. A rumpled Chinese jacket of black cotton funereally invested him, with wide black trowsers of the same dark stuff. But strangely crowning this ebonness was a glistening white plaited turban, the living hair braided and coiled round and round upon his head. Less swart in aspect, the companions of this figure were of that vivid, tiger-yellow complexion peculiar to some of the aboriginal natives of the Manillas;—a race notorious for a certain diabolism of subtilty, and by some honest white mariners supposed to be the paid spies and secret confidential agents on the water of the devil, their lord, whose counting-room they suppose to be elsewhere.\nWhile yet the wondering ship's company were gazing upon these strangers, Ahab cried out to the white-turbaned old man at their head, \"All ready there, Fedallah?\"\n\"Ready,\" was the half-hissed reply.\n\"Lower away then; d'ye hear?\" shouting across the deck. \"Lower away there, I say.\"\nSuch was the thunder of his voice, that spite of their amazement the men sprang over the rail; the sheaves whirled round in the blocks; with a wallow, the three boats dropped into the sea; while, with a dexterous, off-handed daring, unknown in any other vocation, the sailors, goat-like, leaped down the rolling ship's side into the tossed boats below.\nHardly had they pulled out from under the ship's lee, when a fourth keel, coming from the windward side, pulled round under the stern, and showed the five strangers rowing Ahab, who, standing erect in the stern, loudly hailed Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask, to spread themselves widely, so as to cover a large expanse of water. But with all their eyes again riveted upon the swart Fedallah and his crew, the inmates of the other boats obeyed not the command.\n\"Captain Ahab?—\" said Starbuck.\n\"Spread yourselves,\" cried Ahab; \"give way, all four boats. Thou, Flask, pull out more to leeward!\"\n\"Aye, aye, sir,\" cheerily cried little King-Post, sweeping round his great steering oar. \"Lay back!\" addressing his crew. \"There!—there!—there again! There she blows right ahead, boys!—lay back!\"\n\"Never heed yonder yellow boys, Archy.\"\n\"Oh, I don't mind 'em, sir,\" said Archy; \"I knew it all before now. Didn't I hear 'em in the hold? And didn't I tell Cabaco here of it? What say ye, Cabaco? They are stowaways, Mr. Flask.\"\n\"Pull, pull, my fine hearts-alive; pull, my children; pull, my little ones,\" drawlingly and soothingly sighed Stubb to his crew, some of whom still showed signs of uneasiness. \"Why don't you break your backbones, my boys? What is it you stare at? Those chaps in yonder boat? Tut! They are only five more hands come to help us—never mind from where—the more the merrier. Pull, then, do pull; never mind the brimstone—devils are good fellows enough. So, so; there you are now; that's the stroke for a thousand pounds; that's the stroke to sweep the stakes! Hurrah for the gold cup of sperm oil, my heroes! Three cheers, men—all hearts alive! Easy, easy; don't be in a hurry—don't be in a hurry. Why don't you snap your oars, you rascals? Bite something, you dogs! So, so, so, then:—softly, softly! That's it—that's it! long and strong. Give way there, give way! The devil fetch ye, ye ragamuffin rapscallions; ye are all asleep. Stop snoring, ye sleepers, and pull. Pull, will ye? pull, can't ye? pull, won't ye? Why in the name of gudgeons and ginger-cakes don't ye pull?—pull and break something! pull, and start your eyes out! Here!\" whipping out the sharp knife from his girdle; \"every mother's son of ye draw his knife, and pull with the blade between his teeth. That's it—that's it. Now ye do something; that looks like it, my steel-bits. Start her—start her, my silver-spoons! Start her, marling-spikes!\"\nStubb's exordium to his crew is given here at large, because he had rather a peculiar way of talking to them in general, and especially in inculcating the religion of rowing. But you must not suppose from this specimen of his sermonizings that he ever flew into downright passions with his congregation. Not at all; and therein consisted his chief peculiarity. He would say the most terrific things to his crew, in a tone so strangely compounded of fun and fury, and the fury seemed so calculated merely as a spice to the fun, that no oarsman could hear such queer invocations without pulling for dear life, and yet pulling for the mere joke of the thing. Besides he all the time looked so easy and indolent himself, so loungingly managed his steering-oar, and so broadly gaped—open-mouthed at times—that the mere sight of such a yawning commander, by sheer force of contrast, acted like a charm upon the crew. Then again, Stubb was one of those odd sort of humorists, whose jollity is sometimes so curiously ambiguous, as to put all inferiors on their guard in the matter of obeying them.\nIn obedience to a sign from Ahab, Starbuck was now pulling obliquely across Stubb's bow; and when for a minute or so the two boats were pretty near to each other, Stubb hailed the mate.\n\"Mr. Starbuck! larboard boat there, ahoy! a word with ye, sir, if ye please!\"\n\"Halloa!\" returned Starbuck, turning round not a single inch as he spoke; still earnestly but whisperingly urging his crew; his face set like a flint from Stubb's.\n\"What think ye of those yellow boys, sir!\"\n\"Smuggled on board, somehow, before the ship sailed. (Strong, strong, boys!)\" in a whisper to his crew, then speaking out loud again: \"A sad business, Mr. Stubb! (seethe her, seethe her, my lads!) but never mind, Mr. Stubb, all for the best. Let all your crew pull strong, come what will. (Spring, my men, spring!) There's hogsheads of sperm ahead, Mr. Stubb, and that's what ye came for. (Pull, my boys!) Sperm, sperm's the play! This at least is duty; duty and profit hand in hand.\"\n\"Aye, aye, I thought as much,\" soliloquized Stubb, when the boats diverged, \"as soon as I clapt eye on 'em, I thought so. Aye, and that's what he went into the after hold for, so often, as Dough-Boy long suspected. They were hidden down there. The White Whale's at the bottom of it. Well, well, so be it! Can't be helped! All right! Give way, men! It ain't the White Whale to-day! Give way!\"\nNow the advent of these outlandish strangers at such a critical instant as the lowering of the boats from the deck, this had not unreasonably awakened a sort of superstitious amazement in some of the ship's company; but Archy's fancied discovery having some time previous got abroad among them, though indeed not credited then, this had in some small measure prepared them for the event. It took off the extreme edge of their wonder; and so what with all this and Stubb's confident way of accounting for their appearance, they were for the time freed from superstitious surmisings; though the affair still left abundant room for all manner of wild conjectures as to dark Ahab's precise agency in the matter from the beginning. For me, I silently recalled the mysterious shadows I had seen creeping on board the Pequod during the dim Nantucket dawn, as well as the enigmatical hintings of the unaccountable Elijah.", "chosen": "[\"Chinese\", \"Manillas\", \"Ahab\", \"All\", \"Fedallah\", \"Ready\", \"Lower\", \"Starbuck\", \"Stubb\", \"Flask\", \"Spread\", \"Aye\", \"King\", \"Lay\", \"Never\", \"Archy\", \"Cabaco\", \"Pull\", \"Halloa\", \"Smuggled\", \"Strong\", \"Spring\", \"Sperm\", \"Dough\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Pequod\", \"Nantucket\", \"Elijah\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Chinese\", \"Manillas\", \"Ahab\", \"All\", \"Fedallah\", \"Ready\", \"Lower\", \"Starbuck\", \"Stubb\", \"Flask\", \"Spread\", \"Aye\", \"King\", \"Lay\", \"Never\", \"Archy\", \"Cabaco\", \"Pull\", \"Halloa\", \"Smuggled\", \"Strong\", \"Spring\", \"Sperm\", \"Dough\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Pequod\", \"Nantucket\", \"Elijah\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-041-00-f8ccf902", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIt was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in November, before the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up Shooter's Hill. He walked up hill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses had three times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had read that article of war which forbade a purpose otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with Reason; and the team had capitulated and returned to their duty.\nWith drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver rested them and brought them to a stand, with a wary \"Wo-ho! so-ho-then!\" the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon it--like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.\nThere was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its slow way through the air in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as the waves of an unwholesome sea might do. It was dense enough to shut out everything from the light of the coach-lamps but these its own workings, and a few yards of road; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed into it, as if they had made it all.\nTwo other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over the ears, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on the road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in \"the Captain's\" pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable non-descript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter's Hill, as he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited on a substratum of cutlass.\nThe Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey.\n\"Wo-ho!\" said the coachman. \"So, then! One more pull and you're at the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it!--Joe!\"\n\"Halloa!\" the guard replied.\n\"What o'clock do you make it, Joe?\"\n\"Ten minutes, good, past eleven.\"\n\"My blood!\" ejaculated the vexed coachman, \"and not atop of Shooter's yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you!\"\nThe emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. Once more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengers squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as a highwayman.\nThe last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in.\n\"Tst! Joe!\" cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his box.\n\"What do you say, Tom?\"\nThey both listened.\n\"I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe.\"\n\"I say a horse at a gallop, Tom,\" returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. \"Gentlemen! In the king's name, all of you!\"\nWith this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive.\nThe passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of; they remained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting.\nThe stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labouring of the coach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet indeed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation.\nThe sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill.\n\"So-ho!\" the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. \"Yo there! Stand! I shall fire!\"\nThe pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering, a man's voice called from the mist, \"Is that the Dover mail?\"\n\"Never you mind what it is!\" the guard retorted. \"What are you?\"\n\"Is that the Dover mail?\"\n\"Why do you want to know?\"\n\"I want a passenger, if it is.\"\n\"What passenger?\"\n\"Mr. Jarvis Lorry.\"\nOur booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard, the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully.\n\"Keep where you are,\" the guard called to the voice in the mist, \"because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight.\"\n\"What is the matter?\" asked the passenger, then, with mildly quavering speech. \"Who wants me? Is it Jerry?\"\n(\"I don't like Jerry's voice, if it is Jerry,\" growled the guard to himself. \"He's hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.\")\n\"Yes, Mr. Lorry.\"\n\"What is the matter?\"\n\"A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co.\"\n\"I know this messenger, guard,\" said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the road--assisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, and pulled up the window. \"He may come close; there's nothing wrong.\"\n\"I hope there ain't, but I can't make so 'Nation sure of that,\" said the guard, in gruff soliloquy. \"Hallo you!\"\n\"Well! And hallo you!\" said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.", "chosen": "It, The, He, Reins, With, As, so-ho-then!\", Whenever, There, A, It, Two, All, Not, In, As, So, The, Wo-ho!\", So,, One, What, Tst!, Yah!, Get, Once, They, If, The, The, Tst!, Joe!\", What, I, Gentlemen!, In, The, He, They, The, The, The, The, The, So-ho!\", Yo, Stand!, I, What, Jarvis, The, Keep, Gentleman, Who, Is, He's, Lorry.\", T., and, Lorry,, He, Hallo, And", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nIt, The, He, Reins, With, As, so-ho-then!\", Whenever, There, A, It, Two, All, Not, In, As, So, The, Wo-ho!\", So,, One, What, Tst!, Yah!, Get, Once, They, If, The, The, Tst!, Joe!\", What, I, Gentlemen!, In, The, He, They, The, The, The, The, The, So-ho!\", Yo, Stand!, I, What, Jarvis, The, Keep, Gentleman, Who, Is, He's, Lorry.\", T., and, Lorry,, He, Hallo, And\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-002-00-727a5a1c", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Your nerves are out of order,\" observed the gentleman, with a carelessly easy, though perfectly polite, air. \"You are angry with me even for being able to catch cold, though it happened in a most natural way. I was hurrying then to a diplomatic soirée at the house of a lady of high rank in Petersburg, who was aiming at influence in the Ministry. Well, an evening suit, white tie, gloves, though I was God knows where and had to fly through space to reach your earth.... Of course, it took only an instant, but you know a ray of light from the sun takes full eight minutes, and fancy in an evening suit and open waistcoat. Spirits don't freeze, but when one's in fleshly form, well ... in brief, I didn't think, and set off, and you know in those ethereal spaces, in the water that is above the firmament, there's such a frost ... at least one can't call it frost, you can fancy, 150 degrees below zero! You know the game the village girls play—they invite the unwary to lick an ax in thirty degrees of frost, the tongue instantly freezes to it and the dupe tears the skin off, so it bleeds. But that's only in 30 degrees, in 150 degrees I imagine it would be enough to put your finger on the ax and it would be the end of it ... if only there could be an ax there.\"\n\"And can there be an ax there?\" Ivan interrupted, carelessly and disdainfully. He was exerting himself to the utmost not to believe in the delusion and not to sink into complete insanity.\n\"An ax?\" the guest interrupted in surprise.\n\"Yes, what would become of an ax there?\" Ivan cried suddenly, with a sort of savage and insistent obstinacy.\n\"What would become of an ax in space? Quelle idée! If it were to fall to any distance, it would begin, I think, flying round the earth without knowing why, like a satellite. The astronomers would calculate the rising and the setting of the ax, Gatzuk would put it in his calendar, that's all.\"\n\"You are stupid, awfully stupid,\" said Ivan peevishly. \"Fib more cleverly or I won't listen. You want to get the better of me by realism, to convince me that you exist, but I don't want to believe you exist! I won't believe it!\"\n\"But I am not fibbing, it's all the truth; the truth is unhappily hardly ever amusing. I see you persist in expecting something big of me, and perhaps something fine. That's a great pity, for I only give what I can—\"\n\"Don't talk philosophy, you ass!\"\n\"Philosophy, indeed, when all my right side is numb and I am moaning and groaning. I've tried all the medical faculty: they can diagnose beautifully, they have the whole of your disease at their finger-tips, but they've no idea how to cure you. There was an enthusiastic little student here, 'You may die,' said he, 'but you'll know perfectly what disease you are dying of!' And then what a way they have sending people to specialists! 'We only diagnose,' they say, 'but go to such-and-such a specialist, he'll cure you.' The old doctor who used to cure all sorts of disease has completely disappeared, I assure you, now there are only specialists and they all advertise in the newspapers. If anything is wrong with your nose, they send you to Paris: there, they say, is a European specialist who cures noses. If you go to Paris, he'll look at your nose; I can only cure your right nostril, he'll tell you, for I don't cure the left nostril, that's not my speciality, but go to Vienna, there there's a specialist who will cure your left nostril. What are you to do? I fell back on popular remedies, a German doctor advised me to rub myself with honey and salt in the bath-house. Solely to get an extra bath I went, smeared myself all over and it did me no good at all. In despair I wrote to Count Mattei in Milan. He sent me a book and some drops, bless him, and, only fancy, Hoff's malt extract cured me! I bought it by accident, drank a bottle and a half of it, and I was ready to dance, it took it away completely. I made up my mind to write to the papers to thank him, I was prompted by a feeling of gratitude, and only fancy, it led to no end of a bother: not a single paper would take my letter. 'It would be very reactionary,' they said, 'no one will believe it. Le diable n'existe point. You'd better remain anonymous,' they advised me. What use is a letter of thanks if it's anonymous? I laughed with the men at the newspaper office; 'It's reactionary to believe in God in our days,' I said, 'but I am the devil, so I may be believed in.' 'We quite understand that,' they said. 'Who doesn't believe in the devil? Yet it won't do, it might injure our reputation. As a joke, if you like.' But I thought as a joke it wouldn't be very witty. So it wasn't printed. And do you know, I have felt sore about it to this day. My best feelings, gratitude, for instance, are literally denied me simply from my social position.\"\n\"Philosophical reflections again?\" Ivan snarled malignantly.\n\"God preserve me from it, but one can't help complaining sometimes. I am a slandered man. You upbraid me every moment with being stupid. One can see you are young. My dear fellow, intelligence isn't the only thing! I have naturally a kind and merry heart. 'I also write vaudevilles of all sorts.' You seem to take me for Hlestakov grown old, but my fate is a far more serious one. Before time was, by some decree which I could never make out, I was pre-destined 'to deny' and yet I am genuinely good-hearted and not at all inclined to negation. 'No, you must go and deny, without denial there's no criticism and what would a journal be without a column of criticism?' Without criticism it would be nothing but one 'hosannah.' But nothing but hosannah is not enough for life, the hosannah must be tried in the crucible of doubt and so on, in the same style. But I don't meddle in that, I didn't create it, I am not answerable for it. Well, they've chosen their scapegoat, they've made me write the column of criticism and so life was made possible. We understand that comedy; I, for instance, simply ask for annihilation. No, live, I am told, for there'd be nothing without you. If everything in the universe were sensible, nothing would happen. There would be no events without you, and there must be events. So against the grain I serve to produce events and do what's irrational because I am commanded to. For all their indisputable intelligence, men take this farce as something serious, and that is their tragedy. They suffer, of course ... but then they live, they live a real life, not a fantastic one, for suffering is life. Without suffering what would be the pleasure of it? It would be transformed into an endless church service; it would be holy, but tedious. But what about me? I suffer, but still, I don't live. I am x in an indeterminate equation. I am a sort of phantom in life who has lost all beginning and end, and who has even forgotten his own name. You are laughing— no, you are not laughing, you are angry again. You are for ever angry, all you care about is intelligence, but I repeat again that I would give away all this super-stellar life, all the ranks and honors, simply to be transformed into the soul of a merchant's wife weighing eighteen stone and set candles at God's shrine.\"\n\"Then even you don't believe in God?\" said Ivan, with a smile of hatred.\n\"What can I say?—that is, if you are in earnest—\"\n\"Is there a God or not?\" Ivan cried with the same savage intensity.\n\"Ah, then you are in earnest! My dear fellow, upon my word I don't know. There! I've said it now!\"", "chosen": "78", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n78\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-28054-076-02-4b972ec3", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nElizabeth's impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could no longer be overcome; and at length resolving to suppress every particular in which her sister was concerned, and preparing her to be surprised, she related to her the next morning the chief of the scene between Mr. Darcy and herself.\nMiss Bennet's astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly partiality which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly natural; and all surprise was shortly lost in other feelings. She was sorry that Mr. Darcy should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them; but still more was she grieved for the unhappiness which her sister's refusal must have given him.\n\"His being so sure of succeeding was wrong,\" said she, \"and certainly ought not to have appeared; but consider how much it must increase his disappointment.\"\n\"Indeed,\" replied Elizabeth, \"I am heartily sorry for him; but he has other feelings which will probably soon drive away his regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing him?\"\n\"Blame you! Oh, no.\"\n\"But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham?\"\n\"No--I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you did.\"\n\"But you will know it, when I have told you what happened the very next day.\"\nShe then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its contents as far as they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was this for poor Jane, who would willingly have gone through the world without believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind as was here collected in one individual! Nor was Darcy's vindication, though grateful to her feelings, capable of consoling her for such discovery. Most earnestly did she labour to prove the probability of error, and seek to clear one, without involving the other.\n\"This will not do,\" said Elizabeth; \"you never will be able to make both of them good for anything. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a quantity of merit between them; just enough to make one good sort of man; and of late it has been shifting about pretty much. For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Mr. Darcy's, but you shall do as you choose.\"\nIt was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted from Jane.\n\"I do not know when I have been more shocked,\" said she. \"Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill opinion too! and having to relate such a thing of his sister! It is really too distressing, I am sure you must feel it so.\"\n\"Oh no, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing you so full of both. I know you will do him such ample justice, that I am growing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Your profusion makes me saving; and if you lament over him much longer, my heart will be as light as a feather.\"\n\"Poor Wickham! there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance! such an openness and gentleness in his manner.\"\n\"There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those two young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it.\"\n\"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in the appearance of it as you used to do.\"\n\"And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided a dislike to him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one's genius, such an opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind. One may be continually abusive without saying anything just; but one cannot be always laughing at a man without now and then stumbling on something witty.\"\n\"Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat the matter as you do now.\"\n\"Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable enough, I was very uncomfortable--I may say unhappy. And with no one to speak to of what I felt, no Jane to comfort me, and say that I had not been so very weak, and vain, and nonsensical, as I knew I had! Oh, how I wanted you!\"\n\"How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong expressions in speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for now they do appear wholly undeserved.\"\n\"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is one point on which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintance in general understand Wickham's character.\"\nMiss Bennet paused a little, and then replied, \"Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your own opinion?\"\n\"That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not authorized me to make his communication public. On the contrary, every particular relative to his sister was meant to be kept as much as possible to myself; and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that it would be the death of half the good people in Meryton, to attempt to place him in an amiable light. I am not equal to it. Wickham will soon be gone; and, therefore, it will not signify to anybody here what he really is. Some time hence it will be all found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before. At present I will say nothing about it.\"\n\"You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin him for ever. He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done, and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him desperate.\"\nThe tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed by this conversation. She had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her for a fortnight, and was certain of a willing listener in Jane, whenever she might wish to talk again of either. But there was still something lurking behind, of which prudence forbade the disclosure. She dared not relate the other half of Mr. Darcy's letter, nor explain to her sister how sincerely she had been valued by his friend. Here was knowledge in which no one could partake; and she was sensible that nothing less than a perfect understanding between the parties could justify her in throwing off this last encumbrance of mystery. \"And then,\" said she, \"if that very improbable event should ever take place, I shall merely be able to tell what Bingley may tell in a much more agreeable manner himself. The liberty of communication cannot be mine till it has lost all its value!\"\nShe was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the real state of her sister's spirits. Jane was not happy. She still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley. Having never even fancied herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than first attachments often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to every other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the feelings of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets which must have been injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.\n\"Well, Lizzy,\" said Mrs. Bennet, one day, \"what is your opinion now of this sad business of Jane's? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I told my sister Philips so the other day. But I cannot find out that Jane saw anything of him in London. Well, he is a very undeserving young man--and I do not suppose there is the least chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have inquired of everybody, too, who is likely to know.\"", "chosen": "Having never even fancied herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than first attachments often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to every other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the feelings of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets which must have been injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nHaving never even fancied herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than first attachments often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to every other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the feelings of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets which must have been injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-1342-040-00-0d0b7b6d", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Into my house come bold and free, Its rightful mistress there to be.\"\nI stood before her crushed, crestfallen, revoltingly confused, and I believe I smiled as I did my utmost to wrap myself in the skirts of my ragged wadded dressing-gown--exactly as I had imagined the scene not long before in a fit of depression. After standing over us for a couple of minutes Apollon went away, but that did not make me more at ease. What made it worse was that she, too, was overwhelmed with confusion, more so, in fact, than I should have expected. At the sight of me, of course.\n\"Sit down,\" I said mechanically, moving a chair up to the table, and I sat down on the sofa. She obediently sat down at once and gazed at me open-eyed, evidently expecting something from me at once. This naïveté of expectation drove me to fury, but I restrained myself.\nShe ought to have tried not to notice, as though everything had been as usual, while instead of that, she ... and I dimly felt that I should make her pay dearly for all this.\n\"You have found me in a strange position, Liza,\" I began, stammering and knowing that this was the wrong way to begin. \"No, no, don't imagine anything,\" I cried, seeing that she had suddenly flushed. \"I am not ashamed of my poverty.... On the contrary I look with pride on my poverty. I am poor but honourable.... One can be poor and honourable,\" I muttered. \"However ... would you like tea?\"...\n\"No,\" she was beginning.\n\"Wait a minute.\"\nI leapt up and ran to Apollon. I had to get out of the room somehow.\n\"Apollon,\" I whispered in feverish haste, flinging down before him the seven roubles which had remained all the time in my clenched fist, \"here are your wages, you see I give them to you; but for that you must come to my rescue: bring me tea and a dozen rusks from the restaurant. If you won't go, you'll make me a miserable man! You don't know what this woman is.... This is--everything! You may be imagining something.... But you don't know what that woman is!\"...\nApollon, who had already sat down to his work and put on his spectacles again, at first glanced askance at the money without speaking or putting down his needle; then, without paying the slightest attention to me or making any answer he went on busying himself with his needle, which he had not yet threaded. I waited before him for three minutes with my arms crossed à la Napoléon. My temples were moist with sweat. I was pale, I felt it. But, thank God, he must have been moved to pity, looking at me. Having threaded his needle he deliberately got up from his seat, deliberately moved back his chair, deliberately took off his spectacles, deliberately counted the money, and finally asking me over his shoulder: \"Shall I get a whole portion?\" deliberately walked out of the room. As I was going back to Liza, the thought occurred to me on the way: shouldn't I run away just as I was in my dressing-gown, no matter where, and then let happen what would.\nI sat down again. She looked at me uneasily. For some minutes we were silent.\n\"I will kill him,\" I shouted suddenly, striking the table with my fist so that the ink spurted out of the inkstand.\n\"What are you saying!\" she cried, starting.\n\"I will kill him! kill him!\" I shrieked, suddenly striking the table in absolute frenzy, and at the same time fully understanding how stupid it was to be in such a frenzy. \"You don't know, Liza, what that torturer is to me. He is my torturer.... He has gone now to fetch some rusks; he....\"\nAnd suddenly I burst into tears. It was an hysterical attack. How ashamed I felt in the midst of my sobs; but still I could not restrain them.\nShe was frightened.\n\"What is the matter? What is wrong?\" she cried, fussing about me.\n\"Water, give me water, over there!\" I muttered in a faint voice, though I was inwardly conscious that I could have got on very well without water and without muttering in a faint voice. But I was, what is called, putting it on, to save appearances, though the attack was a genuine one.\nShe gave me water, looking at me in bewilderment. At that moment Apollon brought in the tea. It suddenly seemed to me that this commonplace, prosaic tea was horribly undignified and paltry after all that had happened, and I blushed crimson. Liza looked at Apollon with positive alarm. He went out without a glance at either of us.\n\"Liza, do you despise me?\" I asked, looking at her fixedly, trembling with impatience to know what she was thinking.\nShe was confused, and did not know what to answer.\n\"Drink your tea,\" I said to her angrily. I was angry with myself, but, of course, it was she who would have to pay for it. A horrible spite against her suddenly surged up in my heart; I believe I could have killed her. To revenge myself on her I swore inwardly not to say a word to her all the time. \"She is the cause of it all,\" I thought.\nOur silence lasted for five minutes. The tea stood on the table; we did not touch it. I had got to the point of purposely refraining from beginning in order to embarrass her further; it was awkward for her to begin alone. Several times she glanced at me with mournful perplexity. I was obstinately silent. I was, of course, myself the chief sufferer, because I was fully conscious of the disgusting meanness of my spiteful stupidity, and yet at the same time I could not restrain myself.\n\"I want to ... get away ... from there altogether,\" she began, to break the silence in some way, but, poor girl, that was just what she ought not to have spoken about at such a stupid moment to a man so stupid as I was. My heart positively ached with pity for her tactless and unnecessary straightforwardness. But something hideous at once stifled all compassion in me; it even provoked me to greater venom. I did not care what happened. Another five minutes passed.\n\"Perhaps I am in your way,\" she began timidly, hardly audibly, and was getting up.\nBut as soon as I saw this first impulse of wounded dignity I positively trembled with spite, and at once burst out.\n\"Why have you come to me, tell me that, please?\" I began, gasping for breath and regardless of logical connection in my words. I longed to have it all out at once, at one burst; I did not even trouble how to begin. \"Why have you come? Answer, answer,\" I cried, hardly knowing what I was doing. \"I'll tell you, my good girl, why you have come. You've come because I talked sentimental stuff to you then. So now you are soft as butter and longing for fine sentiments again. So you may as well know that I was laughing at you then. And I am laughing at you now. Why are you shuddering? Yes, I was laughing at you! I had been insulted just before, at dinner, by the fellows who came that evening before me. I came to you, meaning to thrash one of them, an officer; but I didn't succeed, I didn't find him; I had to avenge the insult on some one to get back my own again; you turned up, I vented my spleen on you and laughed at you. I had been humiliated, so I wanted to humiliate; I had been treated like a rag, so I wanted to show my power.... That's what it was, and you imagined I had come there on purpose to save you. Yes? You imagined that? You imagined that?\"", "chosen": "[\"Into my house come bold and free, Its rightful mistress there to be.\", \"Sit down,\", \"You have found me in a strange position, Liza,\", \"No, no, don't imagine anything,\", \"I am not ashamed of my poverty.... On the contrary I look with pride on my poverty. I am poor but honourable.... One can be poor and honourable,\", \"However ... would you like tea?\", \" she was beginning.\\n\", \"\\nI leapt up and ran to Apollon. I had to get out of the room somehow.\\n\", \" I whispered in feverish haste, flinging down before him the seven roubles which had remained all the time in my clenched fist, \", \"Shall I get a whole portion?\", \"I will kill him,\", \"What are you saying!\", \"I will kill him! kill him!\", \"You don't know, Liza, what that torturer is to me. He is my torturer.... He has gone now to fetch some rusks; he....\", \"What is the matter? What is wrong?\", \"Water, give me water, over there!\", \"Liza, do you despise me?\", \"Drink your tea,\", \"She is the cause of it all,\", \"I want to ... get away ... from there altogether,\", \"Perhaps I am in your way,\", \"Why have you come to me, tell me that, please?\", \"Why have you come? Answer, answer,\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Into my house come bold and free, Its rightful mistress there to be.\", \"Sit down,\", \"You have found me in a strange position, Liza,\", \"No, no, don't imagine anything,\", \"I am not ashamed of my poverty.... On the contrary I look with pride on my poverty. I am poor but honourable.... One can be poor and honourable,\", \"However ... would you like tea?\", \" she was beginning.\\n\", \"\\nI leapt up and ran to Apollon. I had to get out of the room somehow.\\n\", \" I whispered in feverish haste, flinging down before him the seven roubles which had remained all the time in my clenched fist, \", \"Shall I get a whole portion?\", \"I will kill him,\", \"What are you saying!\", \"I will kill him! kill him!\", \"You don't know, Liza, what that torturer is to me. He is my torturer.... He has gone now to fetch some rusks; he....\", \"What is the matter? What is wrong?\", \"Water, give me water, over there!\", \"Liza, do you despise me?\", \"Drink your tea,\", \"She is the cause of it all,\", \"I want to ... get away ... from there altogether,\", \"Perhaps I am in your way,\", \"Why have you come to me, tell me that, please?\", \"Why have you come? Answer, answer,\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-36034-010-00-0f9d1474", "source": "pg-36034", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nMarianne got up the next morning at her usual time; to every inquiry replied that she was better, and tried to prove herself so, by engaging in her accustomary employments. But a day spent in sitting shivering over the fire with a book in her hand, which she was unable to read, or in lying, weary and languid, on a sofa, did not speak much in favour of her amendment; and when, at last, she went early to bed, more and more indisposed, Colonel Brandon was only astonished at her sister's composure, who, though attending and nursing her the whole day, against Marianne's inclination, and forcing proper medicines on her at night, trusted, like Marianne, to the certainty and efficacy of sleep, and felt no real alarm.\nA very restless and feverish night, however, disappointed the expectation of both; and when Marianne, after persisting in rising, confessed herself unable to sit up, and returned voluntarily to her bed, Elinor was very ready to adopt Mrs. Jennings's advice, of sending for the Palmers' apothecary.\nHe came, examined his patient, and though encouraging Miss Dashwood to expect that a very few days would restore her sister to health, yet, by pronouncing her disorder to have a putrid tendency, and allowing the word \"infection\" to pass his lips, gave instant alarm to Mrs. Palmer, on her baby's account. Mrs. Jennings, who had been inclined from the first to think Marianne's complaint more serious than Elinor, now looked very grave on Mr. Harris's report, and confirming Charlotte's fears and caution, urged the necessity of her immediate removal with her infant; and Mr. Palmer, though treating their apprehensions as idle, found the anxiety and importunity of his wife too great to be withstood. Her departure, therefore, was fixed on; and within an hour after Mr. Harris's arrival, she set off, with her little boy and his nurse, for the house of a near relation of Mr. Palmer's, who lived a few miles on the other side of Bath; whither her husband promised, at her earnest entreaty, to join her in a day or two; and whither she was almost equally urgent with her mother to accompany her. Mrs. Jennings, however, with a kindness of heart which made Elinor really love her, declared her resolution of not stirring from Cleveland as long as Marianne remained ill, and of endeavouring, by her own attentive care, to supply to her the place of the mother she had taken her from; and Elinor found her on every occasion a most willing and active helpmate, desirous to share in all her fatigues, and often by her better experience in nursing, of material use.\nPoor Marianne, languid and low from the nature of her malady, and feeling herself universally ill, could no longer hope that tomorrow would find her recovered; and the idea of what tomorrow would have produced, but for this unlucky illness, made every ailment severe; for on that day they were to have begun their journey home; and, attended the whole way by a servant of Mrs. Jennings, were to have taken their mother by surprise on the following forenoon. The little she said was all in lamentation of this inevitable delay; though Elinor tried to raise her spirits, and make her believe, as she then really believed herself, that it would be a very short one.\nThe next day produced little or no alteration in the state of the patient; she certainly was not better, and, except that there was no amendment, did not appear worse. Their party was now farther reduced; for Mr. Palmer, though very unwilling to go as well from real humanity and good-nature, as from a dislike of appearing to be frightened away by his wife, was persuaded at last by Colonel Brandon to perform his promise of following her; and while he was preparing to go, Colonel Brandon himself, with a much greater exertion, began to talk of going likewise. Here, however, the kindness of Mrs. Jennings interposed most acceptably; for to send the Colonel away while his love was in so much uneasiness on her sister's account, would be to deprive them both, she thought, of every comfort; and therefore telling him at once that his stay at Cleveland was necessary to herself, that she should want him to play at piquet of an evening, while Miss Dashwood was above with her sister, &c. she urged him so strongly to remain, that he, who was gratifying the first wish of his own heart by a compliance, could not long even affect to demur; especially as Mrs. Jennings's entreaty was warmly seconded by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to feel a relief to himself, in leaving behind him a person so well able to assist or advise Miss Dashwood in any emergence.\nMarianne was, of course, kept in ignorance of all these arrangements. She knew not that she had been the means of sending the owners of Cleveland away, in about seven days from the time of their arrival. It gave her no surprise that she saw nothing of Mrs. Palmer; and as it gave her likewise no concern, she never mentioned her name.\nTwo days passed away from the time of Mr. Palmer's departure, and her situation continued, with little variation, the same. Mr. Harris, who attended her every day, still talked boldly of a speedy recovery, and Miss Dashwood was equally sanguine; but the expectation of the others was by no means so cheerful. Mrs. Jennings had determined very early in the seizure that Marianne would never get over it, and Colonel Brandon, who was chiefly of use in listening to Mrs. Jennings's forebodings, was not in a state of mind to resist their influence. He tried to reason himself out of fears, which the different judgment of the apothecary seemed to render absurd; but the many hours of each day in which he was left entirely alone, were but too favourable for the admission of every melancholy idea, and he could not expel from his mind the persuasion that he should see Marianne no more.\nOn the morning of the third day however, the gloomy anticipations of both were almost done away; for when Mr. Harris arrived, he declared his patient materially better. Her pulse was much stronger, and every symptom more favourable than on the preceding visit. Elinor, confirmed in every pleasant hope, was all cheerfulness; rejoicing that in her letters to her mother, she had pursued her own judgment rather than her friend's, in making very light of the indisposition which delayed them at Cleveland; and almost fixing on the time when Marianne would be able to travel.\nBut the day did not close so auspiciously as it began. Towards the evening Marianne became ill again, growing more heavy, restless, and uncomfortable than before. Her sister, however, still sanguine, was willing to attribute the change to nothing more than the fatigue of having sat up to have her bed made; and carefully administering the cordials prescribed, saw her, with satisfaction, sink at last into a slumber, from which she expected the most beneficial effects. Her sleep, though not so quiet as Elinor wished to see it, lasted a considerable time; and anxious to observe the result of it herself, she resolved to sit with her during the whole of it. Mrs. Jennings, knowing nothing of any change in the patient, went unusually early to bed; her maid, who was one of the principal nurses, was recreating herself in the housekeeper's room, and Elinor remained alone with Marianne.\nThe repose of the latter became more and more disturbed; and her sister, who watched, with unremitting attention her continual change of posture, and heard the frequent but inarticulate sounds of complaint which passed her lips, was almost wishing to rouse her from so painful a slumber, when Marianne, suddenly awakened by some accidental noise in the house, started hastily up, and, with feverish wildness, cried out,--\n\"Is mama coming?--\"\n\"Not yet,\" cried the other, concealing her terror, and assisting Marianne to lie down again, \"but she will be here, I hope, before it is long. It is a great way, you know, from hence to Barton.\"\n\"But she must not go round by London,\" cried Marianne, in the same hurried manner. \"I shall never see her, if she goes by London.\"", "chosen": "London", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nLondon\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-043-00-191dfda2", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nIS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN ITS PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME ARRIVES.\n\"AND so you are resolved to be my travelling-companion this morning—eh?\" said the doctor, as Harry Maylie joined him and Oliver at the breakfast-table. \"Why, you are not in the same mind or intention two half-hours together.\"\n\"You will tell me a different tale one of these days,\" said Harry, colouring without any perceptible reason.\n\"I hope I may have good cause to do so,\" replied Mr. Losberne; \"though I confess I don't think I shall. But yesterday morning you had made up your mind, in a great hurry to stay here, and accompany your mother, like a dutiful son, to the sea-side; before noon, you announce that you are going to do me the honour of accompanying me as far as I go on your road to London; and at night, you urge me with great mystery to start before the ladies are stirring; the consequence of which is, that young Oliver here is pinned down to his breakfast when he ought to be ranging the meadows after botanical phenomena of all kinds. Too bad, isn't it, Oliver?\"\n\"I should have been very sorry not to have been at home when you and Mr. Maylie went away, sir,\" rejoined Oliver.\n\"That's a fine fellow,\" said the doctor; \"you shall come and see me when you return. But, to speak seriously, Harry, has any communication from the great nobs produced this sudden anxiety on your part to be gone?\"\n\"The great nobs,\" replied Harry, \"under which designation, I presume, you include my most stately uncle, have not communicated with me at all since I have been here, nor, at this time of the year, is it likely that anything would occur to render necessary my immediate attendance among them.\"\n\"Well,\" said the doctor, \"you are a queer fellow. But of course they will get you into parliament at the election before Christmas, and these sudden shiftings and changes are no bad preparation for political life. There's something in that; good training is always desirable, whether the race be for place, cup, or sweepstakes.\"\nHarry Maylie looked as if he could have followed up this short dialogue by one or two remarks that would have staggered the doctor not a little, but he contented himself with saying, \"We shall see,\" and pursued the subject no further. The post-chaise drove up to the door shortly afterwards, and Giles coming in for the luggage, the good doctor bustled out to see it packed away.\n\"Oliver,\" said Harry Maylie, in a low voice, \"let me speak a word with you.\"\nOliver walked into the window-recess to which Mr. Maylie beckoned him; much surprised at the mixture of sadness and boisterous spirits, which his whole behaviour displayed.\n\"You can write well now,\" said Harry, laying his hand upon his arm.\n\"I hope so, sir,\" replied Oliver.\n\"I shall not be at home again, perhaps for some time; I wish you would write to me—say once a fortnight, every alternate Monday, to the General Post Office in London: will you?\" said Mr. Maylie.\n\"Oh! certainly, sir; I shall be proud to do it,\" exclaimed Oliver, greatly delighted with the commission.\n\"I should like to know how—how my mother and Miss Maylie are,\" said the young man; \"and you can fill up a sheet by telling me what walks you take, and what you talk about, and whether she—they, I mean, seem happy and quite well. You understand me?\"\n\"Oh! quite, sir, quite,\" replied Oliver.\n\"I would rather you did not mention it to them,\" said Harry, hurrying over his words; \"because it might make my mother anxious to write to me oftener, and it is a trouble and worry to her. Let it be a secret between you and me, and mind you tell me every thing; I depend upon you.\"\nOliver, quite elated and honoured by a sense of his importance, faithfully promised to be secret and explicit in his communications, and Mr. Maylie took leave of him with many warm assurances of his regard and protection.\nThe doctor was in the chaise; Giles (who, it had been arranged, should be left behind) held the door open in his hand; and the women-servants were in the garden looking on. Harry cast one slight glance at the latticed window, and jumped into the carriage.\n\"Drive on!\" he cried, \"hard, fast, full gallop; nothing short of flying will keep pace with me to-day.\"\n\"Halloa!\" cried the doctor, letting down the front glass in a great hurry, and shouting to the postilion, \"something very short of flying will keep pace with me. Do you hear?\"\nJingling and clattering, till distance rendered its noise inaudible, and its rapid progress only perceptible to the eye, the vehicle wound its way along the road almost hidden in a cloud of dust, now wholly disappearing, and now becoming visible again, as intervening objects or the intricacies of the way permitted. It was not until even the dusty cloud was no longer to be seen that the gazers dispersed.\nAnd there was one looker-on, who remained with eyes fixed upon the spot where the carriage had disappeared, long after it was many miles away; for behind the white curtain which had shrouded her from view when Harry raised his eyes towards the window, sat Rose herself.\n\"He seems in high spirits and happy,\" she said, at length. \"I feared for a time he might be otherwise—I was mistaken. I am very, very glad.\"\nTears are signs of gladness as well as grief; but those which coursed down Rose's face, as she sat pensively at the window, still gazing in the same direction, seemed to tell more of sorrow than of joy.", "chosen": "[\"Harry\", \"Maylie\", \"Oliver\", \"London\", \"Christmas\", \"Giles\", \"Monday\", \"General\", \"Post\", \"Office\", \"Drive\", \"Halloa\", \"Rose\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Harry\", \"Maylie\", \"Oliver\", \"London\", \"Christmas\", \"Giles\", \"Monday\", \"General\", \"Post\", \"Office\", \"Drive\", \"Halloa\", \"Rose\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-47530-015-00-a28b1a80", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Charlie, I am going to put confidence in you.\"\n\"You always have, and with reason. What is it Frank?\"\n\"Charlie, I am in want--urgent want of money.\"\n\"That's not well.\"\n\"But it will be well, Charlie, if you loan me a hundred dollars. I would not ask this of you, only my need is sore, and you and I have so long shared hearts and minds together, however unequally on my side, that nothing remains to prove our friendship than, with the same inequality on my side, to share purses. You will do me the favor won't you?\"\n\"Favor? What do you mean by asking me to do you a favor?\"\n\"Why, Charlie, you never used to talk so.\"\n\"Because, Frank, you on your side, never used to talk so.\"\n\"But won't you loan me the money?\"\n\"No, Frank.\"\n\"Why?\"\n\"Because my rule forbids. I give away money, but never loan it; and of course the man who calls himself my friend is above receiving alms. The negotiation of a loan is a business transaction. And I will transact no business with a friend. What a friend is, he is socially and intellectually; and I rate social and intellectual friendship too high to degrade it on either side into a pecuniary make-shift. To be sure there are, and I have, what is called business friends; that is, commercial acquaintances, very convenient persons. But I draw a red-ink line between them and my friends in the true sense--my friends social and intellectual. In brief, a true friend has nothing to do with loans; he should have a soul above loans. Loans are such unfriendly accommodations as are to be had from the soulless corporation of a bank, by giving the regular security and paying the regular discount.\"\n\"An unfriendly accommodation? Do those words go together handsomely?\"\n\"Like the poor farmer's team, of an old man and a cow--not handsomely, but to the purpose. Look, Frank, a loan of money on interest is a sale of money on credit. To sell a thing on credit may be an accommodation, but where is the friendliness? Few men in their senses, except operators, borrow money on interest, except upon a necessity akin to starvation. Well, now, where is the friendliness of my letting a starving man have, say, the money's worth of a barrel of flour upon the condition that, on a given day, he shall let me have the money's worth of a barrel and a half of flour; especially if I add this further proviso, that if he fail so to do, I shall then, to secure to myself the money's worth of my barrel and his half barrel, put his heart up at public auction, and, as it is cruel to part families, throw in his wife's and children's?\"\n\"I understand,\" with a pathetic shudder; \"but even did it come to that, such a step on the creditor's part, let us, for the honor of human nature, hope, were less the intention than the contingency.\"\n\"But, Frank, a contingency not unprovided for in the taking beforehand of due securities.\"\n\"Still, Charlie, was not the loan in the first place a friend's act?\"\n\"And the auction in the last place an enemy's act. Don't you see? The enmity lies couched in the friendship, just as the ruin in the relief.\"\n\"I must be very stupid to-day, Charlie, but really, I can't understand this. Excuse me, my dear friend, but it strikes me that in going into the philosophy of the subject, you go somewhat out of your depth.\"\n\"So said the incautious wader out to the ocean; but the ocean replied: 'It is just the other way, my wet friend,' and drowned him.\"\n\"That, Charlie, is a fable about as unjust to the ocean, as some of Æsop's are to the animals. The ocean is a magnanimous element, and would scorn to assassinate a poor fellow, let alone taunting him in the act. But I don't understand what you say about enmity couched in friendship, and ruin in relief.\"\n\"I will illustrate, Frank, The needy man is a train slipped off the rail. He who loans him money on interest is the one who, by way of accommodation, helps get the train back where it belongs; but then, by way of making all square, and a little more, telegraphs to an agent, thirty miles a-head by a precipice, to throw just there, on his account, a beam across the track. Your needy man's principle-and-interest friend is, I say again, a friend with an enmity in reserve. No, no, my dear friend, no interest for me. I scorn interest.\"\n\"Well, Charlie, none need you charge. Loan me without interest.\"\n\"That would be alms again.\"\n\"Alms, if the sum borrowed is returned?\"\n\"Yes: an alms, not of the principle, but the interest.\"\n\"Well, I am in sore need, so I will not decline the alms. Seeing that it is you, Charlie, gratefully will I accept the alms of the interest. No humiliation between friends.\"\n\"Now, how in the refined view of friendship can you suffer yourself to talk so, my dear Frank. It pains me. For though I am not of the sour mind of Solomon, that, in the hour of need, a stranger is better than a brother; yet, I entirely agree with my sublime master, who, in his Essay on Friendship, says so nobly, that if he want a terrestrial convenience, not to his friend celestial (or friend social and intellectual) would he go; no: for his terrestrial convenience, to his friend terrestrial (or humbler business-friend) he goes. Very lucidly he adds the reason: Because, for the superior nature, which on no account can ever descend to do good, to be annoyed with requests to do it, when the inferior one, which by no instruction can ever rise above that capacity, stands always inclined to it--this is unsuitable.\"\n\"Then I will not consider you as my friend celestial, but as the other.\"\n\"It racks me to come to that; but, to oblige you, I'll do it. We are business friends; business is business. You want to negotiate a loan. Very good. On what paper? Will you pay three per cent a month? Where is your security?\"\n\"Surely, you will not exact those formalities from your old schoolmate--him with whom you have so often sauntered down the groves of Academe, discoursing of the beauty of virtue, and the grace that is in kindliness--and all for so paltry a sum. Security? Our being fellow-academics, and friends from childhood up, is security.\"\n\"Pardon me, my dear Frank, our being fellow-academics is the worst of securities; while, our having been friends from childhood up is just no security at all. You forget we are now business friends.\"\n\"And you, on your side, forget, Charlie, that as your business friend I can give you no security; my need being so sore that I cannot get an indorser.\"\n\"No indorser, then, no business loan.\"\n\"Since then, Charlie, neither as the one nor the other sort of friend you have defined, can I prevail with you; how if, combining the two, I sue as both?\"\n\"Are you a centaur?\"\n\"When all is said then, what good have I of your friendship, regarded in what light you will?\"\n\"The good which is in the philosophy of Mark Winsome, as reduced to practice by a practical disciple.\"\n\"And why don't you add, much good may the philosophy of Mark Winsome do me? Ah,\" turning invokingly, \"what is friendship, if it be not the helping hand and the feeling heart, the good Samaritan pouring out at need the purse as the vial!\"", "chosen": "Charlie,, What, I, You, What, I, The, And, What, To, But, In, Loans, Do, Look,, To, Few, Well,, Don't, The, Excuse, The, But, He, Your, No,, I, Loan, Seeing, No, It, For, Very, We, You, Very, On, Will, Where, Security?, Our, You, Ah,\"", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nCharlie,, What, I, You, What, I, The, And, What, To, But, In, Loans, Do, Look,, To, Few, Well,, Don't, The, Excuse, The, But, He, Your, No,, I, Loan, Seeing, No, It, For, Very, We, You, Very, On, Will, Where, Security?, Our, You, Ah,\"\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21816-035-00-92563125", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"What you ask,\" said Elizabeth, \"is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.\"\nMr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.\nWhen that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the pianoforte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead the way, which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived, she seated herself.\nMrs. Hurst sang with her sister; and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music-books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man, and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her was still more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last, that she drew his notice because there was something about her more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation.\nAfter playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her,--\n\"Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?\"\nShe smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.\n\"Oh,\" said she, \"I heard you before; but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say 'Yes,' that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all; and now despise me if you dare.\"\n\"Indeed I do not dare.\"\nElizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody, and Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed that, were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger.\nMiss Bingley saw, or suspected, enough to be jealous; and her great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.\nShe often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.\n\"I hope,\" said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery the next day, \"you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, to cure the younger girls of running after the officers. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses.\"\n\"Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?\"\n\"Oh yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?\"\n\"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression; but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.\"\nAt that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself.\n\"I did not know that you intended to walk,\" said Miss Bingley, in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.\n\"You used us abominably ill,\" answered Mrs. Hurst, \"running away without telling us that you were coming out.\"\nThen taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness, and immediately said,--\n\"This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.\"\nBut Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them, laughingly answered,--\n\"No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good-bye.\"\nShe then ran gaily off, rejoicing, as she rambled about, in the hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.", "chosen": "40", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n40\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-1342-010-01-4f505a0d", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nIn Mr. Horrock there was certainly an apparent unfathomableness which offered play to the imagination. Costume, at a glance, gave him a thrilling association with horses (enough to specify the hat-brim which took the slightest upward angle just to escape the suspicion of bending downwards), and nature had given him a face which by dint of Mongolian eyes, and a nose, mouth, and chin seeming to follow his hat-brim in a moderate inclination upwards, gave the effect of a subdued unchangeable sceptical smile, of all expressions the most tyrannous over a susceptible mind, and, when accompanied by adequate silence, likely to create the reputation of an invincible understanding, an infinite fund of humor—too dry to flow, and probably in a state of immovable crust,—and a critical judgment which, if you could ever be fortunate enough to know it, would be the thing and no other. It is a physiognomy seen in all vocations, but perhaps it has never been more powerful over the youth of England than in a judge of horses.\nMr. Horrock, at a question from Fred about his horse's fetlock, turned sideways in his saddle, and watched the horse's action for the space of three minutes, then turned forward, twitched his own bridle, and remained silent with a profile neither more nor less sceptical than it had been.\nThe part thus played in dialogue by Mr. Horrock was terribly effective. A mixture of passions was excited in Fred—a mad desire to thrash Horrock's opinion into utterance, restrained by anxiety to retain the advantage of his friendship. There was always the chance that Horrock might say something quite invaluable at the right moment.\nMr. Bambridge had more open manners, and appeared to give forth his ideas without economy. He was loud, robust, and was sometimes spoken of as being \"given to indulgence\"—chiefly in swearing, drinking, and beating his wife. Some people who had lost by him called him a vicious man; but he regarded horse-dealing as the finest of the arts, and might have argued plausibly that it had nothing to do with morality. He was undeniably a prosperous man, bore his drinking better than others bore their moderation, and, on the whole, flourished like the green bay-tree. But his range of conversation was limited, and like the fine old tune, \"Drops of brandy,\" gave you after a while a sense of returning upon itself in a way that might make weak heads dizzy. But a slight infusion of Mr. Bambridge was felt to give tone and character to several circles in Middlemarch; and he was a distinguished figure in the bar and billiard-room at the Green Dragon. He knew some anecdotes about the heroes of the turf, and various clever tricks of Marquesses and Viscounts which seemed to prove that blood asserted its pre-eminence even among black-legs; but the minute retentiveness of his memory was chiefly shown about the horses he had himself bought and sold; the number of miles they would trot you in no time without turning a hair being, after the lapse of years, still a subject of passionate asseveration, in which he would assist the imagination of his hearers by solemnly swearing that they never saw anything like it. In short, Mr. Bambridge was a man of pleasure and a gay companion.\nFred was subtle, and did not tell his friends that he was going to Houndsley bent on selling his horse: he wished to get indirectly at their genuine opinion of its value, not being aware that a genuine opinion was the last thing likely to be extracted from such eminent critics. It was not Mr. Bambridge's weakness to be a gratuitous flatterer. He had never before been so much struck with the fact that this unfortunate bay was a roarer to a degree which required the roundest word for perdition to give you any idea of it.\n\"You made a bad hand at swapping when you went to anybody but me, Vincy! Why, you never threw your leg across a finer horse than that chestnut, and you gave him for this brute. If you set him cantering, he goes on like twenty sawyers. I never heard but one worse roarer in my life, and that was a roan: it belonged to Pegwell, the corn-factor; he used to drive him in his gig seven years ago, and he wanted me to take him, but I said, 'Thank you, Peg, I don't deal in wind-instruments.' That was what I said. It went the round of the country, that joke did. But, what the hell! the horse was a penny trumpet to that roarer of yours.\"\n\"Why, you said just now his was worse than mine,\" said Fred, more irritable than usual.\n\"I said a lie, then,\" said Mr. Bambridge, emphatically. \"There wasn't a penny to choose between 'em.\"\nFred spurred his horse, and they trotted on a little way. When they slackened again, Mr. Bambridge said—\n\"Not but what the roan was a better trotter than yours.\"\n\"I'm quite satisfied with his paces, I know,\" said Fred, who required all the consciousness of being in gay company to support him; \"I say his trot is an uncommonly clean one, eh, Horrock?\"\nMr. Horrock looked before him with as complete a neutrality as if he had been a portrait by a great master.\nFred gave up the fallacious hope of getting a genuine opinion; but on reflection he saw that Bambridge's depreciation and Horrock's silence were both virtually encouraging, and indicated that they thought better of the horse than they chose to say.", "chosen": "Costume, at a glance, gave him a thrilling association with horses (enough to specify the hat-brim which took the slightest upward angle just to escape the suspicion of bending downwards), and nature had given him a face which by dint of Mongolian eyes, and a nose, mouth, and chin seeming to follow his hat-brim in a moderate inclination upwards, gave the effect of a subdued unchangeable sceptical smile, of all expressions the most tyrannous over a susceptible mind, and, when accompanied by adequate silence, likely to create the reputation of an invincible understanding, an infinite fund of humor—too dry to flow, and probably in a state of immovable crust,—and a critical judgment which, if you could ever be fortunate enough to know it, would be the thing and no other.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nCostume, at a glance, gave him a thrilling association with horses (enough to specify the hat-brim which took the slightest upward angle just to escape the suspicion of bending downwards), and nature had given him a face which by dint of Mongolian eyes, and a nose, mouth, and chin seeming to follow his hat-brim in a moderate inclination upwards, gave the effect of a subdued unchangeable sceptical smile, of all expressions the most tyrannous over a susceptible mind, and, when accompanied by adequate silence, likely to create the reputation of an invincible understanding, an infinite fund of humor—too dry to flow, and probably in a state of immovable crust,—and a critical judgment which, if you could ever be fortunate enough to know it, would be the thing and no other.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-024-03-6d0c3cb6", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nIn the course of the next day the first of the usual betrothal visits were exchanged. The New York ritual was precise and inflexible in such matters; and in conformity with it Newland Archer first went with his mother and sister to call on Mrs. Welland, after which he and Mrs. Welland and May drove out to old Mrs. Manson Mingott's to receive that venerable ancestress's blessing.\nA visit to Mrs. Manson Mingott was always an amusing episode to the young man. The house in itself was already an historic document, though not, of course, as venerable as certain other old family houses in University Place and lower Fifth Avenue. Those were of the purest 1830, with a grim harmony of cabbage-rose-garlanded carpets, rosewood consoles, round-arched fire-places with black marble mantels, and immense glazed book-cases of mahogany; whereas old Mrs. Mingott, who had built her house later, had bodily cast out the massive furniture of her prime, and mingled with the Mingott heirlooms the frivolous upholstery of the Second Empire. It was her habit to sit in a window of her sitting-room on the ground floor, as if watching calmly for life and fashion to flow northward to her solitary doors. She seemed in no hurry to have them come, for her patience was equalled by her confidence. She was sure that presently the hoardings, the quarries, the one-story saloons, the wooden green-houses in ragged gardens, and the rocks from which goats surveyed the scene, would vanish before the advance of residences as stately as her own--perhaps (for she was an impartial woman) even statelier; and that the cobble-stones over which the old clattering omnibuses bumped would be replaced by smooth asphalt, such as people reported having seen in Paris. Meanwhile, as every one she cared to see came to her (and she could fill her rooms as easily as the Beauforts, and without adding a single item to the menu of her suppers), she did not suffer from her geographic isolation.\nThe immense accretion of flesh which had descended on her in middle life like a flood of lava on a doomed city had changed her from a plump active little woman with a neatly-turned foot and ankle into something as vast and august as a natural phenomenon. She had accepted this submergence as philosophically as all her other trials, and now, in extreme old age, was rewarded by presenting to her mirror an almost unwrinkled expanse of firm pink and white flesh, in the centre of which the traces of a small face survived as if awaiting excavation. A flight of smooth double chins led down to the dizzy depths of a still-snowy bosom veiled in snowy muslins that were held in place by a miniature portrait of the late Mr. Mingott; and around and below, wave after wave of black silk surged away over the edges of a capacious armchair, with two tiny white hands poised like gulls on the surface of the billows.\nThe burden of Mrs. Manson Mingott's flesh had long since made it impossible for her to go up and down stairs, and with characteristic independence she had made her reception rooms upstairs and established herself (in flagrant violation of all the New York proprieties) on the ground floor of her house; so that, as you sat in her sitting-room window with her, you caught (through a door that was always open, and a looped-back yellow damask portière) the unexpected vista of a bedroom with a huge low bed upholstered like a sofa, and a toilet-table with frivolous lace flounces and a gilt-framed mirror.\nHer visitors were startled and fascinated by the foreignness of this arrangement, which recalled scenes in French fiction, and architectural incentives to immorality such as the simple American had never dreamed of. That was how women with lovers lived in the wicked old societies, in apartments with all the rooms on one floor, and all the indecent propinquities that their novels described. It amused Newland Archer (who had secretly situated the love-scenes of \"Monsieur de Camors\" in Mrs. Mingott's bedroom) to picture her blameless life led in the stage-setting of adultery; but he said to himself, with considerable admiration, that if a lover had been what she wanted, the intrepid woman would have had him too.\nTo the general relief the Countess Olenska was not present in her grandmother's drawing-room during the visit of the betrothed couple. Mrs. Mingott said she had gone out; which, on a day of such glaring sunlight, and at the \"shopping hour,\" seemed in itself an indelicate thing for a compromised woman to do. But at any rate it spared them the embarrassment of her presence, and the faint shadow that her unhappy past might seem to shed on their radiant future. The visit went off successfully, as was to have been expected. Old Mrs. Mingott was delighted with the engagement, which, being long foreseen by watchful relatives, had been carefully passed upon in family council; and the engagement ring, a large thick sapphire set in invisible claws, met with her unqualified admiration.\n\"It's the new setting: of course it shows the stone beautifully, but it looks a little bare to old-fashioned eyes,\" Mrs. Welland had explained, with a conciliatory side-glance at her future son-in-law.\n\"Old-fashioned eyes? I hope you don't mean mine, my dear? I like all the novelties,\" said the ancestress, lifting the stone to her small bright orbs, which no glasses had ever disfigured. \"Very handsome,\" she added, returning the jewel; \"very liberal. In my time a cameo set in pearls was thought sufficient. But it's the hand that sets off the ring, isn't it, my dear Mr. Archer?\" and she waved one of her tiny hands, with small pointed nails and rolls of aged fat encircling the wrist like ivory bracelets. \"Mine was modelled in Rome by the great Ferrigiani. You should have May's done: no doubt he'll have it done, my child. Her hand is large--it's these modern sports that spread the joints--but the skin is white.--And when's the wedding to be?\" she broke off, fixing her eyes on Archer's face.\n\"Oh--\" Mrs. Welland murmured, while the young man, smiling at his betrothed, replied: \"As soon as ever it can, if only you'll back me up, Mrs. Mingott.\"\n\"We must give them time to get to know each other a little better, mamma,\" Mrs. Welland interposed, with the proper affectation of reluctance; to which the ancestress rejoined: \"Know each other? Fiddlesticks! Everybody in New York has always known everybody. Let the young man have his way, my dear; don't wait till the bubble's off the wine. Marry them before Lent; I may catch pneumonia any winter now, and I want to give the wedding-breakfast.\"\nThese successive statements were received with the proper expressions of amusement, incredulity and gratitude; and the visit was breaking up in a vein of mild pleasantry when the door opened to admit the Countess Olenska, who entered in bonnet and mantle followed by the unexpected figure of Julius Beaufort.\nThere was a cousinly murmur of pleasure between the ladies, and Mrs. Mingott held out Ferrigiani's model to the banker. \"Ha! Beaufort, this is a rare favour!\" (She had an odd foreign way of addressing men by their surnames.)\n\"Thanks. I wish it might happen oftener,\" said the visitor in his easy arrogant way. \"I'm generally so tied down; but I met the Countess Ellen in Madison Square, and she was good enough to let me walk home with her.\"\n\"Ah--I hope the house will be gayer, now that Ellen's here!\" cried Mrs. Mingott with a glorious effrontery. \"Sit down--sit down, Beaufort: push up the yellow armchair; now I've got you I want a good gossip. I hear your ball was magnificent; and I understand you invited Mrs. Lemuel Struthers? Well--I've a curiosity to see the woman myself.\"", "chosen": "[\"Monsieur de Camors\", \"shopping hour,\", \"It's the new setting: of course it shows the stone beautifully, but it looks a little bare to old-fashioned eyes,\", \"Old-fashioned eyes? I hope you don't mean mine, my dear? I like all the novelties,\", \"Very handsome,\", \"very liberal. In my time a cameo set in pearls was thought sufficient. But it's the hand that sets off the ring, isn't it, my dear Mr. Archer?\", \" she broke off, fixing her eyes on Archer's face.\\n\", \" Mrs. Welland murmured, while the young man, smiling at his betrothed, replied: \", \"We must give them time to get to know each other a little better, mamma,\", \"Ha! Beaufort, this is a rare favour!\", \"Thanks. I wish it might happen oftener,\", \"I'm generally so tied down; but I met the Countess Ellen in Madison Square, and she was good enough to let me walk home with her.\", \"Ah--I hope the house will be gayer, now that Ellen's here!\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Monsieur de Camors\", \"shopping hour,\", \"It's the new setting: of course it shows the stone beautifully, but it looks a little bare to old-fashioned eyes,\", \"Old-fashioned eyes? I hope you don't mean mine, my dear? I like all the novelties,\", \"Very handsome,\", \"very liberal. In my time a cameo set in pearls was thought sufficient. But it's the hand that sets off the ring, isn't it, my dear Mr. Archer?\", \" she broke off, fixing her eyes on Archer's face.\\n\", \" Mrs. Welland murmured, while the young man, smiling at his betrothed, replied: \", \"We must give them time to get to know each other a little better, mamma,\", \"Ha! Beaufort, this is a rare favour!\", \"Thanks. I wish it might happen oftener,\", \"I'm generally so tied down; but I met the Countess Ellen in Madison Square, and she was good enough to let me walk home with her.\", \"Ah--I hope the house will be gayer, now that Ellen's here!\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-541-002-00-e09f1606", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"You! At your age! No! You mean you're the late Charlemagne; you must be six or seven hundred years old, at the very least.\"\n\"Trouble has done it, Bilgewater, trouble has done it; trouble has brung these gray hairs and this premature balditude. Yes, gentlemen, you see before you, in blue jeans and misery, the wanderin', exiled, trampled-on, and sufferin' rightful King of France.\"\nWell, he cried and took on so that me and Jim didn't know hardly what to do, we was so sorry—and so glad and proud we'd got him with us, too. So we set in, like we done before with the duke, and tried to comfort him. But he said it warn't no use, nothing but to be dead and done with it all could do him any good; though he said it often made him feel easier and better for a while if people treated him according to his rights, and got down on one knee to speak to him, and always called him \"Your Majesty,\" and waited on him first at meals, and didn't set down in his presence till he asked them. So Jim and me set to majestying him, and doing this and that and t'other for him, and standing up till he told us we might set down. This done him heaps of good, and so he got cheerful and comfortable. But the duke kind of soured on him, and didn't look a bit satisfied with the way things was going; still, the king acted real friendly towards him, and said the duke's great-grandfather and all the other Dukes of Bilgewater was a good deal thought of by his father, and was allowed to come to the palace considerable; but the duke stayed huffy a good while, till by-and-by the king says:\n\"Like as not we got to be together a blamed long time on this h-yer raft, Bilgewater, and so what's the use o' your bein' sour? It'll only make things oncomfortable. It ain't my fault I warn't born a duke, it ain't your fault you warn't born a king—so what's the use to worry? Make the best o' things the way you find 'em, says I—that's my motto. This ain't no bad thing that we've struck here—plenty grub and an easy life—come, give us your hand, Duke, and le's all be friends.\"\nThe duke done it, and Jim and me was pretty glad to see it. It took away all the uncomfortableness and we felt mighty good over it, because it would a been a miserable business to have any unfriendliness on the raft; for what you want, above all things, on a raft, is for everybody to be satisfied, and feel right and kind towards the others.\nIt didn't take me long to make up my mind that these liars warn't no kings nor dukes at all, but just low-down humbugs and frauds. But I never said nothing, never let on; kept it to myself; it's the best way; then you don't have no quarrels, and don't get into no trouble. If they wanted us to call them kings and dukes, I hadn't no objections, 'long as it would keep peace in the family; and it warn't no use to tell Jim, so I didn't tell him. If I never learnt nothing else out of pap, I learnt that the best way to get along with his kind of people is to let them have their own way.", "chosen": "way", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nway\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-019-02-d821a37f", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Oh, what ideas you have!\" Lise shrieked in delight. \"And you a monk, too! You wouldn't believe how I respect you, Alyosha, for never telling lies. Oh, I must tell you a funny dream of mine. I sometimes dream of devils. It's night; I am in my room with a candle and suddenly there are devils all over the place, in all the corners, under the table, and they open the doors; there's a crowd of them behind the doors and they want to come and seize me. And they are just coming, just seizing me. But I suddenly cross myself and they all draw back, though they don't go away altogether, they stand at the doors and in the corners, waiting. And suddenly I have a frightful longing to revile God aloud, and so I begin, and then they come crowding back to me, delighted, and seize me again and I cross myself again and they all draw back. It's awful fun. it takes one's breath away.\"\n\"I've had the same dream, too,\" said Alyosha suddenly.\n\"Really?\" cried Lise, surprised. \"I say, Alyosha, don't laugh, that's awfully important. Could two different people have the same dream?\"\n\"It seems they can.\"\n\"Alyosha, I tell you, it's awfully important,\" Lise went on, with really excessive amazement. \"It's not the dream that's important, but your having the same dream as me. You never lie to me, don't lie now: is it true? You are not laughing?\"\n\"It's true.\"\nLise seemed extraordinarily impressed and for half a minute she was silent.\n\"Alyosha, come and see me, come and see me more often,\" she said suddenly, in a supplicating voice.\n\"I'll always come to see you, all my life,\" answered Alyosha firmly.\n\"You are the only person I can talk to, you know,\" Lise began again. \"I talk to no one but myself and you. Only you in the whole world. And to you more readily than to myself. And I am not a bit ashamed with you, not a bit. Alyosha, why am I not ashamed with you, not a bit? Alyosha, is it true that at Easter the Jews steal a child and kill it?\"\n\"I don't know.\"\n\"There's a book here in which I read about the trial of a Jew, who took a child of four years old and cut off the fingers from both hands, and then crucified him on the wall, hammered nails into him and crucified him, and afterwards, when he was tried, he said that the child died soon, within four hours. That was 'soon'! He said the child moaned, kept on moaning and he stood admiring it. That's nice!\"\n\"Nice?\"\n\"Nice; I sometimes imagine that it was I who crucified him. He would hang there moaning and I would sit opposite him eating pineapple compote. I am awfully fond of pineapple compote. Do you like it?\"\nAlyosha looked at her in silence. Her pale, sallow face was suddenly contorted, her eyes burned.\n\"You know, when I read about that Jew I shook with sobs all night. I kept fancying how the little thing cried and moaned (a child of four years old understands, you know), and all the while the thought of pineapple compote haunted me. In the morning I wrote a letter to a certain person, begging him particularly to come and see me. He came and I suddenly told him all about the child and the pineapple compote. All about it, all, and said that it was nice. He laughed and said it really was nice. Then he got up and went away. He was only here five minutes. Did he despise me? Did he despise me? Tell me, tell me, Alyosha, did he despise me or not?\" She sat up on the couch, with flashing eyes.\n\"Tell me,\" Alyosha asked anxiously, \"did you send for that person?\"\n\"Yes, I did.\"\n\"Did you send him a letter?\"\n\"Simply to ask about that, about that child?\"\n\"No, not about that at all. But when he came, I asked him about that at once. He answered, laughed, got up and went away.\"\n\"That person behaved honorably,\" Alyosha murmured.\n\"And did he despise me? Did he laugh at me?\"\n\"No, for perhaps he believes in the pineapple compote himself. He is very ill now, too, Lise.\"\n\"Yes, he does believe in it,\" said Lise, with flashing eyes.\n\"He doesn't despise any one,\" Alyosha went on. \"Only he does not believe any one. If he doesn't believe in people, of course, he does despise them.\"\n\"Then he despises me, me?\"\n\"You, too.\"\n\"Good,\" Lise seemed to grind her teeth. \"When he went out laughing, I felt that it was nice to be despised. The child with fingers cut off is nice, and to be despised is nice....\"\nAnd she laughed in Alyosha's face, a feverish malicious laugh.\n\"Do you know, Alyosha, do you know, I should like—Alyosha, save me!\" She suddenly jumped from the couch, rushed to him and seized him with both hands. \"Save me!\" she almost groaned. \"Is there any one in the world I could tell what I've told you? I've told you the truth, the truth. I shall kill myself, because I loathe everything! I don't want to live, because I loathe everything! I loathe everything, everything. Alyosha, why don't you love me in the least?\" she finished in a frenzy.\n\"But I do love you!\" answered Alyosha warmly.\n\"And will you weep over me, will you?\"\n\"Not because I won't be your wife, but simply weep for me?\"\n\"Thank you! It's only your tears I want. Every one else may punish me and trample me under foot, every one, every one, not excepting any one. For I don't love any one. Do you hear, not any one! On the contrary, I hate him! Go, Alyosha; it's time you went to your brother\"; she tore herself away from him suddenly.\n\"How can I leave you like this?\" said Alyosha, almost in alarm.\n\"Go to your brother, the prison will be shut; go, here's your hat. Give my love to Mitya, go, go!\"\nAnd she almost forcibly pushed Alyosha out of the door. He looked at her with pained surprise, when he was suddenly aware of a letter in his right hand, a tiny letter folded up tight and sealed. He glanced at it and instantly read the address, \"To Ivan Fyodorovitch Karamazov.\" He looked quickly at Lise. Her face had become almost menacing.\n\"Give it to him, you must give it to him!\" she ordered him, trembling and beside herself. \"To-day, at once, or I'll poison myself! That's why I sent for you.\"\nAnd she slammed the door quickly. The bolt clicked. Alyosha put the note in his pocket and went straight downstairs, without going back to Madame Hohlakov; forgetting her, in fact. As soon as Alyosha had gone, Lise unbolted the door, opened it a little, put her finger in the crack and slammed the door with all her might, pinching her finger. Ten seconds after, releasing her finger, she walked softly, slowly to her chair, sat up straight in it and looked intently at her blackened finger and at the blood that oozed from under the nail. Her lips were quivering and she kept whispering rapidly to herself:\n\"I am a wretch, wretch, wretch, wretch!\"", "chosen": "[\"Lise\", \"Alyosha\", \"God\", \"Really\", \"Easter\", \"Jews\", \"Jew\", \"Nice\", \"Tell\", \"Did\", \"Simply\", \"Only\", \"Good\", \"Save\", \"Not\", \"Thank\", \"Mitya\", \"Ivan\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Karamazov\", \"Give\", \"Madame\", \"Hohlakov\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Lise\", \"Alyosha\", \"God\", \"Really\", \"Easter\", \"Jews\", \"Jew\", \"Nice\", \"Tell\", \"Did\", \"Simply\", \"Only\", \"Good\", \"Save\", \"Not\", \"Thank\", \"Mitya\", \"Ivan\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Karamazov\", \"Give\", \"Madame\", \"Hohlakov\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-070-01-33418bc9", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nTo make them run easily and swiftly, the axles of carriages are anointed; and for much the same purpose, some whalers perform an analogous operation upon their boat; they grease the bottom. Nor is it to be doubted that as such a procedure can do no harm, it may possibly be of no contemptible advantage; considering that oil and water are hostile; that oil is a sliding thing, and that the object in view is to make the boat slide bravely. Queequeg believed strongly in anointing his boat, and one morning not long after the German ship Jungfrau disappeared, took more than customary pains in that occupation; crawling under its bottom, where it hung over the side, and rubbing in the unctuousness as though diligently seeking to insure a crop of hair from the craft's bald keel. He seemed to be working in obedience to some particular presentiment. Nor did it remain unwarranted by the event.\nTowards noon whales were raised; but so soon as the ship sailed down to them, they turned and fled with swift precipitancy; a disordered flight, as of Cleopatra's barges from Actium.\nNevertheless, the boats pursued, and Stubb's was foremost. By great exertion, Tashtego at last succeeded in planting one iron; but the stricken whale, without at all sounding, still continued his horizontal flight, with added fleetness. Such unintermitted strainings upon the planted iron must sooner or later inevitably extract it. It became imperative to lance the flying whale, or be content to lose him. But to haul the boat up to his flank was impossible, he swam so fast and furious. What then remained?\nOf all the wondrous devices and dexterities, the sleights of hand and countless subtleties, to which the veteran whaleman is so often forced, none exceed that fine manœuvre with the lance called pitchpoling. Small sword, or broad sword, in all its exercises boasts nothing like it. It is only indispensable with an inveterate running whale; its grand fact and feature is the wonderful distance to which the long lance is accurately darted from a violently rocking, jerking boat, under extreme headway. Steel and wood included, the entire spear is some ten or twelve feet in length; the staff is much slighter than that of the harpoon, and also of a lighter material—pine. It is furnished with a small rope called a warp, of considerable length, by which it can be hauled back to the hand after darting.\nBut before going further, it is important to mention here, that though the harpoon may be pitchpoled in the same way with the lance, yet it is seldom done; and when done, is still less frequently successful, on account of the greater weight and inferior length of the harpoon as compared with the lance, which in effect become serious drawbacks. As a general thing, therefore, you must first get fast to a whale, before any pitchpoling comes into play.\nLook now at Stubb; a man who from his humorous, deliberate coolness and equanimity in the direst emergencies, was specially qualified to excel in pitchpoling. Look at him; he stands upright in the tossed bow of the flying boat; wrapt in fleecy foam, the towing whale is forty feet ahead. Handling the long lance lightly, glancing twice or thrice along its length to see if it be exactly straight, Stubb whistlingly gathers up the coil of the warp in one hand, so as to secure its free end in his grasp, leaving the rest unobstructed. Then holding the lance full before his waistband's middle, he levels it at the whale; when, covering him with it, he steadily depresses the butt-end in his hand, thereby elevating the point till the weapon stands fairly balanced upon his palm, fifteen feet in the air. He minds you somewhat of a juggler, balancing a long staff on his chin. Next moment with a rapid, nameless impulse, in a superb lofty arch the bright steel spans the foaming distance, and quivers in the life spot of the whale. Instead of sparkling water, he now spouts red blood.\n\"That drove the spigot out of him!\" cried Stubb. \"'Tis July's immortal Fourth; all fountains must run wine today! Would now, it were old Orleans whiskey, or old Ohio, or unspeakable old Monongahela! Then, Tashtego, lad, I'd have ye hold a canakin to the jet, and we'd drink round it! Yea, verily, hearts alive, we'd brew choice punch in the spread of his spout-hole there, and from that live punch-bowl quaff the living stuff.\"\nAgain and again to such gamesome talk, the dexterous dart is repeated, the spear returning to its master like a greyhound held in skilful leash. The agonized whale goes into his flurry; the tow-line is slackened, and the pitchpoler dropping astern, folds his hands, and mutely watches the monster die.", "chosen": "To, Nor, Queequeg, He, Nor, Towards, Nevertheless,, By, Such, It, But, What, Of, Small, It, Steel, It, But, As, Look, Look, Handling, Then, He, Next, Instead, That, Tis, Would, Then,, Yea,, The", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nTo, Nor, Queequeg, He, Nor, Towards, Nevertheless,, By, Such, It, But, What, Of, Small, It, Steel, It, But, As, Look, Look, Handling, Then, He, Next, Instead, That, Tis, Would, Then,, Yea,, The\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-073-00-30c3300d", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Well, this,\" said Knight, somewhat unwillingly. \"That experience teaches, and your sweetheart, no less than your tailor, is necessarily very imperfect in her duties, if you are her first patron: and conversely, the sweetheart who is graceful under the initial kiss must be supposed to have had some practice in the trade.\"\n\"And do you mean to say that you wrote that upon the strength of another man's remark, without having tested it by practice?\"\n\"Yes—indeed I do.\"\n\"Then I think it was uncalled for and unfair. And how do you know it is true? I expect you regret it now.\"\n\"Since you bring me into a serious mood, I will speak candidly. I do believe that remark to be perfectly true, and, having written it, I would defend it anywhere. But I do often regret having ever written it, as well as others of the sort. I have grown older since, and I find such a tone of writing is calculated to do harm in the world. Every literary Jack becomes a gentleman if he can only pen a few indifferent satires upon womankind: women themselves, too, have taken to the trick; and so, upon the whole, I begin to be rather ashamed of my companions.\"\n\"Ah, Henry, you have fallen in love since and it makes a difference,\" said Mrs. Swancourt with a faint tone of banter.\n\"That's true; but that is not my reason.\"\n\"Having found that, in a case of your own experience, a so-called goose was a swan, it seems absurd to deny such a possibility in other men's experiences.\"\n\"You can hit palpably, cousin Charlotte,\" said Knight. \"You are like the boy who puts a stone inside his snowball, and I shall play with you no longer. Excuse me—I am going for my evening stroll.\"\nThough Knight had spoken jestingly, this incident and conversation had caused him a sudden depression. Coming, rather singularly, just after his discovery that Elfride had known what it was to love warmly before she had known him, his mind dwelt upon the subject, and the familiar pipe he smoked, whilst pacing up and down the shrubbery-path, failed to be a solace. He thought again of those idle words—hitherto quite forgotten—about the first kiss of a girl, and the theory seemed more than reasonable. Of course their sting now lay in their bearing on Elfride.\nElfride, under Knight's kiss, had certainly been a very different woman from herself under Stephen's. Whether for good or for ill, she had marvellously well learnt a betrothed lady's part; and the fascinating finish of her deportment in this second campaign did probably arise from her unreserved encouragement of Stephen. Knight, with all the rapidity of jealous sensitiveness, pounced upon some words she had inadvertently let fall about an earring, which he had only partially understood at the time. It was during that \"initial kiss\" by the little waterfall:\n\"We must be careful. I lost the other by doing this!\"\nA flush which had in it as much of wounded pride as of sorrow, passed over Knight as he thought of what he had so frequently said to her in his simplicity. \"I always meant to be the first comer in a woman's heart, fresh lips or none for me.\" How childishly blind he must have seemed to this mere girl! How she must have laughed at him inwardly! He absolutely writhed as he thought of the confession she had wrung from him on the boat in the darkness of night. The one conception which had sustained his dignity when drawn out of his shell on that occasion—that of her charming ignorance of all such matters—how absurd it was!\nThis man, whose imagination had been fed up to preternatural size by lonely study and silent observations of his kind—whose emotions had been drawn out long and delicate by his seclusion, like plants in a cellar—was now absolutely in pain. Moreover, several years of poetic study, and, if the truth must be told, poetic efforts, had tended to develop the affective side of his constitution still further, in proportion to his active faculties. It was his belief in the absolute newness of blandishment to Elfride which had constituted her primary charm. He began to think it was as hard to be earliest in a woman's heart as it was to be first in the Pool of Bethesda.\nThat Knight should have been thus constituted: that Elfride's second lover should not have been one of the great mass of bustling mankind, little given to introspection, whose good-nature might have compensated for any lack of appreciativeness, was the chance of things. That her throbbing, self-confounding, indiscreet heart should have to defend itself unaided against the keen scrutiny and logical power which Knight, now that his suspicions were awakened, would sooner or later be sure to exercise against her, was her misfortune. A miserable incongruity was apparent in the circumstance of a strong mind practising its unerring archery upon a heart which the owner of that mind loved better than his own.\nElfride's docile devotion to Knight was now its own enemy. Clinging to him so dependently, she taught him in time to presume upon that devotion—a lesson men are not slow to learn. A slight rebelliousness occasionally would have done him no harm, and would have been a world of advantage to her. But she idolized him, and was proud to be his bond-servant.", "chosen": "35", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n35\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-224-029-02-fa08521d", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"You know perhaps--yes, I told you myself,\" began Svidrigaïlov, \"that I was in the debtors' prison here, for an immense sum, and had not any expectation of being able to pay it. There's no need to go into particulars how Marfa Petrovna bought me out; do you know to what a point of insanity a woman can sometimes love? She was an honest woman, and very sensible, although completely uneducated. Would you believe that this honest and jealous woman, after many scenes of hysterics and reproaches, condescended to enter into a kind of contract with me which she kept throughout our married life? She was considerably older than I, and besides, she always kept a clove or something in her mouth. There was so much swinishness in my soul and honesty too, of a sort, as to tell her straight out that I couldn't be absolutely faithful to her. This confession drove her to frenzy, but yet she seems in a way to have liked my brutal frankness. She thought it showed I was unwilling to deceive her if I warned her like this beforehand and for a jealous woman, you know, that's the first consideration. After many tears an unwritten contract was drawn up between us: first, that I would never leave Marfa Petrovna and would always be her husband; secondly, that I would never absent myself without her permission; thirdly, that I would never set up a permanent mistress; fourthly, in return for this, Marfa Petrovna gave me a free hand with the maidservants, but only with her secret knowledge; fifthly, God forbid my falling in love with a woman of our class; sixthly, in case I--which God forbid--should be visited by a great serious passion I was bound to reveal it to Marfa Petrovna. On this last score, however, Marfa Petrovna was fairly at ease. She was a sensible woman and so she could not help looking upon me as a dissolute profligate incapable of real love. But a sensible woman and a jealous woman are two very different things, and that's where the trouble came in. But to judge some people impartially we must renounce certain preconceived opinions and our habitual attitude to the ordinary people about us. I have reason to have faith in your judgment rather than in anyone's. Perhaps you have already heard a great deal that was ridiculous and absurd about Marfa Petrovna. She certainly had some very ridiculous ways, but I tell you frankly that I feel really sorry for the innumerable woes of which I was the cause. Well, and that's enough, I think, by way of a decorous oraison funèbre for the most tender wife of a most tender husband. When we quarrelled, I usually held my tongue and did not irritate her and that gentlemanly conduct rarely failed to attain its object, it influenced her, it pleased her, indeed. These were times when she was positively proud of me. But your sister she couldn't put up with, anyway. And however she came to risk taking such a beautiful creature into her house as a governess. My explanation is that Marfa Petrovna was an ardent and impressionable woman and simply fell in love herself--literally fell in love--with your sister. Well, little wonder--look at Avdotya Romanovna! I saw the danger at the first glance and what do you think, I resolved not to look at her even. But Avdotya Romanovna herself made the first step, would you believe it? Would you believe it too that Marfa Petrovna was positively angry with me at first for my persistent silence about your sister, for my careless reception of her continual adoring praises of Avdotya Romanovna. I don't know what it was she wanted! Well, of course, Marfa Petrovna told Avdotya Romanovna every detail about me. She had the unfortunate habit of telling literally everyone all our family secrets and continually complaining of me; how could she fail to confide in such a delightful new friend? I expect they talked of nothing else but me and no doubt Avdotya Romanovna heard all those dark mysterious rumours that were current about me.... I don't mind betting that you too have heard something of the sort already?\"\n\"I have. Luzhin charged you with having caused the death of a child. Is that true?\"\n\"Don't refer to those vulgar tales, I beg,\" said Svidrigaïlov with disgust and annoyance. \"If you insist on wanting to know about all that idiocy, I will tell you one day, but now...\"\n\"I was told too about some footman of yours in the country whom you treated badly.\"\n\"I beg you to drop the subject,\" Svidrigaïlov interrupted again with obvious impatience.\n\"Was that the footman who came to you after death to fill your pipe?... you told me about it yourself.\" Raskolnikov felt more and more irritated.\nSvidrigaïlov looked at him attentively and Raskolnikov fancied he caught a flash of spiteful mockery in that look. But Svidrigaïlov restrained himself and answered very civilly:", "chosen": "After many tears an unwritten contract was drawn up between us: first, that I would never leave Marfa Petrovna and would always be her husband; secondly, that I would never absent myself without her permission; thirdly, that I would never set up a permanent mistress; fourthly, in return for this, Marfa Petrovna gave me a free hand with the maidservants, but only with her secret knowledge; fifthly, God forbid my falling in love with a woman of our class; sixthly, in case I--which God forbid--should be visited by a great serious passion I was bound to reveal it to Marfa Petrovna.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nAfter many tears an unwritten contract was drawn up between us: first, that I would never leave Marfa Petrovna and would always be her husband; secondly, that I would never absent myself without her permission; thirdly, that I would never set up a permanent mistress; fourthly, in return for this, Marfa Petrovna gave me a free hand with the maidservants, but only with her secret knowledge; fifthly, God forbid my falling in love with a woman of our class; sixthly, in case I--which God forbid--should be visited by a great serious passion I was bound to reveal it to Marfa Petrovna.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2554-005-00-ae316d6b", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nSyme had never thought of asking whether the monstrous man who almost filled and broke the balcony was the great President of whom the others stood in awe. He knew it was so, with an unaccountable but instantaneous certainty. Syme, indeed, was one of those men who are open to all the more nameless psychological influences in a degree a little dangerous to mental health. Utterly devoid of fear in physical dangers, he was a great deal too sensitive to the smell of spiritual evil. Twice already that night little unmeaning things had peeped out at him almost pruriently, and given him a sense of drawing nearer and nearer to the head-quarters of hell. And this sense became overpowering as he drew nearer to the great President.\nThe form it took was a childish and yet hateful fancy. As he walked across the inner room towards the balcony, the large face of Sunday grew larger and larger; and Syme was gripped with a fear that when he was quite close the face would be too big to be possible, and that he would scream aloud. He remembered that as a child he would not look at the mask of Memnon in the British Museum, because it was a face, and so large.\nBy an effort, braver than that of leaping over a cliff, he went to an empty seat at the breakfast-table and sat down. The men greeted him with good-humoured raillery as if they had always known him. He sobered himself a little by looking at their conventional coats and solid, shining coffee-pot; then he looked again at Sunday. His face was very large, but it was still possible to humanity.\nIn the presence of the President the whole company looked sufficiently commonplace; nothing about them caught the eye at first, except that by the President's caprice they had been dressed up with a festive respectability, which gave the meal the look of a wedding breakfast. One man indeed stood out at even a superficial glance. He at least was the common or garden Dynamiter. He wore, indeed, the high white collar and satin tie that were the uniform of the occasion; but out of this collar there sprang a head quite unmanageable and quite unmistakable, a bewildering bush of brown hair and beard that almost obscured the eyes like those of a Skye terrier. But the eyes did look out of the tangle, and they were the sad eyes of some Russian serf. The effect of this figure was not terrible like that of the President, but it had every diablerie that can come from the utterly grotesque. If out of that stiff tie and collar there had come abruptly the head of a cat or a dog, it could not have been a more idiotic contrast.\nThe man's name, it seemed, was Gogol; he was a Pole, and in this circle of days he was called Tuesday. His soul and speech were incurably tragic; he could not force himself to play the prosperous and frivolous part demanded of him by President Sunday. And, indeed, when Syme came in the President, with that daring disregard of public suspicion which was his policy, was actually chaffing Gogol upon his inability to assume conventional graces.\n\"Our friend Tuesday,\" said the President in a deep voice at once of quietude and volume, \"our friend Tuesday doesn't seem to grasp the idea. He dresses up like a gentleman, but he seems to be too great a soul to behave like one. He insists on the ways of the stage conspirator. Now if a gentleman goes about London in a top hat and a frock-coat, no one need know that he is an anarchist. But if a gentleman puts on a top hat and a frock-coat, and then goes about on his hands and knees—well, he may attract attention. That's what Brother Gogol does. He goes about on his hands and knees with such inexhaustible diplomacy, that by this time he finds it quite difficult to walk upright.\"\n\"I am not good at concealment,\" said Gogol sulkily, with a thick foreign accent; \"I am not ashamed of the cause.\"\n\"Yes you are, my boy, and so is the cause of you,\" said the President good-naturedly. \"You hide as much as anybody; but you can't do it, you see, you're such an ass! You try to combine two inconsistent methods. When a householder finds a man under his bed, he will probably pause to note the circumstance. But if he finds a man under his bed in a top hat, you will agree with me, my dear Tuesday, that he is not likely even to forget it. Now when you were found under Admiral Biffin's bed—\"\n\"I am not good at deception,\" said Tuesday gloomily, flushing.\n\"Right, my boy, right,\" said the President with a ponderous heartiness, \"you aren't good at anything.\"\nWhile this stream of conversation continued, Syme was looking more steadily at the men around him. As he did so, he gradually felt all his sense of something spiritually queer return.\nHe had thought at first that they were all of common stature and costume, with the evident exception of the hairy Gogol. But as he looked at the others, he began to see in each of them exactly what he had seen in the man by the river, a demoniac detail somewhere. That lop-sided laugh, which would suddenly disfigure the fine face of his original guide, was typical of all these types. Each man had something about him, perceived perhaps at the tenth or twentieth glance, which was not normal, and which seemed hardly human. The only metaphor he could think of was this, that they all looked as men of fashion and presence would look, with the additional twist given in a false and curved mirror.\nOnly the individual examples will express this half-concealed eccentricity. Syme's original cicerone bore the title of Monday; he was the Secretary of the Council, and his twisted smile was regarded with more terror than anything, except the President's horrible, happy laughter. But now that Syme had more space and light to observe him, there were other touches. His fine face was so emaciated, that Syme thought it must be wasted with some disease; yet somehow the very distress of his dark eyes denied this. It was no physical ill that troubled him. His eyes were alive with intellectual torture, as if pure thought was pain.\nHe was typical of each of the tribe; each man was subtly and differently wrong. Next to him sat Tuesday, the tousle-headed Gogol, a man more obviously mad. Next was Wednesday, a certain Marquis de St. Eustache, a sufficiently characteristic figure. The first few glances found nothing unusual about him, except that he was the only man at table who wore the fashionable clothes as if they were really his own. He had a black French beard cut square and a black English frock-coat cut even squarer. But Syme, sensitive to such things, felt somehow that the man carried a rich atmosphere with him, a rich atmosphere that suffocated. It reminded one irrationally of drowsy odours and of dying lamps in the darker poems of Byron and Poe. With this went a sense of his being clad, not in lighter colours, but in softer materials; his black seemed richer and warmer than the black shades about him, as if it were compounded of profound colour. His black coat looked as if it were only black by being too dense a purple. His black beard looked as if it were only black by being too deep a blue. And in the gloom and thickness of the beard his dark red mouth showed sensual and scornful. Whatever he was he was not a Frenchman; he might be a Jew; he might be something deeper yet in the dark heart of the East. In the bright coloured Persian tiles and pictures showing tyrants hunting, you may see just those almond eyes, those blue-black beards, those cruel, crimson lips.", "chosen": "lips", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nlips\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-1695-005-01-f1ffcd50", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nWith matted beard, and swathed in a bristling shark-skin apron, about mid-day, Perth was standing between his forge and anvil, the latter placed upon an iron-wood log, with one hand holding a pike-head in the coals, and with the other at his forge's lungs, when Captain Ahab came along, carrying in his hand a small rusty-looking leathern bag. While yet a little distance from the forge, moody Ahab paused; till at last, Perth, withdrawing his iron from the fire, began hammering it upon the anvil—the red mass sending off the sparks in thick hovering flights, some of which flew close to Ahab.\n\"Are these thy Mother Carey's chickens, Perth? they are always flying in thy wake; birds of good omen, too, but not to all;—look here, they burn; but thou—thou liv'st among them without a scorch.\"\n\"Because I am scorched all over, Captain Ahab,\" answered Perth, resting for a moment on his hammer; \"I am past scorching; not easily can'st thou scorch a scar.\"\n\"Well, well; no more. Thy shrunk voice sounds too calmly, sanely woeful to me. In no Paradise myself, I am impatient of all misery in others that is not mad. Thou should'st go mad, blacksmith; say, why dost thou not go mad? How can'st thou endure without being mad? Do the heavens yet hate thee, that thou can'st not go mad?—What wert thou making there?\"\n\"Welding an old pike-head, sir; there were seams and dents in it.\"\n\"And can'st thou make it all smooth again, blacksmith, after such hard usage as it had?\"\n\"I think so, sir.\"\n\"And I suppose thou can'st smoothe almost any seams and dents; never mind how hard the metal, blacksmith?\"\n\"Aye, sir, I think I can; all seams and dents but one.\"\n\"Look ye here, then,\" cried Ahab, passionately advancing, and leaning with both hands on Perth's shoulders; \"look ye here—here—can ye smoothe out a seam like this, blacksmith,\" sweeping one hand across his ribbed brow; \"if thou could'st, blacksmith, glad enough would I lay my head upon thy anvil, and feel thy heaviest hammer between my eyes. Answer! Can'st thou smoothe this seam?\"\n\"Oh! that is the one, sir! Said I not all seams and dents but one?\"\n\"Aye, blacksmith, it is the one; aye, man, it is unsmoothable; for though thou only see'st it here in my flesh, it has worked down into the bone of my skull—that is all wrinkles! But, away with child's play; no more gaffs and pikes to-day. Look ye here!\" jingling the leathern bag, as if it were full of gold coins. \"I, too, want a harpoon made; one that a thousand yoke of fiends could not part, Perth; something that will stick in a whale like his own fin-bone. There's the stuff,\" flinging the pouch upon the anvil. \"Look ye, blacksmith, these are the gathered nail-stubbs of the steel shoes of racing horses.\"\n\"Horse-shoe stubbs, sir? Why, Captain Ahab, thou hast here, then, the best and stubbornest stuff we blacksmiths ever work.\"\n\"I know it, old man; these stubbs will weld together like glue from the melted bones of murderers. Quick! forge me the harpoon. And forge me first, twelve rods for its shank; then wind, and twist, and hammer these twelve together like the yarns and strands of a tow-line. Quick! I'll blow the fire.\"\nWhen at last the twelve rods were made, Ahab tried them, one by one, by spiralling them, with his own hand, round a long, heavy iron bolt. \"A flaw!\" rejecting the last one. \"Work that over again, Perth.\"\nThis done, Perth was about to begin welding the twelve into one, when Ahab stayed his hand, and said he would weld his own iron. As, then, with regular, gasping hems, he hammered on the anvil, Perth passing to him the glowing rods, one after the other, and the hard pressed forge shooting up its intense straight flame, the Parsee passed silently, and bowing over his head towards the fire, seemed invoking some curse or some blessing on the toil. But, as Ahab looked up, he slid aside.\n\"What's that bunch of lucifers dodging about there for?\" muttered Stubb, looking on from the forecastle. \"That Parsee smells fire like a fusee; and smells of it himself, like a hot musket's powder-pan.\"\nAt last the shank, in one complete rod, received its final heat; and as Perth, to temper it, plunged it all hissing into the cask of water near by, the scalding steam shot up into Ahab's bent face.\n\"Would'st thou brand me, Perth?\" wincing for a moment with the pain; \"have I been but forging my own branding-iron, then?\"\n\"Pray God, not that; yet I fear something, Captain Ahab. Is not this harpoon for the White Whale?\"\n\"For the white fiend! But now for the barbs; thou must make them thyself, man. Here are my razors—the best of steel; here, and make the barbs sharp as the needle-sleet of the Icy Sea.\"\nFor a moment, the old blacksmith eyed the razors as though he would fain not use them.\n\"Take them, man, I have no need for them; for I now neither shave, sup, nor pray till—but here—to work!\"\nFashioned at last into an arrowy shape, and welded by Perth to the shank, the steel soon pointed the end of the iron; and as the blacksmith was about giving the barbs their final heat, prior to tempering them, he cried to Ahab to place the water-cask near.\n\"No, no—no water for that; I want it of the true death-temper. Ahoy, there! Tashtego, Queequeg, Daggoo! What say ye, pagans! Will ye give me as much blood as will cover this barb?\" holding it high up. A cluster of dark nods replied, Yes. Three punctures were made in the heathen flesh, and the White Whale's barbs were then tempered.\n\"Ego non baptizo te in nomine patris, sed in nomine diaboli!\" deliriously howled Ahab, as the malignant iron scorchingly devoured the baptismal blood.\nNow, mustering the spare poles from below, and selecting one of hickory, with the bark still investing it, Ahab fitted the end to the socket of the iron. A coil of new tow-line was then unwound, and some fathoms of it taken to the windlass, and stretched to a great tension. Pressing his foot upon it, till the rope hummed like a harp-string, then eagerly bending over it, and seeing no strandings, Ahab exclaimed, \"Good! and now for the seizings.\"\nAt one extremity the rope was unstranded, and the separate spread yarns were all braided and woven round the socket of the harpoon; the pole was then driven hard up into the socket; from the lower end the rope was traced half-way along the pole's length, and firmly secured so, with intertwistings of twine. This done, pole, iron, and rope—like the Three Fates—remained inseparable, and Ahab moodily stalked away with the weapon; the sound of his ivory leg, and the sound of the hickory pole, both hollowly ringing along every plank. But ere he entered his cabin, light, unnatural, half-bantering, yet most piteous sound was heard. Oh, Pip! thy wretched laugh, thy idle but unresting eye; all thy strange mummeries not unmeaningly blended with the black tragedy of the melancholy ship, and mocked it!", "chosen": "[\"Perth\", \"Ahab\", \"Are\", \"Mother\", \"Carey\", \"Because\", \"Paradise\", \"Welding\", \"Aye\", \"Look\", \"Horse\", \"Work\", \"Parsee\", \"Stubb\", \"Would\", \"Pray\", \"God\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Icy\", \"Sea\", \"Take\", \"Queequeg\", \"Daggoo\", \"Ego\", \"Good\", \"Three\", \"Fates\", \"Pip\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Perth\", \"Ahab\", \"Are\", \"Mother\", \"Carey\", \"Because\", \"Paradise\", \"Welding\", \"Aye\", \"Look\", \"Horse\", \"Work\", \"Parsee\", \"Stubb\", \"Would\", \"Pray\", \"God\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Icy\", \"Sea\", \"Take\", \"Queequeg\", \"Daggoo\", \"Ego\", \"Good\", \"Three\", \"Fates\", \"Pip\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-099-00-1916cd98", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nRefreshments and Ethics\nIN regard to Island 74, which is situated not far from the former Napoleon, a freak of the river here has sorely perplexed the laws of men and made them a vanity and a jest. When the State of Arkansas was chartered, she controlled 'to the center of the river'--a most unstable line. The State of Mississippi claimed 'to the channel'--another shifty and unstable line. No. 74 belonged to Arkansas. By and by a cut-off threw this big island out of Arkansas, and yet not within Mississippi. 'Middle of the river' on one side of it, 'channel' on the other. That is as I understand the problem. Whether I have got the details right or wrong, this _fact _remains: that here is this big and exceedingly valuable island of four thousand acres, thrust out in the cold, and belonging to neither the one State nor the other; paying taxes to neither, owing allegiance to neither. One man owns the whole island, and of right is 'the man without a country.'\nIsland 92 belongs to Arkansas. The river moved it over and joined it to Mississippi. A chap established a whiskey shop there, without a Mississippi license, and enriched himself upon Mississippi custom under Arkansas protection (where no license was in those days required).\nWe glided steadily down the river in the usual privacy--steamboat or other moving thing seldom seen. Scenery as always: stretch upon stretch of almost unbroken forest, on both sides of the river; soundless solitude. Here and there a cabin or two, standing in small openings on the gray and grassless banks--cabins which had formerly stood a quarter or half-mile farther to the front, and gradually been pulled farther and farther back as the shores caved in. As at Pilcher's Point, for instance, where the cabins had been moved back three hundred yards in three months, so we were told; but the caving banks had already caught up with them, and they were being conveyed rearward once more.\nNapoleon had but small opinion of Greenville, Mississippi, in the old times; but behold, Napoleon is gone to the cat-fishes, and here is Greenville full of life and activity, and making a considerable flourish in the Valley; having three thousand inhabitants, it is said, and doing a gross trade of $2,500,000 annually. A growing town.\nThere was much talk on the boat about the Calhoun Land Company, an enterprise which is expected to work wholesome results. Colonel Calhoun, a grandson of the statesman, went to Boston and formed a syndicate which purchased a large tract of land on the river, in Chicot County, Arkansas--some ten thousand acres--for cotton-growing. The purpose is to work on a cash basis: buy at first hands, and handle their own product; supply their negro laborers with provisions and necessaries at a trifling profit, say 8 or 10 per cent.; furnish them comfortable quarters, etc., and encourage them to save money and remain on the place. If this proves a financial success, as seems quite certain, they propose to establish a banking-house in Greenville, and lend money at an unburdensome rate of interest--6 per cent. is spoken of.\nThe trouble heretofore has been--I am quoting remarks of planters and steamboatmen--that the planters, although owning the land, were without cash capital; had to hypothecate both land and crop to carry on the business. Consequently, the commission dealer who furnishes the money takes some risk and demands big interest--usually 10 per cent., and 2{half} per cent. for negotiating the loan. The planter has also to buy his supplies through the same dealer, paying commissions and profits. Then when he ships his crop, the dealer adds his commissions, insurance, etc. So, taking it by and large, and first and last, the dealer's share of that crop is about 25 per cent.'{footnote ['But what can the State do where the people are under subjection to rates of interest ranging from 18 to 30 per cent., and are also under the necessity of purchasing their crops in advance even of planting, at these rates, for the privilege of purchasing all their supplies at 100 per cent. profit?'--Edward Atkinson.]}\nA cotton-planter's estimate of the average margin of profit on planting, in his section: One man and mule will raise ten acres of cotton, giving ten bales cotton, worth, say, $500; cost of producing, say $350; net profit, $150, or $15 per acre. There is also a profit now from the cotton-seed, which formerly had little value--none where much transportation was necessary. In sixteen hundred pounds crude cotton four hundred are lint, worth, say, ten cents a pound; and twelve hundred pounds of seed, worth $12 or $13 per ton. Maybe in future even the stems will not be thrown away. Mr. Edward Atkinson says that for each bale of cotton there are fifteen hundred pounds of stems, and that these are very rich in phosphate of lime and potash; that when ground and mixed with ensilage or cotton-seed meal (which is too rich for use as fodder in large quantities), the stem mixture makes a superior food, rich in all the elements needed for the production of milk, meat, and bone. Heretofore the stems have been considered a nuisance.\nComplaint is made that the planter remains grouty toward the former slave, since the war; will have nothing but a chill business relation with him, no sentiment permitted to intrude, will not keep a 'store' himself, and supply the negro's wants and thus protect the negro's pocket and make him able and willing to stay on the place and an advantage to him to do it, but lets that privilege to some thrifty Israelite, who encourages the thoughtless negro and wife to buy all sorts of things which they could do without--buy on credit, at big prices, month after month, credit based on the negro's share of the growing crop; and at the end of the season, the negro's share belongs to the Israelite,' the negro is in debt besides, is discouraged, dissatisfied, restless, and both he and the planter are injured; for he will take steamboat and migrate, and the planter must get a stranger in his place who does not know him, does not care for him, will fatten the Israelite a season, and follow his predecessor per steamboat.\nIt is hoped that the Calhoun Company will show, by its humane and protective treatment of its laborers, that its method is the most profitable for both planter and negro; and it is believed that a general adoption of that method will then follow.\nAnd where so many are saying their say, shall not the barkeeper testify? He is thoughtful, observant, never drinks; endeavors to earn his salary, and _would _earn it if there were custom enough. He says the people along here in Mississippi and Louisiana will send up the river to buy vegetables rather than raise them, and they will come aboard at the landings and buy fruits of the barkeeper. Thinks they 'don't know anything but cotton;' believes they don't know how to raise vegetables and fruit--'at least the most of them.' Says 'a nigger will go to H for a watermelon' ['H' is all I find in the stenographer's report--means Halifax probably, though that seems a good way to go for a watermelon). Barkeeper buys watermelons for five cents up the river, brings them down and sells them for fifty. 'Why does he mix such elaborate and picturesque drinks for the nigger hands on the boat?' Because they won't have any other. 'They want a big drink; don't make any difference what you make it of, they want the worth of their money. You give a nigger a plain gill of half-a-dollar brandy for five cents--will he touch it? No. Ain't size enough to it. But you put up a pint of all kinds of worthless rubbish, and heave in some red stuff to make it beautiful--red's the main thing--and he wouldn't put down that glass to go to a circus.'", "chosen": "Refreshments, When, The, No., 74, By, Middle, That, Whether, One, The, A, We, Scenery, Here, As, Napoleon, A, There, Colonel, The, If, is, The, Consequently,, for, The, Then, So,, profit?'--Edward, There, In, Maybe, Mr., Edward, Heretofore, Complaint, It, And, He, He, Thinks, Barkeeper, Why, They, You, No., Ain't, But", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nRefreshments, When, The, No., 74, By, Middle, That, Whether, One, The, A, We, Scenery, Here, As, Napoleon, A, There, Colonel, The, If, is, The, Consequently,, for, The, Then, So,, profit?'--Edward, There, In, Maybe, Mr., Edward, Heretofore, Complaint, It, And, He, He, Thinks, Barkeeper, Why, They, You, No., Ain't, But\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-245-033-00-b61f292e", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Yet, when the young lady came from boarding-school on a visit, the whole town revived. Our most distinguished ladies—two 'Excellencies' and a colonel's wife—and all the rest following their lead, at once took her up and gave entertainments in her honor. She was the belle of the balls and picnics, and they got up tableaux vivants in aid of distressed governesses. I took no notice, I went on as wildly as before, and one of my exploits at the time set all the town talking. I saw her eyes taking my measure one evening at the battery commander's, but I didn't go up to her, as though I disdained her acquaintance. I did go up and speak to her at an evening party not long after. She scarcely looked at me, and compressed her lips scornfully. 'Wait a bit. I'll have my revenge,' thought I. I behaved like an awful fool on many occasions at that time, and I was conscious of it myself. What made it worse was that I felt that 'Katenka' was not an innocent boarding-school miss, but a person of character, proud and really high-principled; above all, she had education and intellect, and I had neither. You think I meant to make her an offer? No, I simply wanted to revenge myself, because I was such a hero and she didn't seem to feel it.\n\"Meanwhile, I spent my time in drink and riot, till the lieutenant-colonel put me under arrest for three days. Just at that time father sent me six thousand roubles in return for my sending him a deed giving up all claims upon him—settling our accounts, so to speak, and saying that I wouldn't expect anything more. I didn't understand a word of it at the time. Until I came here, Alyosha, till the last few days, indeed, perhaps even now, I haven't been able to make head or tail of my money affairs with father. But never mind that, we'll talk of it later.\n\"Just as I received the money, I got a letter from a friend telling me something that interested me immensely. The authorities, I learnt, were dissatisfied with our lieutenant-colonel. He was suspected of irregularities; in fact, his enemies were preparing a surprise for him. And then the commander of the division arrived, and kicked up the devil of a shindy. Shortly afterwards he was ordered to retire. I won't tell you how it all happened. He had enemies certainly. Suddenly there was a marked coolness in the town towards him and all his family. His friends all turned their backs on him. Then I took my first step. I met Agafya Ivanovna, with whom I'd always kept up a friendship, and said, 'Do you know there's a deficit of 4,500 roubles of government money in your father's accounts?'\n\"'What do you mean? What makes you say so? The general was here not long ago, and everything was all right.'\n\"'Then it was, but now it isn't.'\n\"She was terribly scared.\n\"'Don't frighten me!' she said. 'Who told you so?'\n\"'Don't be uneasy,' I said, 'I won't tell any one. You know I'm as silent as the tomb. I only wanted, in view of \"possibilities,\" to add, that when they demand that 4,500 roubles from your father, and he can't produce it, he'll be tried, and made to serve as a common soldier in his old age, unless you like to send me your young lady secretly. I've just had money paid me. I'll give her four thousand, if you like, and keep the secret religiously.'\n\"'Ah, you scoundrel!'—that's what she said. 'You wicked scoundrel! How dare you!'\n\"She went away furiously indignant, while I shouted after her once more that the secret should be kept sacred. Those two simple creatures, Agafya and her aunt, I may as well say at once, behaved like perfect angels all through this business. They genuinely adored their 'Katya,' thought her far above them, and waited on her, hand and foot. But Agafya told her of our conversation. I found that out afterwards. She didn't keep it back, and of course that was all I wanted.\n\"Suddenly the new major arrived to take command of the battalion. The old lieutenant-colonel was taken ill at once, couldn't leave his room for two days, and didn't hand over the government money. Dr. Kravchenko declared that he really was ill. But I knew for a fact, and had known for a long time, that for the last four years the money had never been in his hands except when the Commander made his visits of inspection. He used to lend it to a trustworthy person, a merchant of our town called Trifonov, an old widower, with a big beard and gold-rimmed spectacles. He used to go to the fair, do a profitable business with the money, and return the whole sum to the colonel, bringing with it a present from the fair, as well as interest on the loan. But this time (I heard all about it quite by chance from Trifonov's son and heir, a driveling youth and one of the most vicious in the world)—this time, I say, Trifonov brought nothing back from the fair. The lieutenant-colonel flew to him. 'I've never received any money from you, and couldn't possibly have received any.' That was all the answer he got. So now our lieutenant-colonel is confined to the house, with a towel round his head, while they're all three busy putting ice on it. All at once an orderly arrives on the scene with the book and the order to 'hand over the battalion money immediately, within two hours.' He signed the book (I saw the signature in the book afterwards), stood up, saying he would put on his uniform, ran to his bedroom, loaded his double-barreled gun with a service bullet, took the boot off his right foot, fixed the gun against his chest, and began feeling for the trigger with his foot. But Agafya, remembering what I had told her, had her suspicions. She stole up and peeped into the room just in time. She rushed in, flung herself upon him from behind, threw her arms round him, and the gun went off, hit the ceiling, but hurt no one. The others ran in, took away the gun, and held him by the arms. I heard all about this afterwards. I was at home, it was getting dusk, and I was just preparing to go out. I had dressed, brushed my hair, scented my handkerchief, and taken up my cap, when suddenly the door opened, and facing me in the room stood Katerina Ivanovna.\n\"It's strange how things happen sometimes. No one had seen her in the street, so that no one knew of it in the town. I lodged with two decrepit old ladies, who looked after me. They were most obliging old things, ready to do anything for me, and at my request were as silent afterwards as two cast-iron posts. Of course I grasped the position at once. She walked in and looked straight at me, her dark eyes determined, even defiant, but on her lips and round her mouth I saw uncertainty.\n\"'My sister told me,' she began, 'that you would give me 4,500 roubles if I came to you for it—myself. I have come ... give me the money!'\n\"She couldn't keep it up. She was breathless, frightened, her voice failed her, and the corners of her mouth and the lines round it quivered. Alyosha, are you listening, or are you asleep?\"\n\"Mitya, I know you will tell the whole truth,\" said Alyosha in agitation.", "chosen": "74", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n74\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-28054-017-01-118a9e1e", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nBut the difficulty is how am I to cling for ever to Mother Earth. I don't kiss her. I don't cleave to her bosom. Am I to become a peasant or a shepherd? I go on and I don't know whether I'm going to shame or to light and joy. That's the trouble, for everything in the world is a riddle! And whenever I've happened to sink into the vilest degradation (and it's always been happening) I always read that poem about Ceres and man. Has it reformed me? Never! For I'm a Karamazov. For when I do leap into the pit, I go headlong with my heels up, and am pleased to be falling in that degrading attitude, and pride myself upon it. And in the very depths of that degradation I begin a hymn of praise. Let me be accursed. Let me be vile and base, only let me kiss the hem of the veil in which my God is shrouded. Though I may be following the devil, I am Thy son, O Lord, and I love Thee, and I feel the joy without which the world cannot stand.\nJoy everlasting fostereth The soul of all creation, It is her secret ferment fires The cup of life with flame. 'Tis at her beck the grass hath turned Each blade towards the light And solar systems have evolved From chaos and dark night, Filling the realms of boundless space Beyond the sage's sight. At bounteous Nature's kindly breast, All things that breathe drink Joy, And birds and beasts and creeping things All follow where She leads. Her gifts to man are friends in need, The wreath, the foaming must, To angels—vision of God's throne, To insects—sensual lust.\nBut enough poetry! I am in tears; let me cry. It may be foolishness that every one would laugh at. But you won't laugh. Your eyes are shining, too. Enough poetry. I want to tell you now about the insects to whom God gave \"sensual lust.\"\nTo insects—sensual lust.\nI am that insect, brother, and it is said of me specially. All we Karamazovs are such insects, and, angel as you are, that insect lives in you, too, and will stir up a tempest in your blood. Tempests, because sensual lust is a tempest—worse than a tempest! Beauty is a terrible and awful thing! It is terrible because it has not been fathomed and never can be fathomed, for God sets us nothing but riddles. Here the boundaries meet and all contradictions exist side by side. I am not a cultivated man, brother, but I've thought a lot about this. It's terrible what mysteries there are! Too many riddles weigh men down on earth. We must solve them as we can, and try to keep a dry skin in the water. Beauty! I can't endure the thought that a man of lofty mind and heart begins with the ideal of the Madonna and ends with the ideal of Sodom. What's still more awful is that a man with the ideal of Sodom in his soul does not renounce the ideal of the Madonna, and his heart may be on fire with that ideal, genuinely on fire, just as in his days of youth and innocence. Yes, man is broad, too broad, indeed. I'd have him narrower. The devil only knows what to make of it! What to the mind is shameful is beauty and nothing else to the heart. Is there beauty in Sodom? Believe me, that for the immense mass of mankind beauty is found in Sodom. Did you know that secret? The awful thing is that beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and the devil are fighting there and the battlefield is the heart of man. But a man always talks of his own ache. Listen, now to come to facts.\"", "chosen": "What's still more awful is that a man with the ideal of Sodom in his soul does not renounce the ideal of the Madonna, and his heart may be on fire with that ideal, genuinely on fire, just as in his days of youth and innocence.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nWhat's still more awful is that a man with the ideal of Sodom in his soul does not renounce the ideal of the Madonna, and his heart may be on fire with that ideal, genuinely on fire, just as in his days of youth and innocence.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-016-02-ba0a4670", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nWrong to be ambitious, forsooth! The men wrong who, with bent back and sweating brow, cut the smooth road over which humanity marches forward from generation to generation! Men wrong for using the talents that their Master has intrusted to them--for toiling while others play!\nOf course they are seeking their reward. Man is not given that godlike unselfishness that thinks only of others' good. But in working for themselves they are working for us all. We are so bound together that no man can labor for himself alone. Each blow he strikes in his own behalf helps to mold the universe. The stream in struggling onward turns the mill-wheel; the coral insect, fashioning its tiny cell, joins continents to one another; and the ambitious man, building a pedestal for himself, leaves a monument to posterity. Alexander and Caesar fought for their own ends, but in doing so they put a belt of civilization half round the earth. Stephenson, to win a fortune, invented the steam-engine; and Shakespeare wrote his plays in order to keep a comfortable home for Mrs. Shakespeare and the little Shakespeares.\nContented, unambitious people are all very well in their way. They form a neat, useful background for great portraits to be painted against, and they make a respectable, if not particularly intelligent, audience for the active spirits of the age to play before. I have not a word to say against contented people so long as they keep quiet. But do not, for goodness' sake, let them go strutting about, as they are so fond of doing, crying out that they are the true models for the whole species. Why, they are the deadheads, the drones in the great hive, the street crowds that lounge about, gaping at those who are working.\nAnd let them not imagine, either--as they are also fond of doing--that they are very wise and philosophical and that it is a very artful thing to be contented. It may be true that \"a contented mind is happy anywhere,\" but so is a Jerusalem pony, and the consequence is that both are put anywhere and are treated anyhow. \"Oh, you need not bother about him,\" is what is said; \"he is very contented as he is, and it would be a pity to disturb him.\" And so your contented party is passed over and the discontented man gets his place.\nIf you are foolish enough to be contented, don't show it, but grumble with the rest; and if you can do with a little, ask for a great deal. Because if you don't you won't get any. In this world it is necessary to adopt the principle pursued by the plaintiff in an action for damages, and to demand ten times more than you are ready to accept. If you can feel satisfied with a hundred, begin by insisting on a thousand; if you start by suggesting a hundred you will only get ten.\nIt was by not following this simple plan that poor Jean Jacques Rousseau came to such grief. He fixed the summit of his earthly bliss at living in an orchard with an amiable woman and a cow, and he never attained even that. He did get as far as the orchard, but the woman was not amiable, and she brought her mother with her, and there was no cow. Now, if he had made up his mind for a large country estate, a houseful of angels, and a cattle-show, he might have lived to possess his kitchen garden and one head of live-stock, and even possibly have come across that rara-avis--a really amiable woman.\nWhat a terribly dull affair, too, life must be for contented people! How heavy the time must hang upon their hands, and what on earth do they occupy their thoughts with, supposing that they have any? Reading the paper and smoking seems to be the intellectual food of the majority of them, to which the more energetic add playing the flute and talking about the affairs of the next-door neighbor.\nThey never knew the excitement of expectation nor the stern delight of accomplished effort, such as stir the pulse of the man who has objects, and hopes, and plans. To the ambitious man life is a brilliant game--a game that calls forth all his tact and energy and nerve--a game to be won, in the long run, by the quick eye and the steady hand, and yet having sufficient chance about its working out to give it all the glorious zest of uncertainty. He exults in it as the strong swimmer in the heaving billows, as the athlete in the wrestle, the soldier in the battle.\nAnd if he be defeated he wins the grim joy of fighting; if he lose the race, he, at least, has had a run. Better to work and fail than to sleep one's life away.\nSo, walk up, walk up, walk up. Walk up, ladies and gentlemen! walk up, boys and girls! Show your skill and try your strength; brave your luck and prove your pluck. Walk up! The show is never closed and the game is always going. The only genuine sport in all the fair, gentlemen--highly respectable and strictly moral--patronized by the nobility, clergy, and gentry. Established in the year one, gentlemen, and been flourishing ever since--walk up! Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, and take a hand. There are prizes for all and all can play. There is gold for the man and fame for the boy; rank for the maiden and pleasure for the fool. So walk up, ladies and gentlemen, walk up!--all prizes and no blanks; for some few win, and as to the rest, why--\n\"The rapture of pursuing Is the prize the vanquished gain.\"", "chosen": "[\"a contented mind is happy anywhere,\", \"Oh, you need not bother about him,\", \"he is very contented as he is, and it would be a pity to disturb him.\", \"The rapture of pursuing Is the prize the vanquished gain.\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"a contented mind is happy anywhere,\", \"Oh, you need not bother about him,\", \"he is very contented as he is, and it would be a pity to disturb him.\", \"The rapture of pursuing Is the prize the vanquished gain.\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-849-006-01-6bad8ae0", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIn the morning we went up to the village and bought a wire rat-trap and fetched it down, and unstopped the best rat-hole, and in about an hour we had fifteen of the bulliest kind of ones; and then we took it and put it in a safe place under Aunt Sally's bed. But while we was gone for spiders little Thomas Franklin Benjamin Jefferson Elexander Phelps found it there, and opened the door of it to see if the rats would come out, and they did; and Aunt Sally she come in, and when we got back she was a-standing on top of the bed raising Cain, and the rats was doing what they could to keep off the dull times for her. So she took and dusted us both with the hickry, and we was as much as two hours catching another fifteen or sixteen, drat that meddlesome cub, and they warn't the likeliest, nuther, because the first haul was the pick of the flock. I never see a likelier lot of rats than what that first haul was.\nWe got a splendid stock of sorted spiders, and bugs, and frogs, and caterpillars, and one thing or another; and we like to got a hornet's nest, but we didn't. The family was at home. We didn't give it right up, but stayed with them as long as we could; because we allowed we'd tire them out or they'd got to tire us out, and they done it. Then we got allycumpain and rubbed on the places, and was pretty near all right again, but couldn't set down convenient. And so we went for the snakes, and grabbed a couple of dozen garters and house-snakes, and put them in a bag, and put it in our room, and by that time it was supper-time, and a rattling good honest day's work: and hungry?—oh, no, I reckon not! And there warn't a blessed snake up there when we went back—we didn't half tie the sack, and they worked out somehow, and left. But it didn't matter much, because they was still on the premises somewheres. So we judged we could get some of them again. No, there warn't no real scarcity of snakes about the house for a considerable spell. You'd see them dripping from the rafters and places every now and then; and they generly landed in your plate, or down the back of your neck, and most of the time where you didn't want them. Well, they was handsome and striped, and there warn't no harm in a million of them; but that never made no difference to Aunt Sally; she despised snakes, be the breed what they might, and she couldn't stand them no way you could fix it; and every time one of them flopped down on her, it didn't make no difference what she was doing, she would just lay that work down and light out. I never see such a woman. And you could hear her whoop to Jericho. You couldn't get her to take a-holt of one of them with the tongs. And if she turned over and found one in bed she would scramble out and lift a howl that you would think the house was afire. She disturbed the old man so that he said he could most wish there hadn't ever been no snakes created. Why, after every last snake had been gone clear out of the house for as much as a week Aunt Sally warn't over it yet; she warn't near over it; when she was setting thinking about something you could touch her on the back of her neck with a feather and she would jump right out of her stockings. It was very curious. But Tom said all women was just so. He said they was made that way for some reason or other.\nWe got a licking every time one of our snakes come in her way, and she allowed these lickings warn't nothing to what she would do if we ever loaded up the place again with them. I didn't mind the lickings, because they didn't amount to nothing; but I minded the trouble we had to lay in another lot. But we got them laid in, and all the other things; and you never see a cabin as blithesome as Jim's was when they'd all swarm out for music and go for him. Jim didn't like the spiders, and the spiders didn't like Jim; and so they'd lay for him, and make it mighty warm for him. And he said that between the rats and the snakes and the grindstone there warn't no room in bed for him, skasely; and when there was, a body couldn't sleep, it was so lively, and it was always lively, he said, because they never all slept at one time, but took turn about, so when the snakes was asleep the rats was on deck, and when the rats turned in the snakes come on watch, so he always had one gang under him, in his way, and t'other gang having a circus over him, and if he got up to hunt a new place the spiders would take a chance at him as he crossed over. He said if he ever got out this time he wouldn't ever be a prisoner again, not for a salary.\nWell, by the end of three weeks everything was in pretty good shape. The shirt was sent in early, in a pie, and every time a rat bit Jim he would get up and write a little in his journal whilst the ink was fresh; the pens was made, the inscriptions and so on was all carved on the grindstone; the bed-leg was sawed in two, and we had et up the sawdust, and it give us a most amazing stomach-ache. We reckoned we was all going to die, but didn't. It was the most undigestible sawdust I ever see; and Tom said the same.\nBut as I was saying, we'd got all the work done now, at last; and we was all pretty much fagged out, too, but mainly Jim. The old man had wrote a couple of times to the plantation below Orleans to come and get their runaway nigger, but hadn't got no answer, because there warn't no such plantation; so he allowed he would advertise Jim in the St. Louis and New Orleans papers; and when he mentioned the St. Louis ones it give me the cold shivers, and I see we hadn't no time to lose. So Tom said, now for the nonnamous letters.\n\"What's them?\" I says.\n\"Warnings to the people that something is up. Sometimes it's done one way, sometimes another. But there's always somebody spying around that gives notice to the governor of the castle. When Louis XVI. was going to light out of the Tooleries, a servant-girl done it. It's a very good way, and so is the nonnamous letters. We'll use them both. And it's usual for the prisoner's mother to change clothes with him, and she stays in, and he slides out in her clothes. We'll do that, too.\"\n\"But looky here, Tom, what do we want to warn anybody for that something's up? Let them find it out for themselves—it's their lookout.\"\n\"Yes, I know; but you can't depend on them. It's the way they've acted from the very start—left us to do everything. They're so confiding and mullet-headed they don't take notice of nothing at all. So if we don't give them notice there won't be nobody nor nothing to interfere with us, and so after all our hard work and trouble this escape 'll go off perfectly flat; won't amount to nothing—won't be nothing to it.\"\n\"Well, as for me, Tom, that's the way I'd like.\"\n\"Shucks!\" he says, and looked disgusted. So I says:\n\"But I ain't going to make no complaint. Any way that suits you suits me. What you going to do about the servant-girl?\"\n\"You'll be her. You slide in, in the middle of the night, and hook that yaller girl's frock.\"\n\"Why, Tom, that'll make trouble next morning; because, of course, she prob'bly hain't got any but that one.\"\n\"I know; but you don't want it but fifteen minutes, to carry the nonnamous letter and shove it under the front door.\"", "chosen": "door", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\ndoor\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-039-00-4a3830ab", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Well, I have too,\" said Tom; \"oh, hundreds of times. Once down by the slaughter-house. Don't you remember, Huck? Bob Tanner was there, and Johnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher, when I said it. Don't you remember, Huck, 'bout me saying that?\"\n\"Yes, that's so,\" said Huck. \"That was the day after I lost a white alley. No, 'twas the day before.\"\n\"There—I told you so,\" said Tom. \"Huck recollects it.\"\n\"I bleeve I could smoke this pipe all day,\" said Joe. \"I don't feel sick.\"\n\"Neither do I,\" said Tom. \"I could smoke it all day. But I bet you Jeff Thatcher couldn't.\"\n\"Jeff Thatcher! Why, he'd keel over just with two draws. Just let him try it once. He'd see!\"\n\"I bet he would. And Johnny Miller—I wish could see Johnny Miller tackle it once.\"\n\"Oh, don't I!\" said Joe. \"Why, I bet you Johnny Miller couldn't any more do this than nothing. Just one little snifter would fetch him.\"\n\"'Deed it would, Joe. Say—I wish the boys could see us now.\"\n\"So do I.\"\n\"Say—boys, don't say anything about it, and some time when they're around, I'll come up to you and say, 'Joe, got a pipe? I want a smoke.' And you'll say, kind of careless like, as if it warn't anything, you'll say, 'Yes, I got my old pipe, and another one, but my tobacker ain't very good.' And I'll say, 'Oh, that's all right, if it's strong enough.' And then you'll out with the pipes, and we'll light up just as ca'm, and then just see 'em look!\"\n\"By jings, that'll be gay, Tom! I wish it was now!\"\n\"So do I! And when we tell 'em we learned when we was off pirating, won't they wish they'd been along?\"\n\"Oh, I reckon not! I'll just bet they will!\"\nSo the talk ran on. But presently it began to flag a trifle, and grow disjointed. The silences widened; the expectoration marvellously increased. Every pore inside the boys' cheeks became a spouting fountain; they could scarcely bail out the cellars under their tongues fast enough to prevent an inundation; little overflowings down their throats occurred in spite of all they could do, and sudden retchings followed every time. Both boys were looking very pale and miserable, now. Joe's pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Tom's followed. Both fountains were going furiously and both pumps bailing with might and main. Joe said feebly:\n\"I've lost my knife. I reckon I better go and find it.\"\nTom said, with quivering lips and halting utterance:\n\"I'll help you. You go over that way and I'll hunt around by the spring. No, you needn't come, Huck—we can find it.\"\nSo Huck sat down again, and waited an hour. Then he found it lonesome, and went to find his comrades. They were wide apart in the woods, both very pale, both fast asleep. But something informed him that if they had had any trouble they had got rid of it.\nThey were not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble look, and when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal and was going to prepare theirs, they said no, they were not feeling very well—something they ate at dinner had disagreed with them.\nAbout midnight Joe awoke, and called the boys. There was a brooding oppressiveness in the air that seemed to bode something. The boys huddled themselves together and sought the friendly companionship of the fire, though the dull dead heat of the breathless atmosphere was stifling. They sat still, intent and waiting. The solemn hush continued. Beyond the light of the fire everything was swallowed up in the blackness of darkness. Presently there came a quivering glow that vaguely revealed the foliage for a moment and then vanished. By and by another came, a little stronger. Then another. Then a faint moan came sighing through the branches of the forest and the boys felt a fleeting breath upon their cheeks, and shuddered with the fancy that the Spirit of the Night had gone by. There was a pause. Now a weird flash turned night into day and showed every little grassblade, separate and distinct, that grew about their feet. And it showed three white, startled faces, too. A deep peal of thunder went rolling and tumbling down the heavens and lost itself in sullen rumblings in the distance. A sweep of chilly air passed by, rustling all the leaves and snowing the flaky ashes broadcast about the fire. Another fierce glare lit up the forest and an instant crash followed that seemed to rend the treetops right over the boys' heads. They clung together in terror, in the thick gloom that followed. A few big raindrops fell pattering upon the leaves.\n\"Quick! boys, go for the tent!\" exclaimed Tom.\nThey sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the dark, no two plunging in the same direction. A furious blast roared through the trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding flash after another came, and peal on peal of deafening thunder. And now a drenching rain poured down and the rising hurricane drove it in sheets along the ground. The boys cried out to each other, but the roaring wind and the booming thunderblasts drowned their voices utterly. However, one by one they straggled in at last and took shelter under the tent, cold, scared, and streaming with water; but to have company in misery seemed something to be grateful for. They could not talk, the old sail flapped so furiously, even if the other noises would have allowed them. The tempest rose higher and higher, and presently the sail tore loose from its fastenings and went winging away on the blast. The boys seized each others' hands and fled, with many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter of a great oak that stood upon the riverbank. Now the battle was at its highest. Under the ceaseless conflagration of lightning that flamed in the skies, everything below stood out in cleancut and shadowless distinctness: the bending trees, the billowy river, white with foam, the driving spray of spumeflakes, the dim outlines of the high bluffs on the other side, glimpsed through the drifting cloudrack and the slanting veil of rain. Every little while some giant tree yielded the fight and fell crashing through the younger growth; and the unflagging thunderpeals came now in ear-splitting explosive bursts, keen and sharp, and unspeakably appalling. The storm culminated in one matchless effort that seemed likely to tear the island to pieces, burn it up, drown it to the treetops, blow it away, and deafen every creature in it, all at one and the same moment. It was a wild night for homeless young heads to be out in.\nBut at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with weaker and weaker threatenings and grumblings, and peace resumed her sway. The boys went back to camp, a good deal awed; but they found there was still something to be thankful for, because the great sycamore, the shelter of their beds, was a ruin, now, blasted by the lightnings, and they were not under it when the catastrophe happened.\nEverything in camp was drenched, the campfire as well; for they were but heedless lads, like their generation, and had made no provision against rain. Here was matter for dismay, for they were soaked through and chilled. They were eloquent in their distress; but they presently discovered that the fire had eaten so far up under the great log it had been built against (where it curved upward and separated itself from the ground), that a handbreadth or so of it had escaped wetting; so they patiently wrought until, with shreds and bark gathered from the under sides of sheltered logs, they coaxed the fire to burn again. Then they piled on great dead boughs till they had a roaring furnace, and were gladhearted once more. They dried their boiled ham and had a feast, and after that they sat by the fire and expanded and glorified their midnight adventure until morning, for there was not a dry spot to sleep on, anywhere around.", "chosen": "[\"Tom\", \"Huck\", \"Tanner\", \"Johnny\", \"Miller\", \"Jeff\", \"Thatcher\", \"Joe\", \"Neither\", \"Say\", \"Spirit\", \"Night\", \"Quick\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Tom\", \"Huck\", \"Tanner\", \"Johnny\", \"Miller\", \"Jeff\", \"Thatcher\", \"Joe\", \"Neither\", \"Say\", \"Spirit\", \"Night\", \"Quick\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-74-016-01-26341fb4", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nBut I am sorry to say that Fred was under some difficulty in repressing a laugh, which would have been more unsuitable than his father's snuff-box. Fred had overheard Mr. Jonah suggesting something about a \"love-child,\" and with this thought in his mind, the stranger's face, which happened to be opposite him, affected him too ludicrously. Mary Garth, discerning his distress in the twitchings of his mouth, and his recourse to a cough, came cleverly to his rescue by asking him to change seats with her, so that he got into a shadowy corner. Fred was feeling as good-naturedly as possible towards everybody, including Rigg; and having some relenting towards all these people who were less lucky than he was aware of being himself, he would not for the world have behaved amiss; still, it was particularly easy to laugh.\nBut the entrance of the lawyer and the two brothers drew every one's attention. The lawyer was Mr. Standish, and he had come to Stone Court this morning believing that he knew thoroughly well who would be pleased and who disappointed before the day was over. The will he expected to read was the last of three which he had drawn up for Mr. Featherstone. Mr. Standish was not a man who varied his manners: he behaved with the same deep-voiced, off-hand civility to everybody, as if he saw no difference in them, and talked chiefly of the hay-crop, which would be \"very fine, by God!\" of the last bulletins concerning the King, and of the Duke of Clarence, who was a sailor every inch of him, and just the man to rule over an island like Britain.\nOld Featherstone had often reflected as he sat looking at the fire that Standish would be surprised some day: it is true that if he had done as he liked at the last, and burnt the will drawn up by another lawyer, he would not have secured that minor end; still he had had his pleasure in ruminating on it. And certainly Mr. Standish was surprised, but not at all sorry; on the contrary, he rather enjoyed the zest of a little curiosity in his own mind, which the discovery of a second will added to the prospective amazement on the part of the Featherstone family.\nAs to the sentiments of Solomon and Jonah, they were held in utter suspense: it seemed to them that the old will would have a certain validity, and that there might be such an interlacement of poor Peter's former and latter intentions as to create endless \"lawing\" before anybody came by their own—an inconvenience which would have at least the advantage of going all round. Hence the brothers showed a thoroughly neutral gravity as they re-entered with Mr. Standish; but Solomon took out his white handkerchief again with a sense that in any case there would be affecting passages, and crying at funerals, however dry, was customarily served up in lawn.\nPerhaps the person who felt the most throbbing excitement at this moment was Mary Garth, in the consciousness that it was she who had virtually determined the production of this second will, which might have momentous effects on the lot of some persons present. No soul except herself knew what had passed on that final night.\n\"The will I hold in my hand,\" said Mr. Standish, who, seated at the table in the middle of the room, took his time about everything, including the coughs with which he showed a disposition to clear his voice, \"was drawn up by myself and executed by our deceased friend on the 9th of August, 1825. But I find that there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date the 20th of July, 1826, hardly a year later than the previous one. And there is farther, I see\"—Mr. Standish was cautiously travelling over the document with his spectacles—\"a codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1, 1828.\"\n\"Dear, dear!\" said sister Martha, not meaning to be audible, but driven to some articulation under this pressure of dates.\n\"I shall begin by reading the earlier will,\" continued Mr. Standish, \"since such, as appears by his not having destroyed the document, was the intention of the deceased.\"\nThe preamble was felt to be rather long, and several besides Solomon shook their heads pathetically, looking on the ground: all eyes avoided meeting other eyes, and were chiefly fixed either on the spots in the table-cloth or on Mr. Standish's bald head; excepting Mary Garth's. When all the rest were trying to look nowhere in particular, it was safe for her to look at them. And at the sound of the first \"give and bequeath\" she could see all complexions changing subtly, as if some faint vibration were passing through them, save that of Mr. Rigg. He sat in unaltered calm, and, in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with the complication of listening to bequests which might or might not be revoked, had ceased to think of him. Fred blushed, and Mr. Vincy found it impossible to do without his snuff-box in his hand, though he kept it closed.\nThe small bequests came first, and even the recollection that there was another will and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, could not quell the rising disgust and indignation. One likes to be done well by in every tense, past, present, and future. And here was Peter capable five years ago of leaving only two hundred apiece to his own brothers and sisters, and only a hundred apiece to his own nephews and nieces: the Garths were not mentioned, but Mrs. Vincy and Rosamond were each to have a hundred. Mr. Trumbull was to have the gold-headed cane and fifty pounds; the other second cousins and the cousins present were each to have the like handsome sum, which, as the saturnine cousin observed, was a sort of legacy that left a man nowhere; and there was much more of such offensive dribbling in favor of persons not present—problematical, and, it was to be feared, low connections. Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of. Where then had Peter meant the rest of the money to go—and where the land? and what was revoked and what not revoked—and was the revocation for better or for worse? All emotion must be conditional, and might turn out to be the wrong thing. The men were strong enough to bear up and keep quiet under this confused suspense; some letting their lower lip fall, others pursing it up, according to the habit of their muscles. But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry; poor Mrs. Cranch being half moved with the consolation of getting any hundreds at all without working for them, and half aware that her share was scanty; whereas Mrs. Waule's mind was entirely flooded with the sense of being an own sister and getting little, while somebody else was to have much. The general expectation now was that the \"much\" would fall to Fred Vincy, but the Vincys themselves were surprised when ten thousand pounds in specified investments were declared to be bequeathed to him:—was the land coming too? Fred bit his lips: it was difficult to help smiling, and Mrs. Vincy felt herself the happiest of women—possible revocation shrinking out of sight in this dazzling vision.\nThere was still a residue of personal property as well as the land, but the whole was left to one person, and that person was—O possibilities! O expectations founded on the favor of \"close\" old gentlemen! O endless vocatives that would still leave expression slipping helpless from the measurement of mortal folly!—that residuary legatee was Joshua Rigg, who was also sole executor, and who was to take thenceforth the name of Featherstone.\nThere was a rustling which seemed like a shudder running round the room. Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, who apparently experienced no surprise.\n\"A most singular testamentary disposition!\" exclaimed Mr. Trumbull, preferring for once that he should be considered ignorant in the past. \"But there is a second will—there is a further document. We have not yet heard the final wishes of the deceased.\"", "chosen": "But, Fred, Jonah, Mary, Fred, But, The, Standish,, The, Featherstone., Mr., Standish, Old, And, Standish, As, Hence, Standish;, Perhaps, No, The, Standish,, But, And, Standish, I, Standish,, Standish's, When, And, Rigg., He, Fred, Vincy, The, One, And, Vincy, Mr., Trumbull, Altogether,, Where, and, All, The, But, Cranch, Waule's, The, Fred, Vincy, There, O, O, There, Every, Rigg,, A, Trumbull,, But, We", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nBut, Fred, Jonah, Mary, Fred, But, The, Standish,, The, Featherstone., Mr., Standish, Old, And, Standish, As, Hence, Standish;, Perhaps, No, The, Standish,, But, And, Standish, I, Standish,, Standish's, When, And, Rigg., He, Fred, Vincy, The, One, And, Vincy, Mr., Trumbull, Altogether,, Where, and, All, The, But, Cranch, Waule's, The, Fred, Vincy, There, O, O, There, Every, Rigg,, A, Trumbull,, But, We\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-036-01-e580598d", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nShe hesitated to ascend alone, but finding that the door was not fastened she pushed it open with her foot, and entered. A scrap of writing-paper lay within, and arrested her attention by its freshness. Some human being, then, knew the spot, despite her surmises. But as the paper had nothing on it no clue was afforded; yet feeling herself the proprietor of the column and of all around it her self-assertiveness was sufficient to lead her on. The staircase was lighted by slits in the wall, and there was no difficulty in reaching the top, the steps being quite unworn. The trap-door leading on to the roof was open, and on looking through it an interesting spectacle met her eye.\nA youth was sitting on a stool in the centre of the lead flat which formed the summit of the column, his eye being applied to the end of a large telescope that stood before him on a tripod. This sort of presence was unexpected, and the lady started back into the shade of the opening. The only effect produced upon him by her footfall was an impatient wave of the hand, which he did without removing his eye from the instrument, as if to forbid her to interrupt him.\nPausing where she stood the lady examined the aspect of the individual who thus made himself so completely at home on a building which she deemed her unquestioned property. He was a youth who might properly have been characterized by a word the judicious chronicler would not readily use in such a connexion, preferring to reserve it for raising images of the opposite sex. Whether because no deep felicity is likely to arise from the condition, or from any other reason, to say in these days that a youth is beautiful is not to award him that amount of credit which the expression would have carried with it if he had lived in the times of the Classical Dictionary. So much, indeed, is the reverse the case that the assertion creates an awkwardness in saying anything more about him. The beautiful youth usually verges so perilously on the incipient coxcomb, who is about to become the Lothario or Juan among the neighbouring maidens, that, for the due understanding of our present young man, his sublime innocence of any thought concerning his own material aspect, or that of others, is most fervently asserted, and must be as fervently believed.\nSuch as he was, there the lad sat. The sun shone full in his face, and on his head he wore a black velvet skull-cap, leaving to view below it a curly margin of very light shining hair, which accorded well with the flush upon his cheek.\nHe had such a complexion as that with which Raffaelle enriches the countenance of the youthful son of Zacharias,--a complexion which, though clear, is far enough removed from virgin delicacy, and suggests plenty of sun and wind as its accompaniment. His features were sufficiently straight in the contours to correct the beholder's first impression that the head was the head of a girl. Beside him stood a little oak table, and in front was the telescope.\nHis visitor had ample time to make these observations; and she may have done so all the more keenly through being herself of a totally opposite type. Her hair was black as midnight, her eyes had no less deep a shade, and her complexion showed the richness demanded as a support to these decided features. As she continued to look at the pretty fellow before her, apparently so far abstracted into some speculative world as scarcely to know a real one, a warmer wave of her warm temperament glowed visibly through her, and a qualified observer might from this have hazarded a guess that there was Romance blood in her veins.\nBut even the interest attaching to the youth could not arrest her attention for ever, and as he made no further signs of moving his eye from the instrument she broke the silence with--\n'What do you see?--something happening somewhere?'\n'Yes, quite a catastrophe!' he automatically murmured, without moving round.\n'What?'\n'A cyclone in the sun.'\nThe lady paused, as if to consider the weight of that event in the scale of terrene life.\n'Will it make any difference to us here?' she asked.\nThe young man by this time seemed to be awakened to the consciousness that somebody unusual was talking to him; he turned, and started.\n'I beg your pardon,' he said. 'I thought it was my relative come to look after me! She often comes about this time.'\nHe continued to look at her and forget the sun, just such a reciprocity of influence as might have been expected between a dark lady and a flaxenhaired youth making itself apparent in the faces of each.\n'Don't let me interrupt your observations,' said she.\n'Ah, no,' said he, again applying his eye; whereupon his face lost the animation which her presence had lent it, and became immutable as that of a bust, though superadding to the serenity of repose the sensitiveness of life. The expression that settled on him was one of awe. Not unaptly might it have been said that he was worshipping the sun. Among the various intensities of that worship which have prevailed since the first intelligent being saw the luminary decline westward, as the young man now beheld it doing, his was not the weakest. He was engaged in what may be called a very chastened or schooled form of that first and most natural of adorations.\n'But would you like to see it?' he recommenced. 'It is an event that is witnessed only about once in two or three years, though it may occur often enough.'\nShe assented, and looked through the shaded eyepiece, and saw a whirling mass, in the centre of which the blazing globe seemed to be laid bare to its core. It was a peep into a maelstrom of fire, taking place where nobody had ever been or ever would be.\n'It is the strangest thing I ever beheld,' she said. Then he looked again; till wondering who her companion could be she asked, 'Are you often here?'\n'Every night when it is not cloudy, and often in the day.'\n'Ah, night, of course. The heavens must be beautiful from this point.'\n'They are rather more than that.'\n'Indeed! Have you entirely taken possession of this column?'\n'Entirely.'\n'But it is my column,' she said, with smiling asperity.\n'Then are you Lady Constantine, wife of the absent Sir Blount Constantine?'\n'I am Lady Constantine.'\n'Ah, then I agree that it is your ladyship's. But will you allow me to rent it of you for a time, Lady Constantine?'\n'You have taken it, whether I allow it or not. However, in the interests of science it is advisable that you continue your tenancy. Nobody knows you are here, I suppose?'\n'Hardly anybody.'\nHe then took her down a few steps into the interior, and showed her some ingenious contrivances for stowing articles away.\n'Nobody ever comes near the column,--or, as it's called here, Rings-Hill Speer,' he continued; 'and when I first came up it nobody had been here for thirty or forty years. The staircase was choked with daws' nests and feathers, but I cleared them out.'\n'I understood the column was always kept locked?'\n'Yes, it has been so. When it was built, in 1782, the key was given to my great-grandfather, to keep by him in case visitors should happen to want it. He lived just down there where I live now.'\nHe denoted by a nod a little dell lying immediately beyond the ploughed land which environed them.\n'He kept it in his bureau, and as the bureau descended to my grandfather, my mother, and myself, the key descended with it. After the first thirty or forty years, nobody ever asked for it. One day I saw it, lying rusty in its niche, and, finding that it belonged to this column, I took it and came up. I stayed here till it was dark, and the stars came out, and that night I resolved to be an astronomer. I came back here from school several months ago, and I mean to be an astronomer still.'\nHe lowered his voice, and added:", "chosen": "55", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n55\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-3146-001-01-ea88c092", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nMeanwhile the interior of Welland House was rattling with the progress of the ecclesiastical luncheon.\nThe Bishop, who sat at Lady Constantine's side, seemed enchanted with her company, and from the beginning she engrossed his attention almost entirely. The truth was that the circumstance of her not having her whole soul centred on the success of the repast and the pleasure of Bishop Helmsdale, imparted to her, in a great measure, the mood to ensure both. Her brother Louis it was who had laid out the plan of entertaining the Bishop, to which she had assented but indifferently. She was secretly bound to another, on whose career she had staked all her happiness. Having thus other interests she evinced to-day the ease of one who hazards nothing, and there was no sign of that preoccupation with housewifely contingencies which so often makes the hostess hardly recognizable as the charming woman who graced a friend's home the day before. In marrying Swithin Lady Constantine had played her card,--recklessly, impulsively, ruinously, perhaps; but she had played it; it could not be withdrawn; and she took this morning's luncheon as an episode that could result in nothing to her beyond the day's entertainment.\nHence, by that power of indirectness to accomplish in an hour what strenuous aiming will not effect in a life-time, she fascinated the Bishop to an unprecedented degree. A bachelor, he rejoiced in the commanding period of life that stretches between the time of waning impulse and the time of incipient dotage, when a woman can reach the male heart neither by awakening a young man's passion nor an old man's infatuation. He must be made to admire, or he can be made to do nothing. Unintentionally that is how Viviette operated on her guest.\nLady Constantine, to external view, was in a position to desire many things, and of a sort to desire them. She was obviously, by nature, impulsive to indiscretion. But instead of exhibiting activities to correspond, recently gratified affection lent to her manner just now a sweet serenity, a truly Christian contentment, which it puzzled the learned Bishop exceedingly to find in a warm young widow, and increased his interest in her every moment. Thus matters stood when the conversation veered round to the morning's confirmation.\n'That was a singularly engaging young man who came up among Mr. Torkingham's candidates,' said the Bishop to her somewhat abruptly.\nBut abruptness does not catch a woman without her wit. 'Which one?' she said innocently.\n'That youth with the \"corn-coloured\" hair, as a poet of the new school would call it, who sat just at the side of the organ. Do you know who he is?'\nIn answering Viviette showed a little nervousness, for the first time that day.\n'O yes. He is the son of an unfortunate gentleman who was formerly curate here,--a Mr. St. Cleeve.'\n'I never saw a handsomer young man in my life,' said the Bishop. Lady Constantine blushed. 'There was a lack of self-consciousness, too, in his manner of presenting himself, which very much won me. A Mr. St. Cleeve, do you say? A curate's son? His father must have been St. Cleeve of All Angels, whom I knew. How comes he to be staying on here? What is he doing?'\nMr. Torkingham, who kept one ear on the Bishop all the lunch-time, finding that Lady Constantine was not ready with an answer, hastened to reply: 'Your lordship is right. His father was an All Angels' man. The youth is rather to be pitied.'\n'He was a man of talent,' affirmed the Bishop. 'But I quite lost sight of him.'\n'He was curate to the late vicar,' resumed the parson, 'and was much liked by the parish: but, being erratic in his tastes and tendencies, he rashly contracted a marriage with the daughter of a farmer, and then quarrelled with the local gentry for not taking up his wife. This lad was an only child. There was enough money to educate him, and he is sufficiently well provided for to be independent of the world so long as he is content to live here with great economy. But of course this gives him few opportunities of bettering himself.'\n'Yes, naturally,' replied the Bishop of Melchester. 'Better have been left entirely dependent on himself. These half-incomes do men little good, unless they happen to be either weaklings or geniuses.'\nLady Constantine would have given the world to say, 'He is a genius, and the hope of my life;' but it would have been decidedly risky, and in another moment was unnecessary, for Mr. Torkingham said, 'There is a certain genius in this young man, I sometimes think.'\n'Well, he really looks quite out of the common,' said the Bishop.\n'Youthful genius is sometimes disappointing,' observed Viviette, not believing it in the least.\n'Yes,' said the Bishop. 'Though it depends, Lady Constantine, on what you understand by disappointing. It may produce nothing visible to the world's eye, and yet may complete its development within to a very perfect degree. Objective achievements, though the only ones which are counted, are not the only ones that exist and have value; and I for one should be sorry to assert that, because a man of genius dies as unknown to the world as when he was born, he therefore was an instance of wasted material.'\nObjective achievements were, however, those that Lady Constantine had a weakness for in the present case, and she asked her more experienced guest if he thought early development of a special talent a good sign in youth.\nThe Bishop thought it well that a particular bent should not show itself too early, lest disgust should result.\n'Still,' argued Lady Constantine rather firmly (for she felt this opinion of the Bishop's to be one throwing doubt on Swithin), 'sustained fruition is compatible with early bias. Tycho Brahe showed quite a passion for the solar system when he was but a youth, and so did Kepler; and James Ferguson had a surprising knowledge of the stars by the time he was eleven or twelve.'\n'Yes; sustained fruition,' conceded the Bishop (rather liking the words), 'is certainly compatible with early bias. Fenelon preached at fourteen.'\n'He--Mr. St. Cleeve--is not in the church,' said Lady Constantine.\n'He is a scientific young man, my lord,' explained Mr. Torkingham.\n'An astronomer,' she added, with suppressed pride.\n'An astronomer! Really, that makes him still more interesting than being handsome and the son of a man I knew. How and where does he study astronomy?'\n'He has a beautiful observatory. He has made use of an old column that was erected on this manor to the memory of one of the Constantines. It has been very ingeniously adapted for his purpose, and he does very good work there. I believe he occasionally sends up a paper to the Royal Society, or Greenwich, or somewhere, and to astronomical periodicals.'\n'I should have had no idea, from his boyish look, that he had advanced so far,' the Bishop answered. 'And yet I saw on his face that within there was a book worth studying. His is a career I should very much like to watch.'\nA thrill of pleasure chased through Lady Constantine's heart at this praise of her chosen one. It was an unwitting compliment to her taste and discernment in singling him out for her own, despite its temporary inexpediency.\nHer brother Louis now spoke. 'I fancy he is as interested in one of his fellow-creatures as in the science of astronomy,' observed the cynic dryly.\n'In whom?' said Lady Constantine quickly.\n'In the fair maiden who sat at the organ,--a pretty girl, rather. I noticed a sort of by-play going on between them occasionally, during the sermon, which meant mating, if I am not mistaken.'\n'She!' said Lady Constantine. 'She is only a village girl, a dairyman's daughter,--Tabitha Lark, who used to come to read to me.'\n'She may be a savage, for all that I know: but there is something between those two young people, nevertheless.'", "chosen": "Objective achievements, though the only ones which are counted, are not the only ones that exist and have value; and I for one should be sorry to assert that, because a man of genius dies as unknown to the world as when he was born, he therefore was an instance of wasted material.'\nObjective achievements were, however, those that Lady Constantine had a weakness for in the present case, and she asked her more experienced guest if he thought early development of a special talent a good sign in youth.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nObjective achievements, though the only ones which are counted, are not the only ones that exist and have value; and I for one should be sorry to assert that, because a man of genius dies as unknown to the world as when he was born, he therefore was an instance of wasted material.'\nObjective achievements were, however, those that Lady Constantine had a weakness for in the present case, and she asked her more experienced guest if he thought early development of a special talent a good sign in youth.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-3146-024-00-f24612f0", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAnd they talked about how Ohio water didn't like to mix with Mississippi water. Ed said if you take the Mississippi on a rise when the Ohio is low, you'll find a wide band of clear water all the way down the east side of the Mississippi for a hundred mile or more, and the minute you get out a quarter of a mile from shore and pass the line, it is all thick and yaller the rest of the way across. Then they talked about how to keep tobacco from getting moldy, and from that they went into ghosts and told about a lot that other folks had seen; but Ed says--\n'Why don't you tell something that you've seen yourselves? Now let me have a say. Five years ago I was on a raft as big as this, and right along here it was a bright moonshiny night, and I was on watch and boss of the stabboard oar forrard, and one of my pards was a man named Dick Allbright, and he come along to where I was sitting, forrard--gaping and stretching, he was--and stooped down on the edge of the raft and washed his face in the river, and come and set down by me and got out his pipe, and had just got it filled, when he looks up and says--\n'\"Why looky-here,\" he says, \"ain't that Buck Miller's place, over yander in the bend.\"\n'\"Yes,\" says I, \"it is--why.\" He laid his pipe down and leant his head on his hand, and says--\n'\"I thought we'd be furder down.\" I says--\n'\"I thought it too, when I went off watch\"--we was standing six hours on and six off--\"but the boys told me,\" I says, \"that the raft didn't seem to hardly move, for the last hour,\" says I, \"though she's a slipping along all right, now,\" says I. He give a kind of a groan, and says--\n'\"I've seed a raft act so before, along here,\" he says, \"'pears to me the current has most quit above the head of this bend durin' the last two years,\" he says.\n'Well, he raised up two or three times, and looked away off and around on the water. That started me at it, too. A body is always doing what he sees somebody else doing, though there mayn't be no sense in it. Pretty soon I see a black something floating on the water away off to stabboard and quartering behind us. I see he was looking at it, too. I says--\n'\"What's that?\" He says, sort of pettish,--\n'\"Tain't nothing but an old empty bar'l.\"\n'\"An empty bar'l!\" says I, \"why,\" says I, \"a spy-glass is a fool to your eyes. How can you tell it's an empty bar'l?\" He says--\n'\"I don't know; I reckon it ain't a bar'l, but I thought it might be,\" says he.\n'\"Yes,\" I says, \"so it might be, and it might be anything else, too; a body can't tell nothing about it, such a distance as that,\" I says.\n'We hadn't nothing else to do, so we kept on watching it. By and by I says--\n'\"Why looky-here, Dick Allbright, that thing's a-gaining on us, I believe.\"\n'He never said nothing. The thing gained and gained, and I judged it must be a dog that was about tired out. Well, we swung down into the crossing, and the thing floated across the bright streak of the moonshine, and, by George, it was bar'l. Says I--\n'\"Dick Allbright, what made you think that thing was a bar'l, when it was a half a mile off,\" says I. Says he--\n'\"I don't know.\" Says I--\n'\"You tell me, Dick Allbright.\" He says--\n'\"Well, I knowed it was a bar'l; I've seen it before; lots has seen it; they says it's a haunted bar'l.\"\n'I called the rest of the watch, and they come and stood there, and I told them what Dick said. It floated right along abreast, now, and didn't gain any more. It was about twenty foot off. Some was for having it aboard, but the rest didn't want to. Dick Allbright said rafts that had fooled with it had got bad luck by it. The captain of the watch said he didn't believe in it. He said he reckoned the bar'l gained on us because it was in a little better current than what we was. He said it would leave by and by.\n'So then we went to talking about other things, and we had a song, and then a breakdown; and after that the captain of the watch called for another song; but it was clouding up, now, and the bar'l stuck right thar in the same place, and the song didn't seem to have much warm-up to it, somehow, and so they didn't finish it, and there warn't any cheers, but it sort of dropped flat, and nobody said anything for a minute. Then everybody tried to talk at once, and one chap got off a joke, but it warn't no use, they didn't laugh, and even the chap that made the joke didn't laugh at it, which ain't usual. We all just settled down glum, and watched the bar'l, and was oneasy and oncomfortable. Well, sir, it shut down black and still, and then the wind begin to moan around, and next the lightning begin to play and the thunder to grumble. And pretty soon there was a regular storm, and in the middle of it a man that was running aft stumbled and fell and sprained his ankle so that he had to lay up. This made the boys shake their heads. And every time the lightning come, there was that bar'l with the blue lights winking around it. We was always on the look-out for it. But by and by, towards dawn, she was gone. When the day come we couldn't see her anywhere, and we warn't sorry, neither.\n'But next night about half-past nine, when there was songs and high jinks going on, here she comes again, and took her old roost on the stabboard side. There warn't no more high jinks. Everybody got solemn; nobody talked; you couldn't get anybody to do anything but set around moody and look at the bar'l. It begun to cloud up again. When the watch changed, the off watch stayed up, 'stead of turning in. The storm ripped and roared around all night, and in the middle of it another man tripped and sprained his ankle, and had to knock off. The bar'l left towards day, and nobody see it go.\n'Everybody was sober and down in the mouth all day. I don't mean the kind of sober that comes of leaving liquor alone--not that. They was quiet, but they all drunk more than usual--not together--but each man sidled off and took it private, by himself.\n'After dark the off watch didn't turn in; nobody sung, nobody talked; the boys didn't scatter around, neither; they sort of huddled together, forrard; and for two hours they set there, perfectly still, looking steady in the one direction, and heaving a sigh once in a while. And then, here comes the bar'l again. She took up her old place. She staid there all night; nobody turned in. The storm come on again, after midnight. It got awful dark; the rain poured down; hail, too; the thunder boomed and roared and bellowed; the wind blowed a hurricane; and the lightning spread over everything in big sheets of glare, and showed the whole raft as plain as day; and the river lashed up white as milk as far as you could see for miles, and there was that bar'l jiggering along, same as ever. The captain ordered the watch to man the after sweeps for a crossing, and nobody would go--no more sprained ankles for them, they said. They wouldn't even walk aft. Well then, just then the sky split wide open, with a crash, and the lightning killed two men of the after watch, and crippled two more. Crippled them how, says you? Why, sprained their ankles!", "chosen": "[\"Why looky-here,\", \"ain't that Buck Miller's place, over yander in the bend.\", \"Yes,\", \"it is--why.\", \"I thought we'd be furder down.\", \"I thought it too, when I went off watch\", \"but the boys told me,\", \"that the raft didn't seem to hardly move, for the last hour,\", \"though she's a slipping along all right, now,\", \"I've seed a raft act so before, along here,\", \"'pears to me the current has most quit above the head of this bend durin' the last two years,\", \"What's that?\", \"Tain't nothing but an old empty bar'l.\", \"An empty bar'l!\", \"why,\", \"a spy-glass is a fool to your eyes. How can you tell it's an empty bar'l?\", \"I don't know; I reckon it ain't a bar'l, but I thought it might be,\", \"Yes,\", \"so it might be, and it might be anything else, too; a body can't tell nothing about it, such a distance as that,\", \"Why looky-here, Dick Allbright, that thing's a-gaining on us, I believe.\", \"Dick Allbright, what made you think that thing was a bar'l, when it was a half a mile off,\", \"I don't know.\", \"You tell me, Dick Allbright.\", \"Well, I knowed it was a bar'l; I've seen it before; lots has seen it; they says it's a haunted bar'l.\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Why looky-here,\", \"ain't that Buck Miller's place, over yander in the bend.\", \"Yes,\", \"it is--why.\", \"I thought we'd be furder down.\", \"I thought it too, when I went off watch\", \"but the boys told me,\", \"that the raft didn't seem to hardly move, for the last hour,\", \"though she's a slipping along all right, now,\", \"I've seed a raft act so before, along here,\", \"'pears to me the current has most quit above the head of this bend durin' the last two years,\", \"What's that?\", \"Tain't nothing but an old empty bar'l.\", \"An empty bar'l!\", \"why,\", \"a spy-glass is a fool to your eyes. How can you tell it's an empty bar'l?\", \"I don't know; I reckon it ain't a bar'l, but I thought it might be,\", \"Yes,\", \"so it might be, and it might be anything else, too; a body can't tell nothing about it, such a distance as that,\", \"Why looky-here, Dick Allbright, that thing's a-gaining on us, I believe.\", \"Dick Allbright, what made you think that thing was a bar'l, when it was a half a mile off,\", \"I don't know.\", \"You tell me, Dick Allbright.\", \"Well, I knowed it was a bar'l; I've seen it before; lots has seen it; they says it's a haunted bar'l.\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-245-004-02-171b4ba7", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe reader may rest satisfied that Tom's and Huck's windfall made a mighty stir in the poor little village of St. Petersburg. So vast a sum, all in actual cash, seemed next to incredible. It was talked about, gloated over, glorified, until the reason of many of the citizens tottered under the strain of the unhealthy excitement. Every \"haunted\" house in St. Petersburg and the neighboring villages was dissected, plank by plank, and its foundations dug up and ransacked for hidden treasure—and not by boys, but men—pretty grave, unromantic men, too, some of them. Wherever Tom and Huck appeared they were courted, admired, stared at. The boys were not able to remember that their remarks had possessed weight before; but now their sayings were treasured and repeated; everything they did seemed somehow to be regarded as remarkable; they had evidently lost the power of doing and saying commonplace things; moreover, their past history was raked up and discovered to bear marks of conspicuous originality. The village paper published biographical sketches of the boys.\nThe Widow Douglas put Huck's money out at six per cent., and Judge Thatcher did the same with Tom's at Aunt Polly's request. Each lad had an income, now, that was simply prodigious—a dollar for every weekday in the year and half of the Sundays. It was just what the minister got—no, it was what he was promised—he generally couldn't collect it. A dollar and a quarter a week would board, lodge, and school a boy in those old simple days—and clothe him and wash him, too, for that matter.\nJudge Thatcher had conceived a great opinion of Tom. He said that no commonplace boy would ever have got his daughter out of the cave. When Becky told her father, in strict confidence, how Tom had taken her whipping at school, the Judge was visibly moved; and when she pleaded grace for the mighty lie which Tom had told in order to shift that whipping from her shoulders to his own, the Judge said with a fine outburst that it was a noble, a generous, a magnanimous lie—a lie that was worthy to hold up its head and march down through history breast to breast with George Washington's lauded Truth about the hatchet! Becky thought her father had never looked so tall and so superb as when he walked the floor and stamped his foot and said that. She went straight off and told Tom about it.\nJudge Thatcher hoped to see Tom a great lawyer or a great soldier some day. He said he meant to look to it that Tom should be admitted to the National Military Academy and afterward trained in the best law school in the country, in order that he might be ready for either career or both.\nHuck Finn's wealth and the fact that he was now under the Widow Douglas' protection introduced him into society—no, dragged him into it, hurled him into it—and his sufferings were almost more than he could bear. The widow's servants kept him clean and neat, combed and brushed, and they bedded him nightly in unsympathetic sheets that had not one little spot or stain which he could press to his heart and know for a friend. He had to eat with a knife and fork; he had to use napkin, cup, and plate; he had to learn his book, he had to go to church; he had to talk so properly that speech was become insipid in his mouth; whithersoever he turned, the bars and shackles of civilization shut him in and bound him hand and foot.\nHe bravely bore his miseries three weeks, and then one day turned up missing. For forty-eight hours the widow hunted for him everywhere in great distress. The public were profoundly concerned; they searched high and low, they dragged the river for his body. Early the third morning Tom Sawyer wisely went poking among some old empty hogsheads down behind the abandoned slaughter-house, and in one of them he found the refugee. Huck had slept there; he had just breakfasted upon some stolen odds and ends of food, and was lying off, now, in comfort, with his pipe. He was unkempt, uncombed, and clad in the same old ruin of rags that had made him picturesque in the days when he was free and happy. Tom routed him out, told him the trouble he had been causing, and urged him to go home. Huck's face lost its tranquil content, and took a melancholy cast. He said:\n\"Don't talk about it, Tom. I've tried it, and it don't work; it don't work, Tom. It ain't for me; I ain't used to it. The widder's good to me, and friendly; but I can't stand them ways. She makes me get up just at the same time every morning; she makes me wash, they comb me all to thunder; she won't let me sleep in the woodshed; I got to wear them blamed clothes that just smothers me, Tom; they don't seem to any air git through 'em, somehow; and they're so rotten nice that I can't set down, nor lay down, nor roll around anywher's; I hain't slid on a cellar-door for—well, it 'pears to be years; I got to go to church and sweat and sweat—I hate them ornery sermons! I can't ketch a fly in there, I can't chaw. I got to wear shoes all Sunday. The widder eats by a bell; she goes to bed by a bell; she gits up by a bell—everything's so awful reg'lar a body can't stand it.\"\n\"Well, everybody does that way, Huck.\"\n\"Tom, it don't make no difference. I ain't everybody, and I can't stand it. It's awful to be tied up so. And grub comes too easy—I don't take no interest in vittles, that way. I got to ask to go a-fishing; I got to ask to go in a-swimming—dern'd if I hain't got to ask to do everything. Well, I'd got to talk so nice it wasn't no comfort—I'd got to go up in the attic and rip out awhile, every day, to git a taste in my mouth, or I'd a died, Tom. The widder wouldn't let me smoke; she wouldn't let me yell, she wouldn't let me gape, nor stretch, nor scratch, before folks—\" [Then with a spasm of special irritation and injury]—\"And dad fetch it, she prayed all the time! I never see such a woman! I had to shove, Tom—I just had to. And besides, that school's going to open, and I'd a had to go to it—well, I wouldn't stand that, Tom. Looky-here, Tom, being rich ain't what it's cracked up to be. It's just worry and worry, and sweat and sweat, and a-wishing you was dead all the time. Now these clothes suits me, and this bar'l suits me, and I ain't ever going to shake 'em any more. Tom, I wouldn't ever got into all this trouble if it hadn't 'a' been for that money; now you just take my sheer of it along with your'n, and gimme a ten-center sometimes—not many times, becuz I don't give a dern for a thing 'thout it's tollable hard to git—and you go and beg off for me with the widder.\"\n\"Oh, Huck, you know I can't do that. 'Tain't fair; and besides if you'll try this thing just a while longer you'll come to like it.\"\n\"Like it! Yes—the way I'd like a hot stove if I was to set on it long enough. No, Tom, I won't be rich, and I won't live in them cussed smothery houses. I like the woods, and the river, and hogsheads, and I'll stick to 'em, too. Blame it all! just as we'd got guns, and a cave, and all just fixed to rob, here this dern foolishness has got to come up and spile it all!\"\nTom saw his opportunity—\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, being rich ain't going to keep me back from turning robber.\"\n\"No! Oh, good-licks; are you in real dead-wood earnest, Tom?\"\n\"Just as dead earnest as I'm sitting here. But Huck, we can't let you into the gang if you ain't respectable, you know.\"\nHuck's joy was quenched.\n\"Can't let me in, Tom? Didn't you let me go for a pirate?\"", "chosen": "pirate", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\npirate\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-74-034-00-3d29087e", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThey was fetching a very nice-looking old gentleman along, and a nice-looking younger one, with his right arm in a sling. And, my souls, how the people yelled and laughed, and kept it up. But I didn't see no joke about it, and I judged it would strain the duke and the king some to see any. I reckoned they'd turn pale. But no, nary a pale did they turn. The duke he never let on he suspicioned what was up, but just went a goo-gooing around, happy and satisfied, like a jug that's googling out buttermilk; and as for the king, he just gazed and gazed down sorrowful on them new-comers like it give him the stomach-ache in his very heart to think there could be such frauds and rascals in the world. Oh, he done it admirable. Lots of the principal people gethered around the king, to let him see they was on his side. That old gentleman that had just come looked all puzzled to death. Pretty soon he begun to speak, and I see straight off he pronounced like an Englishman—not the king's way, though the king's was pretty good for an imitation. I can't give the old gent's words, nor I can't imitate him; but he turned around to the crowd, and says, about like this:\n\"This is a surprise to me which I wasn't looking for; and I'll acknowledge, candid and frank, I ain't very well fixed to meet it and answer it; for my brother and me has had misfortunes; he's broke his arm, and our baggage got put off at a town above here last night in the night by a mistake. I am Peter Wilks' brother Harvey, and this is his brother William, which can't hear nor speak—and can't even make signs to amount to much, now't he's only got one hand to work them with. We are who we say we are; and in a day or two, when I get the baggage, I can prove it. But up till then I won't say nothing more, but go to the hotel and wait.\"\nSo him and the new dummy started off; and the king he laughs, and blethers out:\n\"Broke his arm—very likely, ain't it?—and very convenient, too, for a fraud that's got to make signs, and ain't learnt how. Lost their baggage! That's mighty good!—and mighty ingenious—under the circumstances!\"\nSo he laughed again; and so did everybody else, except three or four, or maybe half a dozen. One of these was that doctor; another one was a sharp-looking gentleman, with a carpet-bag of the old-fashioned kind made out of carpet-stuff, that had just come off of the steamboat and was talking to him in a low voice, and glancing towards the king now and then and nodding their heads—it was Levi Bell, the lawyer that was gone up to Louisville; and another one was a big rough husky that come along and listened to all the old gentleman said, and was listening to the king now. And when the king got done this husky up and says:\n\"Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when'd you come to this town?\"\n\"The day before the funeral, friend,\" says the king.\n\"But what time o' day?\"\n\"In the evenin'—'bout an hour er two before sundown.\"\n\"How'd you come?\"\n\"I come down on the Susan Powell from Cincinnati.\"\n\"Well, then, how'd you come to be up at the Pint in the mornin'—in a canoe?\"\n\"I warn't up at the Pint in the mornin'.\"\n\"It's a lie.\"\nSeveral of them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to an old man and a preacher.\n\"Preacher be hanged, he's a fraud and a liar. He was up at the Pint that mornin'. I live up there, don't I? Well, I was up there, and he was up there. I see him there. He come in a canoe, along with Tim Collins and a boy.\"\nThe doctor he up and says:\n\"Would you know the boy again if you was to see him, Hines?\"\n\"I reckon I would, but I don't know. Why, yonder he is, now. I know him perfectly easy.\"\nIt was me he pointed at. The doctor says:\n\"Neighbors, I don't know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but if these two ain't frauds, I am an idiot, that's all. I think it's our duty to see that they don't get away from here till we've looked into this thing. Come along, Hines; come along, the rest of you. We'll take these fellows to the tavern and affront them with t'other couple, and I reckon we'll find out something before we get through.\"\nIt was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king's friends; so we all started. It was about sundown. The doctor he led me along by the hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let go my hand.\nWe all got in a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and fetched in the new couple. First, the doctor says:\n\"I don't wish to be too hard on these two men, but I think they're frauds, and they may have complices that we don't know nothing about. If they have, won't the complices get away with that bag of gold Peter Wilks left? It ain't unlikely. If these men ain't frauds, they won't object to sending for that money and letting us keep it till they prove they're all right—ain't that so?\"\nEverybody agreed to that. So I judged they had our gang in a pretty tight place right at the outstart. But the king he only looked sorrowful, and says:\n\"Gentlemen, I wish the money was there, for I ain't got no disposition to throw anything in the way of a fair, open, out-and-out investigation o' this misable business; but, alas, the money ain't there; you k'n send and see, if you want to.\"\n\"Where is it, then?\"\n\"Well, when my niece give it to me to keep for her I took and hid it inside o' the straw tick o' my bed, not wishin' to bank it for the few days we'd be here, and considerin' the bed a safe place, we not bein' used to niggers, and suppos'n' 'em honest, like servants in England. The niggers stole it the very next mornin' after I had went down stairs; and when I sold 'em I hadn't missed the money yit, so they got clean away with it. My servant here k'n tell you 'bout it, gentlemen.\"\nThe doctor and several said \"Shucks!\" and I see nobody didn't altogether believe him. One man asked me if I see the niggers steal it. I said no, but I see them sneaking out of the room and hustling away, and I never thought nothing, only I reckoned they was afraid they had waked up my master and was trying to get away before he made trouble with them. That was all they asked me. Then the doctor whirls on me and says:\n\"Are you English, too?\"\nI says yes; and him and some others laughed, and said, \"Stuff!\"\nWell, then they sailed in on the general investigation, and there we had it, up and down, hour in, hour out, and nobody never said a word about supper, nor ever seemed to think about it—and so they kept it up, and kept it up; and it was the worst mixed-up thing you ever see. They made the king tell his yarn, and they made the old gentleman tell his'n; and anybody but a lot of prejudiced chuckleheads would a seen that the old gentleman was spinning truth and t'other one lies. And by-and-by they had me up to tell what I knowed. The king he give me a left-handed look out of the corner of his eye, and so I knowed enough to talk on the right side. I begun to tell about Sheffield, and how we lived there, and all about the English Wilkses, and so on; but I didn't get pretty fur till the doctor begun to laugh; and Levi Bell, the lawyer, says:", "chosen": "[\"Englishman\", \"Peter\", \"Wilks\", \"Harvey\", \"William\", \"Broke\", \"Levi\", \"Bell\", \"Louisville\", \"Say\", \"Susan\", \"Powell\", \"Cincinnati\", \"Pint\", \"Preacher\", \"Tim\", \"Collins\", \"Would\", \"Hines\", \"Neighbors\", \"Gentlemen\", \"Where\", \"England\", \"Shucks\", \"Are\", \"English\", \"Stuff\", \"Sheffield\", \"Wilkses\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Englishman\", \"Peter\", \"Wilks\", \"Harvey\", \"William\", \"Broke\", \"Levi\", \"Bell\", \"Louisville\", \"Say\", \"Susan\", \"Powell\", \"Cincinnati\", \"Pint\", \"Preacher\", \"Tim\", \"Collins\", \"Would\", \"Hines\", \"Neighbors\", \"Gentlemen\", \"Where\", \"England\", \"Shucks\", \"Are\", \"English\", \"Stuff\", \"Sheffield\", \"Wilkses\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-76-029-00-6f42c38b", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIt is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.\nHowever little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.\n\"My dear Mr. Bennet,\" said his lady to him one day, \"have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?\"\nMr. Bennet replied that he had not.\n\"But it is,\" returned she; \"for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.\"\nMr. Bennet made no answer.\n\"Do not you want to know who has taken it?\" cried his wife, impatiently.\n\"You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.\"\nThis was invitation enough.\n\"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.\"\n\"What is his name?\"\n\"Bingley.\"\n\"Is he married or single?\"\n\"Oh, single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!\"\n\"How so? how can it affect them?\"\n\"My dear Mr. Bennet,\" replied his wife, \"how can you be so tiresome? You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.\"\n\"Is that his design in settling here?\"\n\"Design? Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.\"\n\"I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go--or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party.\"\n\"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.\"\n\"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.\"\n\"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood.\"\n\"It is more than I engage for, I assure you.\"\n\"But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account; for in general, you know, they visit no new comers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him, if you do not.\"\n\"You are over scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls--though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.\"\n\"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others: and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving her the preference.\"\n\"They have none of them much to recommend them,\" replied he: \"they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters.\"\n\"Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.\"\n\"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.\"\n\"Ah, you do not know what I suffer.\"\n\"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.\"\n\"It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.\"\n\"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all.\"\nMr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develope. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married: its solace was visiting and news.", "chosen": "It, However, My, Bennet,\", Bennet, But, Long, Bennet, Do, You, Why,, Long, Morris, A, What, how, Bennet,\", You, Nonsense,, But, You, Bingley, I, When, Bingley, Only, Sir, Indeed, I, Bingley, Lizzy, But, Bennet,, You, You, I, They, I, Bennet, Her, She, When, The", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nIt, However, My, Bennet,\", Bennet, But, Long, Bennet, Do, You, Why,, Long, Morris, A, What, how, Bennet,\", You, Nonsense,, But, You, Bingley, I, When, Bingley, Only, Sir, Indeed, I, Bingley, Lizzy, But, Bennet,, You, You, I, They, I, Bennet, Her, She, When, The\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-1342-001-00-1e9d3c45", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nFifth: As in the ordinary floating posture of the leviathan the flukes lie considerably below the level of his back, they are then completely out of sight beneath the surface; but when he is about to plunge into the deeps, his entire flukes with at least thirty feet of his body are tossed erect in the air, and so remain vibrating a moment, till they downwards shoot out of view. Excepting the sublime breach—somewhere else to be described—this peaking of the whale's flukes is perhaps the grandest sight to be seen in all animated nature. Out of the bottomless profundities the gigantic tail seems spasmodically snatching at the highest heaven. So in dreams, have I seen majestic Satan thrusting forth his tormented colossal claw from the flame Baltic of Hell. But in gazing at such scenes, it is all in all what mood you are in; if in the Dantean, the devils will occur to you; if in that of Isaiah, the archangels. Standing at the mast-head of my ship during a sunrise that crimsoned sky and sea, I once saw a large herd of whales in the east, all heading towards the sun, and for a moment vibrating in concert with peaked flukes. As it seemed to me at the time, such a grand embodiment of adoration of the gods was never beheld, even in Persia, the home of the fire worshippers. As Ptolemy Philopater testified of the African elephant, I then testified of the whale, pronouncing him the most devout of all beings. For according to King Juba, the military elephants of antiquity often hailed the morning with their trunks uplifted in the profoundest silence.\nThe chance comparison in this chapter, between the whale and the elephant, so far as some aspects of the tail of the one and the trunk of the other are concerned, should not tend to place those two opposite organs on an equality, much less the creatures to which they respectively belong. For as the mightiest elephant is but a terrier to Leviathan, so, compared with Leviathan's tail, his trunk is but the stalk of a lily. The most direful blow from the elephant's trunk were as the playful tap of a fan, compared with the measureless crush and crash of the sperm whale's ponderous flukes, which in repeated instances have one after the other hurled entire boats with all their oars and crews into the air, very much as an Indian juggler tosses his balls.*\n*Though all comparison in the way of general bulk between the whale and the elephant is preposterous, inasmuch as in that particular the elephant stands in much the same respect to the whale that a dog does to the elephant; nevertheless, there are not wanting some points of curious similitude; among these is the spout. It is well known that the elephant will often draw up water or dust in his trunk, and then elevating it, jet it forth in a stream.\nThe more I consider this mighty tail, the more do I deplore my inability to express it. At times there are gestures in it, which, though they would well grace the hand of man, remain wholly inexplicable. In an extensive herd, so remarkable, occasionally, are these mystic gestures, that I have heard hunters who have declared them akin to Free-Mason signs and symbols; that the whale, indeed, by these methods intelligently conversed with the world. Nor are there wanting other motions of the whale in his general body, full of strangeness, and unaccountable to his most experienced assailant. Dissect him how I may, then, I but go skin deep; I know him not, and never will. But if I know not even the tail of this whale, how understand his head? much more, how comprehend his face, when face he has none? Thou shalt see my back parts, my tail, he seems to say, but my face shall not be seen. But I cannot completely make out his back parts; and hint what he will about his face, I say again he has no face.", "chosen": "22", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n22\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-075-01-0fb68645", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nHe saw that Mr. Jackson had been instantly struck by the fact that Madame Olenska's differences with her grandmother and her other relations were not known to him, and that the old gentleman had drawn his own conclusions as to the reasons for Archer's exclusion from the family councils. This fact warned Archer to go warily; but the insinuations about Beaufort made him reckless. He was mindful, however, if not of his own danger, at least of the fact that Mr. Jackson was under his mother's roof, and consequently his guest. Old New York scrupulously observed the etiquette of hospitality, and no discussion with a guest was ever allowed to degenerate into a disagreement.\n\"Shall we go up and join my mother?\" he suggested curtly, as Mr. Jackson's last cone of ashes dropped into the brass ashtray at his elbow.\nOn the drive homeward May remained oddly silent; through the darkness, he still felt her enveloped in her menacing blush. What its menace meant he could not guess: but he was sufficiently warned by the fact that Madame Olenska's name had evoked it.\nThey went upstairs, and he turned into the library. She usually followed him; but he heard her passing down the passage to her bedroom.\n\"May!\" he called out impatiently; and she came back, with a slight glance of surprise at his tone.\n\"This lamp is smoking again; I should think the servants might see that it's kept properly trimmed,\" he grumbled nervously.\n\"I'm so sorry: it shan't happen again,\" she answered, in the firm bright tone she had learned from her mother; and it exasperated Archer to feel that she was already beginning to humour him like a younger Mr. Welland. She bent over to lower the wick, and as the light struck up on her white shoulders and the clear curves of her face he thought: \"How young she is! For what endless years this life will have to go on!\"\nHe felt, with a kind of horror, his own strong youth and the bounding blood in his veins. \"Look here,\" he said suddenly, \"I may have to go to Washington for a few days--soon; next week perhaps.\"\nHer hand remained on the key of the lamp as she turned to him slowly. The heat from its flame had brought back a glow to her face, but it paled as she looked up.\n\"On business?\" she asked, in a tone which implied that there could be no other conceivable reason, and that she had put the question automatically, as if merely to finish his own sentence.\n\"On business, naturally. There's a patent case coming up before the Supreme Court--\" He gave the name of the inventor, and went on furnishing details with all Lawrence Lefferts's practised glibness, while she listened attentively, saying at intervals: \"Yes, I see.\"\n\"The change will do you good,\" she said simply, when he had finished; \"and you must be sure to go and see Ellen,\" she added, looking him straight in the eyes with her cloudless smile, and speaking in the tone she might have employed in urging him not to neglect some irksome family duty.\nIt was the only word that passed between them on the subject; but in the code in which they had both been trained it meant: \"Of course you understand that I know all that people have been saying about Ellen, and heartily sympathise with my family in their effort to get her to return to her husband. I also know that, for some reason you have not chosen to tell me, you have advised her against this course, which all the older men of the family, as well as our grandmother, agree in approving; and that it is owing to your encouragement that Ellen defies us all, and exposes herself to the kind of criticism of which Mr. Sillerton Jackson probably gave you, this evening, the hint that has made you so irritable.... Hints have indeed not been wanting; but since you appear unwilling to take them from others, I offer you this one myself, in the only form in which well-bred people of our kind can communicate unpleasant things to each other: by letting you understand that I know you mean to see Ellen when you are in Washington, and are perhaps going there expressly for that purpose; and that, since you are sure to see her, I wish you to do so with my full and explicit approval--and to take the opportunity of letting her know what the course of conduct you have encouraged her in is likely to lead to.\"\nHer hand was still on the key of the lamp when the last word of this mute message reached him. She turned the wick down, lifted off the globe, and breathed on the sulky flame.\n\"They smell less if one blows them out,\" she explained, with her bright housekeeping air. On the threshold she turned and paused for his kiss.\nWall Street, the next day, had more reassuring reports of Beaufort's situation. They were not definite, but they were hopeful. It was generally understood that he could call on powerful influences in case of emergency, and that he had done so with success; and that evening, when Mrs. Beaufort appeared at the Opera wearing her old smile and a new emerald necklace, society drew a breath of relief.\nNew York was inexorable in its condemnation of business irregularities. So far there had been no exception to its tacit rule that those who broke the law of probity must pay; and every one was aware that even Beaufort and Beaufort's wife would be offered up unflinchingly to this principle. But to be obliged to offer them up would be not only painful but inconvenient. The disappearance of the Beauforts would leave a considerable void in their compact little circle; and those who were too ignorant or too careless to shudder at the moral catastrophe bewailed in advance the loss of the best ball-room in New York.\nArcher had definitely made up his mind to go to Washington. He was waiting only for the opening of the law-suit of which he had spoken to May, so that its date might coincide with that of his visit; but on the following Tuesday he learned from Mr. Letterblair that the case might be postponed for several weeks. Nevertheless, he went home that afternoon determined in any event to leave the next evening. The chances were that May, who knew nothing of his professional life, and had never shown any interest in it, would not learn of the postponement, should it take place, nor remember the names of the litigants if they were mentioned before her; and at any rate he could no longer put off seeing Madame Olenska. There were too many things that he must say to her.\nOn the Wednesday morning, when he reached his office, Mr. Letterblair met him with a troubled face. Beaufort, after all, had not managed to \"tide over\"; but by setting afloat the rumour that he had done so he had reassured his depositors, and heavy payments had poured into the bank till the previous evening, when disturbing reports again began to predominate. In consequence, a run on the bank had begun, and its doors were likely to close before the day was over. The ugliest things were being said of Beaufort's dastardly manœuvre, and his failure promised to be one of the most discreditable in the history of Wall Street.\nThe extent of the calamity left Mr. Letterblair white and incapacitated. \"I've seen bad things in my time; but nothing as bad as this. Everybody we know will be hit, one way or another. And what will be done about Mrs. Beaufort? What can be done about her? I pity Mrs. Manson Mingott as much as anybody: coming at her age, there's no knowing what effect this affair may have on her. She always believed in Beaufort--she made a friend of him! And there's the whole Dallas connection: poor Mrs. Beaufort is related to every one of you. Her only chance would be to leave her husband--yet how can any one tell her so? Her duty is at his side; and luckily she seems always to have been blind to his private weaknesses.\"", "chosen": "Hints have indeed not been wanting; but since you appear unwilling to take them from others, I offer you this one myself, in the only form in which well-bred people of our kind can communicate unpleasant things to each other: by letting you understand that I know you mean to see Ellen when you are in Washington, and are perhaps going there expressly for that purpose; and that, since you are sure to see her, I wish you to do so with my full and explicit approval--and to take the opportunity of letting her know what the course of conduct you have encouraged her in is likely to lead to.\"\nHer hand was still on the key of the lamp when the last word of this mute message reached him.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nHints have indeed not been wanting; but since you appear unwilling to take them from others, I offer you this one myself, in the only form in which well-bred people of our kind can communicate unpleasant things to each other: by letting you understand that I know you mean to see Ellen when you are in Washington, and are perhaps going there expressly for that purpose; and that, since you are sure to see her, I wish you to do so with my full and explicit approval--and to take the opportunity of letting her know what the course of conduct you have encouraged her in is likely to lead to.\"\nHer hand was still on the key of the lamp when the last word of this mute message reached him.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-541-012-02-4494bd80", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIt was not many days before Mr. Casaubon paid a morning visit, on which he was invited again for the following week to dine and stay the night. Thus Dorothea had three more conversations with him, and was convinced that her first impressions had been just. He was all she had at first imagined him to be: almost everything he had said seemed like a specimen from a mine, or the inscription on the door of a museum which might open on the treasures of past ages; and this trust in his mental wealth was all the deeper and more effective on her inclination because it was now obvious that his visits were made for her sake. This accomplished man condescended to think of a young girl, and take the pains to talk to her, not with absurd compliment, but with an appeal to her understanding, and sometimes with instructive correction. What delightful companionship! Mr. Casaubon seemed even unconscious that trivialities existed, and never handed round that small-talk of heavy men which is as acceptable as stale bride-cake brought forth with an odor of cupboard. He talked of what he was interested in, or else he was silent and bowed with sad civility. To Dorothea this was adorable genuineness, and religious abstinence from that artificiality which uses up the soul in the efforts of pretence. For she looked as reverently at Mr. Casaubon's religious elevation above herself as she did at his intellect and learning. He assented to her expressions of devout feeling, and usually with an appropriate quotation; he allowed himself to say that he had gone through some spiritual conflicts in his youth; in short, Dorothea saw that here she might reckon on understanding, sympathy, and guidance. On one—only one—of her favorite themes she was disappointed. Mr. Casaubon apparently did not care about building cottages, and diverted the talk to the extremely narrow accommodation which was to be had in the dwellings of the ancient Egyptians, as if to check a too high standard. After he was gone, Dorothea dwelt with some agitation on this indifference of his; and her mind was much exercised with arguments drawn from the varying conditions of climate which modify human needs, and from the admitted wickedness of pagan despots. Should she not urge these arguments on Mr. Casaubon when he came again? But further reflection told her that she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such a subject; he would not disapprove of her occupying herself with it in leisure moments, as other women expected to occupy themselves with their dress and embroidery—would not forbid it when—Dorothea felt rather ashamed as she detected herself in these speculations. But her uncle had been invited to go to Lowick to stay a couple of days: was it reasonable to suppose that Mr. Casaubon delighted in Mr. Brooke's society for its own sake, either with or without documents?\nMeanwhile that little disappointment made her delight the more in Sir James Chettam's readiness to set on foot the desired improvements. He came much oftener than Mr. Casaubon, and Dorothea ceased to find him disagreeable since he showed himself so entirely in earnest; for he had already entered with much practical ability into Lovegood's estimates, and was charmingly docile. She proposed to build a couple of cottages, and transfer two families from their old cabins, which could then be pulled down, so that new ones could be built on the old sites. Sir James said \"Exactly,\" and she bore the word remarkably well.\nCertainly these men who had so few spontaneous ideas might be very useful members of society under good feminine direction, if they were fortunate in choosing their sisters-in-law! It is difficult to say whether there was or was not a little wilfulness in her continuing blind to the possibility that another sort of choice was in question in relation to her. But her life was just now full of hope and action: she was not only thinking of her plans, but getting down learned books from the library and reading many things hastily (that she might be a little less ignorant in talking to Mr. Casaubon), all the while being visited with conscientious questionings whether she were not exalting these poor doings above measure and contemplating them with that self-satisfaction which was the last doom of ignorance and folly.", "chosen": "folly", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nfolly\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-004-03-e0870724", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThey reached the church at last and set the coffin in the middle of it. The boys surrounded it and remained reverently standing so, all through the service. It was an old and rather poor church; many of the ikons were without settings; but such churches are the best for praying in. During the mass Snegiryov became somewhat calmer, though at times he had outbursts of the same unconscious and, as it were, incoherent anxiety. At one moment he went up to the coffin to set straight the cover or the wreath, when a candle fell out of the candlestick he rushed to replace it and was a fearful time fumbling over it, then he subsided and stood quietly by the coffin with a look of blank uneasiness and perplexity. After the Epistle he suddenly whispered to Alyosha, who was standing beside him, that the Epistle had not been read properly but did not explain what he meant. During the prayer, \"Like the Cherubim,\" he joined in the singing but did not go on to the end. Falling on his knees, he pressed his forehead to the stone floor and lay so for a long while.\nAt last came the funeral service itself and candles were distributed. The distracted father began fussing about again, but the touching and impressive funeral prayers moved and roused his soul. He seemed suddenly to shrink together and broke into rapid, short sobs, which he tried at first to smother, but at last he sobbed aloud. When they began taking leave of the dead and closing the coffin, he flung his arms about, as though he would not allow them to cover Ilusha, and began greedily and persistently kissing his dead boy on the lips. At last they succeeded in persuading him to come away from the step, but suddenly he impulsively stretched out his hand and snatched a few flowers from the coffin. He looked at them and a new idea seemed to dawn upon him, so that he apparently forgot his grief for a minute. Gradually he seemed to sink into brooding and did not resist when the coffin was lifted up and carried to the grave. It was an expensive one in the churchyard close to the church, Katerina Ivanovna had paid for it. After the customary rites the grave-diggers lowered the coffin. Snegiryov with his flowers in his hands bent down so low over the open grave that the boys caught hold of his coat in alarm and pulled him back. He did not seem to understand fully what was happening. When they began filling up the grave, he suddenly pointed anxiously at the falling earth and began trying to say something, but no one could make out what he meant, and he stopped suddenly. Then he was reminded that he must crumble the bread and he was awfully excited, snatched up the bread and began pulling it to pieces and flinging the morsels on the grave.\n\"Come, fly down, birds, fly down, sparrows!\" he muttered anxiously.\nOne of the boys observed that it was awkward for him to crumble the bread with the flowers in his hands and suggested he should give them to some one to hold for a time. But he would not do this and seemed indeed suddenly alarmed for his flowers, as though they wanted to take them from him altogether. And after looking at the grave, and as it were, satisfying himself that everything had been done and the bread had been crumbled, he suddenly, to the surprise of every one, turned, quite composedly even, and made his way homewards. But his steps became more and more hurried, he almost ran. The boys and Alyosha kept up with him.\n\"The flowers are for mamma, the flowers are for mamma! I was unkind to mamma,\" he began exclaiming suddenly.\nSome one called to him to put on his hat as it was cold. But he flung the hat in the snow as though he were angry and kept repeating, \"I won't have the hat, I won't have the hat.\" Smurov picked it up and carried it after him. All the boys were crying, and Kolya and the boy who discovered about Troy most of all. Though Smurov, with the captain's hat in his hand, was crying bitterly too, he managed, as he ran, to snatch up a piece of red brick that lay on the snow of the path, to fling it at the flock of sparrows that was flying by. He missed them, of course, and went on crying as he ran. Half-way, Snegiryov suddenly stopped, stood still for half a minute, as though struck by something, and suddenly turning back to the church, ran towards the deserted grave. But the boys instantly overtook him and caught hold of him on all sides. Then he fell helpless on the snow as though he had been knocked down, and struggling, sobbing, and wailing, he began crying out, \"Ilusha, old man, dear old man!\" Alyosha and Kolya tried to make him get up, soothing and persuading him.\n\"Captain, give over, a brave man must show fortitude,\" muttered Kolya.\n\"You'll spoil the flowers,\" said Alyosha, \"and mamma is expecting them, she is sitting crying because you would not give her any before. Ilusha's little bed is still there—\"\n\"Yes, yes, mamma!\" Snegiryov suddenly recollected, \"they'll take away the bed, they'll take it away,\" he added as though alarmed that they really would. He jumped up and ran homewards again. But it was not far off and they all arrived together. Snegiryov opened the door hurriedly and called to his wife with whom he had so cruelly quarreled just before:\n\"Mamma, poor crippled darling, Ilusha has sent you these flowers,\" he cried, holding out to her a little bunch of flowers that had been frozen and broken while he was struggling in the snow. But at that instant he saw in the corner, by the little bed, Ilusha's little boots, which the landlady had put tidily side by side. Seeing the old, patched, rusty-looking, stiff boots he flung up his hands and rushed to them, fell on his knees, snatched up one boot and, pressing his lips to it, began kissing it greedily, crying, \"Ilusha, old man, dear old man, where are your little feet?\"\n\"Where have you taken him away? Where have you taken him?\" the lunatic cried in a heartrending voice. Nina, too, broke into sobs. Kolya ran out of the room, the boys followed him. At last Alyosha too went out.\n\"Let them weep,\" he said to Kolya, \"it's no use trying to comfort them just now. Let us wait a minute and then go back.\"\n\"No, it's no use, it's awful,\" Kolya assented. \"Do you know, Karamazov,\" he dropped his voice so that no one could hear them, \"I feel dreadfully sad, and if it were only possible to bring him back, I'd give anything in the world to do it.\"\n\"Ah, so would I,\" said Alyosha.\n\"What do you think, Karamazov? Had we better come back here to-night? He'll be drunk, you know.\"\n\"Perhaps he will. Let us come together, you and I, that will be enough, to spend an hour with them, with the mother and Nina. If we all come together we shall remind them of everything again,\" Alyosha suggested.\n\"The landlady is laying the table for them now—there'll be a funeral dinner or something, the priest is coming; shall we go back to it, Karamazov?\"\n\"Of course,\" said Alyosha.\n\"It's all so strange, Karamazov, such sorrow and then pancakes after it, it all seems so unnatural in our religion.\"\n\"They are going to have salmon, too,\" the boy who had discovered about Troy observed in a loud voice.\n\"I beg you most earnestly, Kartashov, not to interrupt again with your idiotic remarks, especially when one is not talking to you and doesn't care to know whether you exist or not!\" Kolya snapped out irritably. The boy flushed crimson but did not dare to reply.\nMeantime they were strolling slowly along the path and suddenly Smurov exclaimed:\n\"There's Ilusha's stone, under which they wanted to bury him.\"", "chosen": "[\"Snegiryov\", \"Epistle\", \"Alyosha\", \"Like\", \"Cherubim\", \"Ilusha\", \"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Come\", \"Smurov\", \"Kolya\", \"Troy\", \"Mamma\", \"Where\", \"Let\", \"Karamazov\", \"Perhaps\", \"Nina\", \"Kartashov\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Snegiryov\", \"Epistle\", \"Alyosha\", \"Like\", \"Cherubim\", \"Ilusha\", \"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Come\", \"Smurov\", \"Kolya\", \"Troy\", \"Mamma\", \"Where\", \"Let\", \"Karamazov\", \"Perhaps\", \"Nina\", \"Kartashov\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-094-01-5fb33b5a", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"You said, according to him, that he would be one of those ridiculous clergymen who help to make the whole clergy ridiculous. Really, that was so cutting that I felt a little cut myself.\"\nCaleb laughed. \"She gets her tongue from you, Susan,\" he said, with some enjoyment.\n\"Not its flippancy, father,\" said Mary, quickly, fearing that her mother would be displeased. \"It is rather too bad of Fred to repeat my flippant speeches to Mr. Farebrother.\"\n\"It was certainly a hasty speech, my dear,\" said Mrs. Garth, with whom speaking evil of dignities was a high misdemeanor. \"We should not value our Vicar the less because there was a ridiculous curate in the next parish.\"\n\"There's something in what she says, though,\" said Caleb, not disposed to have Mary's sharpness undervalued. \"A bad workman of any sort makes his fellows mistrusted. Things hang together,\" he added, looking on the floor and moving his feet uneasily with a sense that words were scantier than thoughts.\n\"Clearly,\" said the Vicar, amused. \"By being contemptible we set men's minds to the tune of contempt. I certainly agree with Miss Garth's view of the matter, whether I am condemned by it or not. But as to Fred Vincy, it is only fair he should be excused a little: old Featherstone's delusive behavior did help to spoil him. There was something quite diabolical in not leaving him a farthing after all. But Fred has the good taste not to dwell on that. And what he cares most about is having offended you, Mrs. Garth; he supposes you will never think well of him again.\"\n\"I have been disappointed in Fred,\" said Mrs. Garth, with decision. \"But I shall be ready to think well of him again when he gives me good reason to do so.\"\nAt this point Mary went out of the room, taking Letty with her.\n\"Oh, we must forgive young people when they're sorry,\" said Caleb, watching Mary close the door. \"And as you say, Mr. Farebrother, there was the very devil in that old man. Now Mary's gone out, I must tell you a thing—it's only known to Susan and me, and you'll not tell it again. The old scoundrel wanted Mary to burn one of the wills the very night he died, when she was sitting up with him by herself, and he offered her a sum of money that he had in the box by him if she would do it. But Mary, you understand, could do no such thing—would not be handling his iron chest, and so on. Now, you see, the will he wanted burnt was this last, so that if Mary had done what he wanted, Fred Vincy would have had ten thousand pounds. The old man did turn to him at the last. That touches poor Mary close; she couldn't help it—she was in the right to do what she did, but she feels, as she says, much as if she had knocked down somebody's property and broken it against her will, when she was rightfully defending herself. I feel with her, somehow, and if I could make any amends to the poor lad, instead of bearing him a grudge for the harm he did us, I should be glad to do it. Now, what is your opinion, sir? Susan doesn't agree with me; she says—tell what you say, Susan.\"\n\"Mary could not have acted otherwise, even if she had known what would be the effect on Fred,\" said Mrs. Garth, pausing from her work, and looking at Mr. Farebrother.\n\"And she was quite ignorant of it. It seems to me, a loss which falls on another because we have done right is not to lie upon our conscience.\"\nThe Vicar did not answer immediately, and Caleb said, \"It's the feeling. The child feels in that way, and I feel with her. You don't mean your horse to tread on a dog when you're backing out of the way; but it goes through you, when it's done.\"\n\"I am sure Mrs. Garth would agree with you there,\" said Mr. Farebrother, who for some reason seemed more inclined to ruminate than to speak. \"One could hardly say that the feeling you mention about Fred is wrong—or rather, mistaken—though no man ought to make a claim on such feeling.\"\n\"Well, well,\" said Caleb, \"it's a secret. You will not tell Fred.\"\n\"Certainly not. But I shall carry the other good news—that you can afford the loss he caused you.\"\nMr. Farebrother left the house soon after, and seeing Mary in the orchard with Letty, went to say good-by to her. They made a pretty picture in the western light which brought out the brightness of the apples on the old scant-leaved boughs—Mary in her lavender gingham and black ribbons holding a basket, while Letty in her well-worn nankin picked up the fallen apples. If you want to know more particularly how Mary looked, ten to one you will see a face like hers in the crowded street to-morrow, if you are there on the watch: she will not be among those daughters of Zion who are haughty, and walk with stretched-out necks and wanton eyes, mincing as they go: let all those pass, and fix your eyes on some small plump brownish person of firm but quiet carriage, who looks about her, but does not suppose that anybody is looking at her. If she has a broad face and square brow, well-marked eyebrows and curly dark hair, a certain expression of amusement in her glance which her mouth keeps the secret of, and for the rest features entirely insignificant—take that ordinary but not disagreeable person for a portrait of Mary Garth. If you made her smile, she would show you perfect little teeth; if you made her angry, she would not raise her voice, but would probably say one of the bitterest things you have ever tasted the flavor of; if you did her a kindness, she would never forget it. Mary admired the keen-faced handsome little Vicar in his well-brushed threadbare clothes more than any man she had had the opportunity of knowing. She had never heard him say a foolish thing, though she knew that he did unwise ones; and perhaps foolish sayings were more objectionable to her than any of Mr. Farebrother's unwise doings. At least, it was remarkable that the actual imperfections of the Vicar's clerical character never seemed to call forth the same scorn and dislike which she showed beforehand for the predicted imperfections of the clerical character sustained by Fred Vincy. These irregularities of judgment, I imagine, are found even in riper minds than Mary Garth's: our impartiality is kept for abstract merit and demerit, which none of us ever saw. Will any one guess towards which of those widely different men Mary had the peculiar woman's tenderness?—the one she was most inclined to be severe on, or the contrary?\n\"Have you any message for your old playfellow, Miss Garth?\" said the Vicar, as he took a fragrant apple from the basket which she held towards him, and put it in his pocket. \"Something to soften down that harsh judgment? I am going straight to see him.\"\n\"No,\" said Mary, shaking her head, and smiling. \"If I were to say that he would not be ridiculous as a clergyman, I must say that he would be something worse than ridiculous. But I am very glad to hear that he is going away to work.\"\n\"On the other hand, I am very glad to hear that you are not going away to work. My mother, I am sure, will be all the happier if you will come to see her at the vicarage: you know she is fond of having young people to talk to, and she has a great deal to tell about old times. You will really be doing a kindness.\"\n\"I should like it very much, if I may,\" said Mary. \"Everything seems too happy for me all at once. I thought it would always be part of my life to long for home, and losing that grievance makes me feel rather empty: I suppose it served instead of sense to fill up my mind?\"", "chosen": "You, Really,, She, Not, It, Farebrother.\", Garth,, We, A, Things, Clearly,\", By, I, But, There, But, And, Garth;, Garth,, But, Oh,, And, Farebrother,, Now, The, But, Now,, The, That, I, Now,, Susan, Garth,, Farebrother., And, It, The, You, Garth, Farebrother,, One, You, But, Farebrother, They, If, If, If, Mary, She, Farebrother's, At, These, Will, Have, Something, I, If, But, My, You, Everything, I", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nYou, Really,, She, Not, It, Farebrother.\", Garth,, We, A, Things, Clearly,\", By, I, But, There, But, And, Garth;, Garth,, But, Oh,, And, Farebrother,, Now, The, But, Now,, The, That, I, Now,, Susan, Garth,, Farebrother., And, It, The, You, Garth, Farebrother,, One, You, But, Farebrother, They, If, If, If, Mary, She, Farebrother's, At, These, Will, Have, Something, I, If, But, My, You, Everything, I\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-040-02-26e477b3", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nIn a kind of ante-cabin, a number of respectable looking people, male and female, way-passengers, recently come on board, are listlessly sitting in a mutually shy sort of silence.\nHolding up a small, square bottle, ovally labeled with the engraving of a countenance full of soft pity as that of the Romish-painted Madonna, the herb-doctor passes slowly among them, benignly urbane, turning this way and that, saying:--\n\"Ladies and gentlemen, I hold in my hand here the Samaritan Pain Dissuader, thrice-blessed discovery of that disinterested friend of humanity whose portrait you see. Pure vegetable extract. Warranted to remove the acutest pain within less than ten minutes. Five hundred dollars to be forfeited on failure. Especially efficacious in heart disease and tic-douloureux. Observe the expression of this pledged friend of humanity.--Price only fifty cents.\"\nIn vain. After the first idle stare, his auditors--in pretty good health, it seemed--instead of encouraging his politeness, appeared, if anything, impatient of it; and, perhaps, only diffidence, or some small regard for his feelings, prevented them from telling him so. But, insensible to their coldness, or charitably overlooking it, he more wooingly than ever resumed: \"May I venture upon a small supposition? Have I your kind leave, ladies and gentlemen?\"\nTo which modest appeal, no one had the kindness to answer a syllable.\n\"Well,\" said he, resignedly, \"silence is at least not denial, and may be consent. My supposition is this: possibly some lady, here present, has a dear friend at home, a bed-ridden sufferer from spinal complaint. If so, what gift more appropriate to that sufferer than this tasteful little bottle of Pain Dissuader?\"\nAgain he glanced about him, but met much the same reception as before. Those faces, alien alike to sympathy or surprise, seemed patiently to say, \"We are travelers; and, as such, must expect to meet, and quietly put up with, many antic fools, and more antic quacks.\"\n\"Ladies and gentlemen,\" (deferentially fixing his eyes upon their now self-complacent faces) \"ladies and gentlemen, might I, by your kind leave, venture upon one other small supposition? It is this: that there is scarce a sufferer, this noonday, writhing on his bed, but in his hour he sat satisfactorily healthy and happy; that the Samaritan Pain Dissuader is the one only balm for that to which each living creature--who knows?--may be a draughted victim, present or prospective. In short:--Oh, Happiness on my right hand, and oh, Security on my left, can ye wisely adore a Providence, and not think it wisdom to provide?--Provide!\" (Uplifting the bottle.)\nWhat immediate effect, if any, this appeal might have had, is uncertain. For just then the boat touched at a houseless landing, scooped, as by a land-slide, out of sombre forests; back through which led a road, the sole one, which, from its narrowness, and its being walled up with story on story of dusk, matted foliage, presented the vista of some cavernous old gorge in a city, like haunted Cock Lane in London. Issuing from that road, and crossing that landing, there stooped his shaggy form in the door-way, and entered the ante-cabin, with a step so burdensome that shot seemed in his pockets, a kind of invalid Titan in homespun; his beard blackly pendant, like the Carolina-moss, and dank with cypress dew; his countenance tawny and shadowy as an iron-ore country in a clouded day. In one hand he carried a heavy walking-stick of swamp-oak; with the other, led a puny girl, walking in moccasins, not improbably his child, but evidently of alien maternity, perhaps Creole, or even Camanche. Her eye would have been large for a woman, and was inky as the pools of falls among mountain-pines. An Indian blanket, orange-hued, and fringed with lead tassel-work, appeared that morning to have shielded the child from heavy showers. Her limbs were tremulous; she seemed a little Cassandra, in nervousness.\nNo sooner was the pair spied by the herb-doctor, than with a cheerful air, both arms extended like a host's, he advanced, and taking the child's reluctant hand, said, trippingly: \"On your travels, ah, my little May Queen? Glad to see you. What pretty moccasins. Nice to dance in.\" Then with a half caper sang--\n\"'Hey diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle; The cow jumped over the moon.'\nCome, chirrup, chirrup, my little robin!\"\nWhich playful welcome drew no responsive playfulness from the child, nor appeared to gladden or conciliate the father; but rather, if anything, to dash the dead weight of his heavy-hearted expression with a smile hypochondriacally scornful.\nSobering down now, the herb-doctor addressed the stranger in a manly, business-like way--a transition which, though it might seem a little abrupt, did not appear constrained, and, indeed, served to show that his recent levity was less the habit of a frivolous nature, than the frolic condescension of a kindly heart.\n\"Excuse me,\" said he, \"but, if I err not, I was speaking to you the other day;--on a Kentucky boat, wasn't it?\"\n\"Never to me,\" was the reply; the voice deep and lonesome enough to have come from the bottom of an abandoned coal-shaft.\n\"Ah!--But am I again mistaken, (his eye falling on the swamp-oak stick,) or don't you go a little lame, sir?\"\n\"Never was lame in my life.\"\n\"Indeed? I fancied I had perceived not a limp, but a hitch, a slight hitch;--some experience in these things--divined some hidden cause of the hitch--buried bullet, may be--some dragoons in the Mexican war discharged with such, you know.--Hard fate!\" he sighed, \"little pity for it, for who sees it?--have you dropped anything?\"\nWhy, there is no telling, but the stranger was bowed over, and might have seemed bowing for the purpose of picking up something, were it not that, as arrested in the imperfect posture, he for the moment so remained; slanting his tall stature like a mainmast yielding to the gale, or Adam to the thunder.\nThe little child pulled him. With a kind of a surge he righted himself, for an instant looked toward the herb-doctor; but, either from emotion or aversion, or both together, withdrew his eyes, saying nothing. Presently, still stooping, he seated himself, drawing his child between his knees, his massy hands tremulous, and still averting his face, while up into the compassionate one of the herb-doctor the child turned a fixed, melancholy glance of repugnance.\nThe herb-doctor stood observant a moment, then said:\n\"Surely you have pain, strong pain, somewhere; in strong frames pain is strongest. Try, now, my specific,\" (holding it up). \"Do but look at the expression of this friend of humanity. Trust me, certain cure for any pain in the world. Won't you look?\"\n\"No,\" choked the other.\n\"Very good. Merry time to you, little May Queen.\"\nAnd so, as if he would intrude his cure upon no one, moved pleasantly off, again crying his wares, nor now at last without result. A new-comer, not from the shore, but another part of the boat, a sickly young man, after some questions, purchased a bottle. Upon this, others of the company began a little to wake up as it were; the scales of indifference or prejudice fell from their eyes; now, at last, they seemed to have an inkling that here was something not undesirable which might be had for the buying.\nBut while, ten times more briskly bland than ever, the herb-doctor was driving his benevolent trade, accompanying each sale with added praises of the thing traded, all at once the dusk giant, seated at some distance, unexpectedly raised his voice with--\n\"What was that you last said?\"\nThe question was put distinctly, yet resonantly, as when a great clock-bell--stunning admonisher--strikes one; and the stroke, though single, comes bedded in the belfry clamor.\nAll proceedings were suspended. Hands held forth for the specific were withdrawn, while every eye turned towards the direction whence the question came. But, no way abashed, the herb-doctor, elevating his voice with even more than wonted self-possession, replied--\n\"I was saying what, since you wish it, I cheerfully repeat, that the Samaritan Pain Dissuader, which I here hold in my hand, will either cure or ease any pain you please, within ten minutes after its application.\"\n\"Does it produce insensibility?\"\n\"By no means. Not the least of its merits is, that it is not an opiate. It kills pain without killing feeling.\"", "chosen": "48", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n48\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-21816-017-00-97a28ecd", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"'Praise be unto the press, not Faust's, but Noah's; let us extol and magnify the press, the true press of Noah, from which breaketh the true morning. Praise be unto the press, not the black press but the red; let us extol and magnify the press, the red press of Noah, from which cometh inspiration. Ye pressmen of the Rhineland and the Rhine, join in with all ye who tread out the glad tidings on isle Madeira or Mitylene.--Who giveth redness of eyes by making men long to tarry at the fine print?--Praise be unto the press, the rosy press of Noah, which giveth rosiness of hearts, by making men long to tarry at the rosy wine.--Who hath babblings and contentions? Who, without cause, inflicteth wounds? Praise be unto the press, the kindly press of Noah, which knitteth friends, which fuseth foes.--Who may be bribed?--Who may be bound?--Praise be unto the press, the free press of Noah, which will not lie for tyrants, but make tyrants speak the truth.--Then praise be unto the press, the frank old press of Noah; then let us extol and magnify the press, the brave old press of Noah; then let us with roses garland and enwreath the press, the grand old press of Noah, from which flow streams of knowledge which give man a bliss no more unreal than his pain.'\"\n\"You deceived me,\" smiled the cosmopolitan, as both now resumed their seats; \"you roguishly took advantage of my simplicity; you archly played upon my enthusiasm. But never mind; the offense, if any, was so charming, I almost wish you would offend again. As for certain poetic left-handers in your panegyric, those I cheerfully concede to the indefinite privileges of the poet. Upon the whole, it was quite in the lyric style--a style I always admire on account of that spirit of Sibyllic confidence and assurance which is, perhaps, its prime ingredient. But come,\" glancing at his companion's glass, \"for a lyrist, you let the bottle stay with you too long.\"\n\"The lyre and the vine forever!\" cried the other in his rapture, or what seemed such, heedless of the hint, \"the vine, the vine! is it not the most graceful and bounteous of all growths? And, by its being such, is not something meant--divinely meant? As I live, a vine, a Catawba vine, shall be planted on my grave!\"\n\"A genial thought; but your glass there.\"\n\"Oh, oh,\" taking a moderate sip, \"but you, why don't you drink?\"\n\"You have forgotten, my dear Charlie, what I told you of my previous convivialities to-day.\"\n\"Oh,\" cried the other, now in manner quite abandoned to the lyric mood, not without contrast to the easy sociability of his companion. \"Oh, one can't drink too much of good old wine--the genuine, mellow old port. Pooh, pooh! drink away.\"\n\"Then keep me company.\"\n\"Of course,\" with a flourish, taking another sip--\"suppose we have cigars. Never mind your pipe there; a pipe is best when alone. I say, waiter, bring some cigars--your best.\"\nThey were brought in a pretty little bit of western pottery, representing some kind of Indian utensil, mummy-colored, set down in a mass of tobacco leaves, whose long, green fans, fancifully grouped, formed with peeps of red the sides of the receptacle.\nAccompanying it were two accessories, also bits of pottery, but smaller, both globes; one in guise of an apple flushed with red and gold to the life, and, through a cleft at top, you saw it was hollow. This was for the ashes. The other, gray, with wrinkled surface, in the likeness of a wasp's nest, was the match-box. \"There,\" said the stranger, pushing over the cigar-stand, \"help yourself, and I will touch you off,\" taking a match. \"Nothing like tobacco,\" he added, when the fumes of the cigar began to wreathe, glancing from the smoker to the pottery, \"I will have a Virginia tobacco-plant set over my grave beside the Catawba vine.\"\n\"Improvement upon your first idea, which by itself was good--but you don't smoke.\"\n\"Presently, presently--let me fill your glass again. You don't drink.\"\n\"Thank you; but no more just now. Fill your glass.\"\n\"Presently, presently; do you drink on. Never mind me. Now that it strikes me, let me say, that he who, out of superfine gentility or fanatic morality, denies himself tobacco, suffers a more serious abatement in the cheap pleasures of life than the dandy in his iron boot, or the celibate on his iron cot. While for him who would fain revel in tobacco, but cannot, it is a thing at which philanthropists must weep, to see such an one, again and again, madly returning to the cigar, which, for his incompetent stomach, he cannot enjoy, while still, after each shameful repulse, the sweet dream of the impossible good goads him on to his fierce misery once more--poor eunuch!\"\n\"I agree with you,\" said the cosmopolitan, still gravely social, \"but you don't smoke.\"\n\"Presently, presently, do you smoke on. As I was saying about----\"\n\"But why don't you smoke--come. You don't think that tobacco, when in league with wine, too much enhances the latter's vinous quality--in short, with certain constitutions tends to impair self-possession, do you?\"\n\"To think that, were treason to good fellowship,\" was the warm disclaimer. \"No, no. But the fact is, there is an unpropitious flavor in my mouth just now. Ate of a diabolical ragout at dinner, so I shan't smoke till I have washed away the lingering memento of it with wine. But smoke away, you, and pray, don't forget to drink. By-the-way, while we sit here so companionably, giving loose to any companionable nothing, your uncompanionable friend, Coonskins, is, by pure contrast, brought to recollection. If he were but here now, he would see how much of real heart-joy he denies himself by not hob-a-nobbing with his kind.\"\n\"Why,\" with loitering emphasis, slowly withdrawing his cigar, \"I thought I had undeceived you there. I thought you had come to a better understanding of my eccentric friend.\"\n\"Well, I thought so, too; but first impressions will return, you know. In truth, now that I think of it, I am led to conjecture from chance things which dropped from Coonskins, during the little interview I had with him, that he is not a Missourian by birth, but years ago came West here, a young misanthrope from the other side of the Alleghanies, less to make his fortune, than to flee man. Now, since they say trifles sometimes effect great results, I shouldn't wonder, if his history were probed, it would be found that what first indirectly gave his sad bias to Coonskins was his disgust at reading in boyhood the advice of Polonius to Laertes--advice which, in the selfishness it inculcates, is almost on a par with a sort of ballad upon the economies of money-making, to be occasionally seen pasted against the desk of small retail traders in New England.\"\n\"I do hope now, my dear fellow,\" said the cosmopolitan with an air of bland protest, \"that, in my presence at least, you will throw out nothing to the prejudice of the sons of the Puritans.\"\n\"Hey-day and high times indeed,\" exclaimed the other, nettled, \"sons of the Puritans forsooth! And who be Puritans, that I, an Alabamaian, must do them reverence? A set of sourly conceited old Malvolios, whom Shakespeare laughs his fill at in his comedies.\"\n\"Pray, what were you about to suggest with regard to Polonius,\" observed the cosmopolitan with quiet forbearance, expressive of the patience of a superior mind at the petulance of an inferior one; \"how do you characterize his advice to Laertes?\"\n\"As false, fatal, and calumnious,\" exclaimed the other, with a degree of ardor befitting one resenting a stigma upon the family escutcheon, \"and for a father to give his son--monstrous. The case you see is this: The son is going abroad, and for the first. What does the father? Invoke God's blessing upon him? Put the blessed Bible in his trunk? No. Crams him with maxims smacking of my Lord Chesterfield, with maxims of France, with maxims of Italy.\"\n\"No, no, be charitable, not that. Why, does he not among other things say:--\n'The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel'?\nIs that compatible with maxims of Italy?\"", "chosen": "Now, since they say trifles sometimes effect great results, I shouldn't wonder, if his history were probed, it would be found that what first indirectly gave his sad bias to Coonskins was his disgust at reading in boyhood the advice of Polonius to Laertes--advice which, in the selfishness it inculcates, is almost on a par with a sort of ballad upon the economies of money-making, to be occasionally seen pasted against the desk of small retail traders in New England.\"\n\"I do hope now, my dear fellow,\" said the cosmopolitan with an air of bland protest, \"that, in my presence at least, you will throw out nothing to the prejudice of the sons of the Puritans.\"\n\"Hey-day and high times indeed,\" exclaimed the other, nettled, \"sons of the Puritans forsooth!", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nNow, since they say trifles sometimes effect great results, I shouldn't wonder, if his history were probed, it would be found that what first indirectly gave his sad bias to Coonskins was his disgust at reading in boyhood the advice of Polonius to Laertes--advice which, in the selfishness it inculcates, is almost on a par with a sort of ballad upon the economies of money-making, to be occasionally seen pasted against the desk of small retail traders in New England.\"\n\"I do hope now, my dear fellow,\" said the cosmopolitan with an air of bland protest, \"that, in my presence at least, you will throw out nothing to the prejudice of the sons of the Puritans.\"\n\"Hey-day and high times indeed,\" exclaimed the other, nettled, \"sons of the Puritans forsooth!\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21816-029-00-fc8c3625", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Ah! most gracious Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, where is that emigrant? I cry in my sleep where is he? I demand of Heaven, will he not come to deliver me? No answer. Ah Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I send my desolate cry across the sea, hoping it may perhaps reach your ears through the great bank of Tilson known at Paris!\n\"For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name, I supplicate you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, to succour and release me. My fault is, that I have been true to you. Oh Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I pray you be you true to me!\n\"From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer and nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.\n\"Your afflicted,\n\"Gabelle.\"\nThe latent uneasiness in Darnay's mind was roused to vigourous life by this letter. The peril of an old servant and a good one, whose only crime was fidelity to himself and his family, stared him so reproachfully in the face, that, as he walked to and fro in the Temple considering what to do, he almost hid his face from the passersby.\nHe knew very well, that in his horror of the deed which had culminated the bad deeds and bad reputation of the old family house, in his resentful suspicions of his uncle, and in the aversion with which his conscience regarded the crumbling fabric that he was supposed to uphold, he had acted imperfectly. He knew very well, that in his love for Lucie, his renunciation of his social place, though by no means new to his own mind, had been hurried and incomplete. He knew that he ought to have systematically worked it out and supervised it, and that he had meant to do it, and that it had never been done.\nThe happiness of his own chosen English home, the necessity of being always actively employed, the swift changes and troubles of the time which had followed on one another so fast, that the events of this week annihilated the immature plans of last week, and the events of the week following made all new again; he knew very well, that to the force of these circumstances he had yielded:--not without disquiet, but still without continuous and accumulating resistance. That he had watched the times for a time of action, and that they had shifted and struggled until the time had gone by, and the nobility were trooping from France by every highway and byway, and their property was in course of confiscation and destruction, and their very names were blotting out, was as well known to himself as it could be to any new authority in France that might impeach him for it.\nBut, he had oppressed no man, he had imprisoned no man; he was so far from having harshly exacted payment of his dues, that he had relinquished them of his own will, thrown himself on a world with no favour in it, won his own private place there, and earned his own bread. Monsieur Gabelle had held the impoverished and involved estate on written instructions, to spare the people, to give them what little there was to give--such fuel as the heavy creditors would let them have in the winter, and such produce as could be saved from the same grip in the summer--and no doubt he had put the fact in plea and proof, for his own safety, so that it could not but appear now.\nThis favoured the desperate resolution Charles Darnay had begun to make, that he would go to Paris.\nYes. Like the mariner in the old story, the winds and streams had driven him within the influence of the Loadstone Rock, and it was drawing him to itself, and he must go. Everything that arose before his mind drifted him on, faster and faster, more and more steadily, to the terrible attraction. His latent uneasiness had been, that bad aims were being worked out in his own unhappy land by bad instruments, and that he who could not fail to know that he was better than they, was not there, trying to do something to stay bloodshed, and assert the claims of mercy and humanity. With this uneasiness half stifled, and half reproaching him, he had been brought to the pointed comparison of himself with the brave old gentleman in whom duty was so strong; upon that comparison (injurious to himself) had instantly followed the sneers of Monseigneur, which had stung him bitterly, and those of Stryver, which above all were coarse and galling, for old reasons. Upon those, had followed Gabelle's letter: the appeal of an innocent prisoner, in danger of death, to his justice, honour, and good name.\nHis resolution was made. He must go to Paris.\nYes. The Loadstone Rock was drawing him, and he must sail on, until he struck. He knew of no rock; he saw hardly any danger. The intention with which he had done what he had done, even although he had left it incomplete, presented it before him in an aspect that would be gratefully acknowledged in France on his presenting himself to assert it. Then, that glorious vision of doing good, which is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds, arose before him, and he even saw himself in the illusion with some influence to guide this raging Revolution that was running so fearfully wild.\nAs he walked to and fro with his resolution made, he considered that neither Lucie nor her father must know of it until he was gone. Lucie should be spared the pain of separation; and her father, always reluctant to turn his thoughts towards the dangerous ground of old, should come to the knowledge of the step, as a step taken, and not in the balance of suspense and doubt. How much of the incompleteness of his situation was referable to her father, through the painful anxiety to avoid reviving old associations of France in his mind, he did not discuss with himself. But, that circumstance too, had had its influence in his course.\nHe walked to and fro, with thoughts very busy, until it was time to return to Tellson's and take leave of Mr. Lorry. As soon as he arrived in Paris he would present himself to this old friend, but he must say nothing of his intention now.\nA carriage with post-horses was ready at the Bank door, and Jerry was booted and equipped.\n\"I have delivered that letter,\" said Charles Darnay to Mr. Lorry. \"I would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal one?\"\n\"That I will, and readily,\" said Mr. Lorry, \"if it is not dangerous.\"\n\"Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.\"\n\"What is his name?\" said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in his hand.\n\"Gabelle.\"\n\"Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?\"\n\"Simply, 'that he has received the letter, and will come.'\"\n\"Any time mentioned?\"\n\"He will start upon his journey to-morrow night.\"\n\"Any person mentioned?\"\n\"No.\"\nHe helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks, and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, into the misty air of Fleet-street. \"My love to Lucie, and to little Lucie,\" said Mr. Lorry at parting, \"and take precious care of them till I come back.\" Charles Darnay shook his head and doubtfully smiled, as the carriage rolled away.\nThat night--it was the fourteenth of August--he sat up late, and wrote two fervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the strong obligation he was under to go to Paris, and showing her, at length, the reasons that he had, for feeling confident that he could become involved in no personal danger there; the other was to the Doctor, confiding Lucie and their dear child to his care, and dwelling on the same topics with the strongest assurances. To both, he wrote that he would despatch letters in proof of his safety, immediately after his arrival.", "chosen": "[\"From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer and nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.\\n\", \"Gabelle.\", \"I have delivered that letter,\", \"I would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal one?\", \"That I will, and readily,\", \"if it is not dangerous.\", \"Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.\", \"What is his name?\", \"Gabelle.\", \"Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?\", \"Simply, 'that he has received the letter, and will come.'\", \"Any time mentioned?\", \"He will start upon his journey to-morrow night.\", \"Any person mentioned?\", \"\\nHe helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks, and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, into the misty air of Fleet-street. \", \" said Mr. Lorry at parting, \"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer and nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.\\n\", \"Gabelle.\", \"I have delivered that letter,\", \"I would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal one?\", \"That I will, and readily,\", \"if it is not dangerous.\", \"Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.\", \"What is his name?\", \"Gabelle.\", \"Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?\", \"Simply, 'that he has received the letter, and will come.'\", \"Any time mentioned?\", \"He will start upon his journey to-morrow night.\", \"Any person mentioned?\", \"\\nHe helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks, and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, into the misty air of Fleet-street. \", \" said Mr. Lorry at parting, \"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-98-030-02-2afd72b8", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n'They must not find that out,' she said, in a positive voice, and looking at him. 'But supposing they do, the trick does not seem to me to be so serious as to justify that wretched, miserable, horrible look of yours. It makes my flesh creep; it is perfectly deathlike.'\nHe did not reply, and she continued, 'If they say and prove that Eunice is indeed living--and dear, you know she is--she is sure to come back.'\nThis remark seemed to awaken and irritate him to speech. Again, as he had done a hundred times during their residence together, he categorized the events connected with the fire at the Three Tranters. He dwelt on every incident of that night's history, and endeavoured, with an anxiety which was extraordinary in the apparent circumstances, to prove that his wife must, by the very nature of things, have perished in the flames. She arose from her seat, crossed the hearthrug, and set herself to soothe him; then she whispered that she was still as unbelieving as ever. 'Come, supposing she escaped--just supposing she escaped--where is she?' coaxed the lady.\n'Why are you so curious continually?' said Manston.\n'Because I am a woman and want to know. Now where is she?'\n'In the Flying Isle of San Borandan.'\n'Witty cruelty is the cruellest of any. Ah, well--if she is in England, she will come back.'\n'She is not in England.'\n'But she will come back?'\n'No, she won't.... Come, madam,' he said, arousing himself, 'I shall not answer any more questions.'\n'Ah--ah--ah--she is not dead,' the woman murmured again poutingly.\n'She is, I tell you.'\n'I don't think so, love.'\n'She was burnt, I tell you!' he exclaimed.\n'Now to please me, admit the bare possibility of her being alive--just the possibility.'\n'O yes--to please you I will admit that,' he said quickly. 'Yes, I admit the possibility of her being alive, to please you.'\nShe looked at him in utter perplexity. The words could only have been said in jest, and yet they seemed to savour of a tone the furthest remove from jesting. There was his face plain to her eyes, but no information of any kind was to be read there.\n'It is only natural that I should be curious,' she murmured pettishly, 'if I resemble her as much as you say I do.'\n'You are handsomer,' he said, 'though you are about her own height and size. But don't worry yourself. You must know that you are body and soul united with me, though you are but my housekeeper.'\nShe bridled a little at the remark. 'Wife,' she said, 'most certainly wife, since you cannot dismiss me without losing your character and position, and incurring heavy penalties.'\n'I own it--it was well said, though mistakenly--very mistakenly.'\n'Don't riddle to me about mistakenly and such dark things. Now what was your motive, dearest, in running the risk of having me here?'\n'Your beauty,' he said.\n'She thanks you much for the compliment, but will not take it. Come, what was your motive?'\n'Your wit.'\n'No, no; not my wit. Wit would have made a wife of me by this time instead of what I am.'\n'Your virtue.'\n'Or virtue either.'\n'I tell you it was your beauty--really.'\n'But I cannot help seeing and hearing, and if what people say is true, I am not nearly so good-looking as Cytherea, and several years older.'\nThe aspect of Manston's face at these words from her was so confirmatory of her hint, that his forced reply of 'O no,' tended to develop her chagrin.\n'Mere liking or love for me,' she resumed, 'would not have sprung up all of a sudden, as your pretended passion did. You had been to London several times between the time of the fire and your marriage with Cytherea--you had never visited me or thought of my existence or cared that I was out of a situation and poor. But the week after you married her and were separated from her, off you rush to make love to me--not first to me either, for you went to several places--'\n'No, not several places.'\n'Yes, you told me so yourself--that you went first to the only lodging in which your wife had been known as Mrs. Manston, and when you found that the lodging-house-keeper had gone away and died, and that nobody else in the street had any definite ideas as to your wife's personal appearance, and came and proposed the arrangement we carried out--that I should personate her. Your taking all this trouble shows that something more serious than love had to do with the matter.'\n'Humbug--what trouble after all did I take? When I found Cytherea would not stay with me after the wedding I was much put out at being left alone again. Was that unnatural?'\n'No.'\n'And those favouring accidents you mention--that nobody knew my first wife--seemed an arrangement of Providence for our mutual benefit, and merely perfected a half-formed impulse--that I should call you my first wife to escape the scandal that would have arisen if you had come here as anything else.'\n'My love, that story won't do. If Mrs. Manston was burnt, Cytherea, whom you love better than me, could have been compelled to live with you as your lawful wife. If she was not burnt, why should you run the risk of her turning up again at any moment and exposing your substitution of me, and ruining your name and prospects?'\n'Why--because I might have loved you well enough to run the risk (assuming her not to be burnt, which I deny).'\n'No--you would have run the risk the other way. You would rather have risked her finding you with Cytherea as a second wife, than with me as a personator of herself--the first one.'\n'You came easiest to hand--remember that.'\n'Not so very easy either, considering the labour you took to teach me your first wife's history. All about how she was a native of Philadelphia. Then making me read up the guide-book to Philadelphia, and details of American life and manners, in case the birthplace and history of your wife, Eunice, should ever become known in this neighbourhood--unlikely as it was. Ah! and then about the handwriting of hers that I had to imitate, and the dying my hair, and rouging, to make the transformation complete? You mean to say that that was taking less trouble than there would have been in arranging events to make Cytherea believe herself your wife, and live with you?'\n'You were a needy adventuress, who would dare anything for a new pleasure and an easy life--and I was fool enough to give in to you--'\n'Good heavens above!--did I ask you to insert those advertisements for your old wife, and to make me answer it as if I was she? Did I ask you to send me the letter for me to copy and send back to you when the third advertisement appeared--purporting to come from the long-lost wife, and giving a detailed history of her escape and subsequent life--all which you had invented yourself? You deluded me into loving you, and then enticed me here! Ah, and this is another thing. How did you know the real wife wouldn't answer it, and upset all your plans?'\n'Because I knew she was burnt.'\n'Why didn't you force Cytherea to come back, then? Now, my love, I have caught you, and you may just as well tell first as last, what was your motive in having me here as your first wife?'\n'Silence!' he exclaimed.\nShe was silent for the space of two minutes, and then persisted in going on to mutter, 'And why was it that Miss Aldclyffe allowed her favourite young lady, Cythie, to be overthrown and supplanted without an expostulation or any show of sympathy? Do you know I often think you exercise a secret power over Miss Aldclyffe. And she always shuns me as if I shared the power. A poor, ill-used creature like me sharing power, indeed!'\n'She thinks you are Mrs. Manston.'\n'That wouldn't make her avoid me.'\n'Yes it would,' he exclaimed impatiently. 'I wish I was dead--dead!' He had jumped up from his seat in uttering the words, and now walked wearily to the end of the room. Coming back more decisively, he looked in her face.", "chosen": "face", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nface\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-3044-013-03-839476c0", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nClose upon the hour of noon the whole village was suddenly electrified with the ghastly news. No need of the as yet un-dreamed-of telegraph; the tale flew from man to man, from group to group, from house to house, with little less than telegraphic speed. Of course the schoolmaster gave holiday for that afternoon; the town would have thought strangely of him if he had not.\nA gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had been recognized by somebody as belonging to Muff Potter—so the story ran. And it was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter washing himself in the \"branch\" about one or two o'clock in the morning, and that Potter had at once sneaked off—suspicious circumstances, especially the washing which was not a habit with Potter. It was also said that the town had been ransacked for this \"murderer\" (the public are not slow in the matter of sifting evidence and arriving at a verdict), but that he could not be found. Horsemen had departed down all the roads in every direction, and the Sheriff \"was confident\" that he would be captured before night.\nAll the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heartbreak vanished and he joined the procession, not because he would not a thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful, unaccountable fascination drew him on. Arrived at the dreadful place, he wormed his small body through the crowd and saw the dismal spectacle. It seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody pinched his arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's. Then both looked elsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed anything in their mutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent upon the grisly spectacle before them.\n\"Poor fellow!\" \"Poor young fellow!\" \"This ought to be a lesson to grave robbers!\" \"Muff Potter'll hang for this if they catch him!\" This was the drift of remark; and the minister said, \"It was a judgment; His hand is here.\"\nNow Tom shivered from head to heel; for his eye fell upon the stolid face of Injun Joe. At this moment the crowd began to sway and struggle, and voices shouted, \"It's him! it's him! he's coming himself!\"\n\"Who? Who?\" from twenty voices.\n\"Muff Potter!\"\n\"Hallo, he's stopped!—Look out, he's turning! Don't let him get away!\"\nPeople in the branches of the trees over Tom's head said he wasn't trying to get away—he only looked doubtful and perplexed.\n\"Infernal impudence!\" said a bystander; \"wanted to come and take a quiet look at his work, I reckon—didn't expect any company.\"\nThe crowd fell apart, now, and the Sheriff came through, ostentatiously leading Potter by the arm. The poor fellow's face was haggard, and his eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stood before the murdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his face in his hands and burst into tears.\n\"I didn't do it, friends,\" he sobbed; \"'pon my word and honor I never done it.\"\n\"Who's accused you?\" shouted a voice.\nThis shot seemed to carry home. Potter lifted his face and looked around him with a pathetic hopelessness in his eyes. He saw Injun Joe, and exclaimed:\n\"Oh, Injun Joe, you promised me you'd never—\"\n\"Is that your knife?\" and it was thrust before him by the Sheriff.\nPotter would have fallen if they had not caught him and eased him to the ground. Then he said:\n\"Something told me 't if I didn't come back and get—\" He shuddered; then waved his nerveless hand with a vanquished gesture and said, \"Tell 'em, Joe, tell 'em—it ain't any use any more.\"\nThen Huckleberry and Tom stood dumb and staring, and heard the stony-hearted liar reel off his serene statement, they expecting every moment that the clear sky would deliver God's lightnings upon his head, and wondering to see how long the stroke was delayed. And when he had finished and still stood alive and whole, their wavering impulse to break their oath and save the poor betrayed prisoner's life faded and vanished away, for plainly this miscreant had sold himself to Satan and it would be fatal to meddle with the property of such a power as that.\n\"Why didn't you leave? What did you want to come here for?\" somebody said.\n\"I couldn't help it—I couldn't help it,\" Potter moaned. \"I wanted to run away, but I couldn't seem to come anywhere but here.\" And he fell to sobbing again.\nInjun Joe repeated his statement, just as calmly, a few minutes afterward on the inquest, under oath; and the boys, seeing that the lightnings were still withheld, were confirmed in their belief that Joe had sold himself to the devil. He was now become, to them, the most balefully interesting object they had ever looked upon, and they could not take their fascinated eyes from his face.\nThey inwardly resolved to watch him nights, when opportunity should offer, in the hope of getting a glimpse of his dread master.\nInjun Joe helped to raise the body of the murdered man and put it in a wagon for removal; and it was whispered through the shuddering crowd that the wound bled a little! The boys thought that this happy circumstance would turn suspicion in the right direction; but they were disappointed, for more than one villager remarked:\n\"It was within three feet of Muff Potter when it done it.\"\nTom's fearful secret and gnawing conscience disturbed his sleep for as much as a week after this; and at breakfast one morning Sid said:\n\"Tom, you pitch around and talk in your sleep so much that you keep me awake half the time.\"\nTom blanched and dropped his eyes.\n\"It's a bad sign,\" said Aunt Polly, gravely. \"What you got on your mind, Tom?\"\n\"Nothing. Nothing 't I know of.\" But the boy's hand shook so that he spilled his coffee.\n\"And you do talk such stuff,\" Sid said. \"Last night you said, 'It's blood, it's blood, that's what it is!' You said that over and over. And you said, 'Don't torment me so—I'll tell!' Tell what? What is it you'll tell?\"\nEverything was swimming before Tom. There is no telling what might have happened, now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt Polly's face and she came to Tom's relief without knowing it. She said:\n\"Sho! It's that dreadful murder. I dream about it most every night myself. Sometimes I dream it's me that done it.\"\nMary said she had been affected much the same way. Sid seemed satisfied. Tom got out of the presence as quick as he plausibly could, and after that he complained of toothache for a week, and tied up his jaws every night. He never knew that Sid lay nightly watching, and frequently slipped the bandage free and then leaned on his elbow listening a good while at a time, and afterward slipped the bandage back to its place again. Tom's distress of mind wore off gradually and the toothache grew irksome and was discarded. If Sid really managed to make anything out of Tom's disjointed mutterings, he kept it to himself.\nIt seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holding inquests on dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble present to his mind. Sid noticed that Tom never was coroner at one of these inquiries, though it had been his habit to take the lead in all new enterprises; he noticed, too, that Tom never acted as a witness—and that was strange; and Sid did not overlook the fact that Tom even showed a marked aversion to these inquests, and always avoided them when he could. Sid marvelled, but said nothing. However, even inquests went out of vogue at last, and ceased to torture Tom's conscience.\nEvery day or two, during this time of sorrow, Tom watched his opportunity and went to the little grated jail-window and smuggled such small comforts through to the \"murderer\" as he could get hold of. The jail was a trifling little brick den that stood in a marsh at the edge of the village, and no guards were afforded for it; indeed, it was seldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease Tom's conscience.", "chosen": "[\"Muff\", \"Potter\", \"Sheriff\", \"Huckleberry\", \"Poor\", \"His\", \"Tom\", \"Injun\", \"Joe\", \"Hallo\", \"Infernal\", \"Something\", \"Tell\", \"God\", \"Satan\", \"Sid\", \"Polly\", \"Nothing\", \"Last\", \"Sho\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Muff\", \"Potter\", \"Sheriff\", \"Huckleberry\", \"Poor\", \"His\", \"Tom\", \"Injun\", \"Joe\", \"Hallo\", \"Infernal\", \"Something\", \"Tell\", \"God\", \"Satan\", \"Sid\", \"Polly\", \"Nothing\", \"Last\", \"Sho\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-74-011-00-b206638d", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe early part of the next week brought an answer to Cytherea's last note of hope in the way of advertisement--not from a distance of hundreds of miles, London, Scotland, Ireland, the Continent--as Cytherea seemed to think it must, to be in keeping with the means adopted for obtaining it, but from a place in the neighbourhood of that in which she was living--a country mansion not twenty miles off. The reply ran thus:--\nKNAPWATER HOUSE, August 3, 1864.\n'Miss Aldclyffe is in want of a young person as lady's-maid. The duties of the place are light. Miss Aldclyffe will be in Budmouth on Thursday, when (should G. still not have heard of a place) she would like to see her at the Belvedere Hotel, Esplanade, at four o'clock. No answer need be returned to this note.'\nA little earlier than the time named, Cytherea, clothed in a modest bonnet, and a black silk jacket, turned down to the hotel. Expectation, the fresh air from the water, the bright, far-extending outlook, raised the most delicate of pink colours to her cheeks, and restored to her tread a portion of that elasticity which her past troubles, and thoughts of Edward, had well-nigh taken away.\nShe entered the vestibule, and went to the window of the bar.\n'Is Miss Aldclyffe here?' she said to a nicely-dressed barmaid in the foreground, who was talking to a landlady covered with chains, knobs, and clamps of gold, in the background.\n'No, she isn't,' said the barmaid, not very civilly. Cytherea looked a shade too pretty for a plain dresser.\n'Miss Aldclyffe is expected here,' the landlady said to a third person, out of sight, in the tone of one who had known for several days the fact newly discovered from Cytherea. 'Get ready her room--be quick.' From the alacrity with which the order was given and taken, it seemed to Cytherea that Miss Aldclyffe must be a woman of considerable importance.\n'You are to have an interview with Miss Aldclyffe here?' the landlady inquired.\n'Yes.'\n'The young person had better wait,' continued the landlady. With a money-taker's intuition she had rightly divined that Cytherea would bring no profit to the house.\nCytherea was shown into a nondescript chamber, on the shady side of the building, which appeared to be either bedroom or dayroom, as occasion necessitated, and was one of a suite at the end of the first-floor corridor. The prevailing colour of the walls, curtains, carpet, and coverings of furniture, was more or less blue, to which the cold light coming from the north easterly sky, and falling on a wide roof of new slates--the only object the small window commanded--imparted a more striking paleness. But underneath the door, communicating with the next room of the suite, gleamed an infinitesimally small, yet very powerful, fraction of contrast--a very thin line of ruddy light, showing that the sun beamed strongly into this room adjoining. The line of radiance was the only cheering thing visible in the place.\nPeople give way to very infantine thoughts and actions when they wait; the battle-field of life is temporarily fenced off by a hard and fast line--the interview. Cytherea fixed her eyes idly upon the streak, and began picturing a wonderful paradise on the other side as the source of such a beam--reminding her of the well-known good deed in a naughty world.\nWhilst she watched the particles of dust floating before the brilliant chink she heard a carriage and horses stop opposite the front of the house. Afterwards came the rustle of a lady's skirts down the corridor, and into the room communicating with the one Cytherea occupied.\nThe golden line vanished in parts like the phosphorescent streak caused by the striking of a match; there was the fall of a light footstep on the floor just behind it: then a pause. Then the foot tapped impatiently, and 'There's no one here!' was spoken imperiously by a lady's tongue.\n'No, madam; in the next room. I am going to fetch her,' said the attendant.\n'That will do--or you needn't go in; I will call her.'\nCytherea had risen, and she advanced to the middle door with the chink under it as the servant retired. She had just laid her hand on the knob, when it slipped round within her fingers, and the door was pulled open from the other side.\n2. FOUR O'CLOCK\nThe direct blaze of the afternoon sun, partly refracted through the crimson curtains of the window, and heightened by reflections from the crimson-flock paper which covered the walls, and a carpet on the floor of the same tint, shone with a burning glow round the form of a lady standing close to Cytherea's front with the door in her hand. The stranger appeared to the maiden's eyes--fresh from the blue gloom, and assisted by an imagination fresh from nature--like a tall black figure standing in the midst of fire. It was the figure of a finely-built woman, of spare though not angular proportions.\nCytherea involuntarily shaded her eyes with her hand, retreated a step or two, and then she could for the first time see Miss Aldclyffe's face in addition to her outline, lit up by the secondary and softer light that was reflected from the varnished panels of the door. She was not a very young woman, but could boast of much beauty of the majestic autumnal phase.\n'O,' said the lady, 'come this way.' Cytherea followed her to the embrasure of the window.\nBoth the women showed off themselves to advantage as they walked forward in the orange light; and each showed too in her face that she had been struck with her companion's appearance. The warm tint added to Cytherea's face a voluptuousness which youth and a simple life had not yet allowed to express itself there ordinarily; whilst in the elder lady's face it reduced the customary expression, which might have been called sternness, if not harshness, to grandeur, and warmed her decaying complexion with much of the youthful richness it plainly had once possessed.\nShe appeared now no more than five-and-thirty, though she might easily have been ten or a dozen years older. She had clear steady eyes, a Roman nose in its purest form, and also the round prominent chin with which the Caesars are represented in ancient marbles; a mouth expressing a capability for and tendency to strong emotion, habitually controlled by pride. There was a severity about the lower outlines of the face which gave a masculine cast to this portion of her countenance. Womanly weakness was nowhere visible save in one part--the curve of her forehead and brows--there it was clear and emphatic. She wore a lace shawl over a brown silk dress, and a net bonnet set with a few blue cornflowers.\n'You inserted the advertisement for a situation as lady's-maid giving the address, G., Cross Street?'\n'Yes, madam. Graye.'\n'Yes. I have heard your name--Mrs. Morris, my housekeeper, mentioned you, and pointed out your advertisement.'\nThis was puzzling intelligence, but there was not time enough to consider it.\n'Where did you live last?' continued Miss Aldclyffe.\n'I have never been a servant before. I lived at home.'\n'Never been out? I thought too at sight of you that you were too girlish-looking to have done much. But why did you advertise with such assurance? It misleads people.'\n'I am very sorry: I put \"inexperienced\" at first, but my brother said it is absurd to trumpet your own weakness to the world, and would not let it remain.'\n'But your mother knew what was right, I suppose?'\n'I have no mother, madam.'\n'Your father, then?'\n'I have no father.'\n'Well,' she said, more softly, 'your sisters, aunts, or cousins.'\n'They didn't think anything about it.'\n'You didn't ask them, I suppose.'\n'No.'\n'You should have done so, then. Why didn't you?'\n'Because I haven't any of them, either.'", "chosen": "The, The, Miss, The, Miss, still, No, Expectation,, She, Is, No,, Cytherea, Miss, Get, You, Yes.', With, Cytherea, The, But, The, People, Cytherea, Whilst, Afterwards, The, Then, No,, I, That, She, 2., FOUR, The, It, Cytherea, She, O,', Both, The, She, She, There, Womanly, She, You, Graye.', I, Morris,, Where, I, I, I, But, It, Why", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nThe, The, Miss, The, Miss, still, No, Expectation,, She, Is, No,, Cytherea, Miss, Get, You, Yes.', With, Cytherea, The, But, The, People, Cytherea, Whilst, Afterwards, The, Then, No,, I, That, She, 2., FOUR, The, It, Cytherea, She, O,', Both, The, She, She, There, Womanly, She, You, Graye.', I, Morris,, Where, I, I, I, But, It, Why\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-3044-004-00-c976578a", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nUntil the unholy train comes tearing along--which it presently does, ripping the sacred solitude to rags and tatters with its devil's warwhoop and the roar and thunder of its rushing wheels--and straightway you are back in this world, and with one of its frets ready to hand for your entertainment: for you remember that this is the very road whose stock always goes down after you buy it, and always goes up again as soon as you sell it. It makes me shudder to this day, to remember that I once came near not getting rid of my stock at all. It must be an awful thing to have a railroad left on your hands.\nThe locomotive is in sight from the deck of the steamboat almost the whole way from St. Louis to St. Paul--eight hundred miles. These railroads have made havoc with the steamboat commerce. The clerk of our boat was a steamboat clerk before these roads were built. In that day the influx of population was so great, and the freight business so heavy, that the boats were not able to keep up with the demands made upon their carrying capacity; consequently the captains were very independent and airy--pretty 'biggity,' as Uncle Remus would say. The clerk nut-shelled the contrast between the former time and the present, thus--\n'Boat used to land--captain on hurricane roof--mighty stiff and straight--iron ramrod for a spine--kid gloves, plug tile, hair parted behind--man on shore takes off hat and says--\n'\"Got twenty-eight tons of wheat, cap'n--be great favor if you can take them.\"\n'Captain says--\n'\"'ll take two of them\"--and don't even condescend to look at him.\n'But nowadays the captain takes off his old slouch, and smiles all the way around to the back of his ears, and gets off a bow which he hasn't got any ramrod to interfere with, and says--\n'\"Glad to see you, Smith, glad to see you--you're looking well--haven't seen you looking so well for years--what you got for us?\"\n'\"Nuth'n\", says Smith; and keeps his hat on, and just turns his back and goes to talking with somebody else.\n'Oh, yes, eight years ago, the captain was on top; but it's Smith's turn now. Eight years ago a boat used to go up the river with every stateroom full, and people piled five and six deep on the cabin floor; and a solid deck-load of immigrants and harvesters down below, into the bargain. To get a first-class stateroom, you'd got to prove sixteen quarterings of nobility and four hundred years of descent, or be personally acquainted with the nigger that blacked the captain's boots. But it's all changed now; plenty staterooms above, no harvesters below--there's a patent self-binder now, and they don't have harvesters any more; they've gone where the woodbine twineth--and they didn't go by steamboat, either; went by the train.'\nUp in this region we met massed acres of lumber rafts coming down--but not floating leisurely along, in the old-fashioned way, manned with joyous and reckless crews of fiddling, song-singing, whiskey-drinking, breakdown-dancing rapscallions; no, the whole thing was shoved swiftly along by a powerful stern-wheeler, modern fashion, and the small crews were quiet, orderly men, of a sedate business aspect, with not a suggestion of romance about them anywhere.\nAlong here, somewhere, on a black night, we ran some exceedingly narrow and intricate island-chutes by aid of the electric light. Behind was solid blackness--a crackless bank of it; ahead, a narrow elbow of water, curving between dense walls of foliage that almost touched our bows on both sides; and here every individual leaf, and every individual ripple stood out in its natural color, and flooded with a glare as of noonday intensified. The effect was strange, and fine, and very striking.\nWe passed Prairie du Chien, another of Father Marquette's camping-places; and after some hours of progress through varied and beautiful scenery, reached La Crosse. Here is a town of twelve or thirteen thousand population, with electric lighted streets, and with blocks of buildings which are stately enough, and also architecturally fine enough, to command respect in any city. It is a choice town, and we made satisfactory use of the hour allowed us, in roaming it over, though the weather was rainier than necessary.", "chosen": "21", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n21\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-245-057-01-a42e737b", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nHappily unconscious of the new calamity at home, Miss Pross threaded her way along the narrow streets and crossed the river by the bridge of the Pont-Neuf, reckoning in her mind the number of indispensable purchases she had to make. Mr. Cruncher, with the basket, walked at her side. They both looked to the right and to the left into most of the shops they passed, had a wary eye for all gregarious assemblages of people, and turned out of their road to avoid any very excited group of talkers. It was a raw evening, and the misty river, blurred to the eye with blazing lights and to the ear with harsh noises, showed where the barges were stationed in which the smiths worked, making guns for the Army of the Republic. Woe to the man who played tricks with that Army, or got undeserved promotion in it! Better for him that his beard had never grown, for the National Razor shaved him close.\nHaving purchased a few small articles of grocery, and a measure of oil for the lamp, Miss Pross bethought herself of the wine they wanted. After peeping into several wine-shops, she stopped at the sign of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, not far from the National Palace, once (and twice) the Tuileries, where the aspect of things rather took her fancy. It had a quieter look than any other place of the same description they had passed, and, though red with patriotic caps, was not so red as the rest. Sounding Mr. Cruncher, and finding him of her opinion, Miss Pross resorted to the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, attended by her cavalier.\nSlightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people, pipe in mouth, playing with limp cards and yellow dominoes; of the one bare-breasted, bare-armed, soot-begrimed workman reading a journal aloud, and of the others listening to him; of the weapons worn, or laid aside to be resumed; of the two or three customers fallen forward asleep, who in the popular high-shouldered shaggy black spencer looked, in that attitude, like slumbering bears or dogs; the two outlandish customers approached the counter, and showed what they wanted.\nAs their wine was measuring out, a man parted from another man in a corner, and rose to depart. In going, he had to face Miss Pross. No sooner did he face her, than Miss Pross uttered a scream, and clapped her hands.\nIn a moment, the whole company were on their feet. That somebody was assassinated by somebody vindicating a difference of opinion was the likeliest occurrence. Everybody looked to see somebody fall, but only saw a man and a woman standing staring at each other; the man with all the outward aspect of a Frenchman and a thorough Republican; the woman, evidently English.\nWhat was said in this disappointing anti-climax, by the disciples of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, except that it was something very voluble and loud, would have been as so much Hebrew or Chaldean to Miss Pross and her protector, though they had been all ears. But, they had no ears for anything in their surprise. For, it must be recorded, that not only was Miss Pross lost in amazement and agitation, but, Mr. Cruncher--though it seemed on his own separate and individual account--was in a state of the greatest wonder.\n\"What is the matter?\" said the man who had caused Miss Pross to scream; speaking in a vexed, abrupt voice (though in a low tone), and in English.\n\"Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon!\" cried Miss Pross, clapping her hands again. \"After not setting eyes upon you or hearing of you for so long a time, do I find you here!\"\n\"Don't call me Solomon. Do you want to be the death of me?\" asked the man, in a furtive, frightened way.\n\"Brother, brother!\" cried Miss Pross, bursting into tears. \"Have I ever been so hard with you that you ask me such a cruel question?\"\n\"Then hold your meddlesome tongue,\" said Solomon, \"and come out, if you want to speak to me. Pay for your wine, and come out. Who's this man?\"\nMiss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected head at her by no means affectionate brother, said through her tears, \"Mr. Cruncher.\"\n\"Let him come out too,\" said Solomon. \"Does he think me a ghost?\"\nApparently, Mr. Cruncher did, to judge from his looks. He said not a word, however, and Miss Pross, exploring the depths of her reticule through her tears with great difficulty paid for her wine. As she did so, Solomon turned to the followers of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, and offered a few words of explanation in the French language, which caused them all to relapse into their former places and pursuits.\n\"Now,\" said Solomon, stopping at the dark street corner, \"what do you want?\"\n\"How dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever turned my love away from!\" cried Miss Pross, \"to give me such a greeting, and show me no affection.\"\n\"There. Confound it! There,\" said Solomon, making a dab at Miss Pross's lips with his own. \"Now are you content?\"\nMiss Pross only shook her head and wept in silence.\n\"If you expect me to be surprised,\" said her brother Solomon, \"I am not surprised; I knew you were here; I know of most people who are here. If you really don't want to endanger my existence--which I half believe you do--go your ways as soon as possible, and let me go mine. I am busy. I am an official.\"\n\"My English brother Solomon,\" mourned Miss Pross, casting up her tear-fraught eyes, \"that had the makings in him of one of the best and greatest of men in his native country, an official among foreigners, and such foreigners! I would almost sooner have seen the dear boy lying in his--\"\n\"I said so!\" cried her brother, interrupting. \"I knew it. You want to be the death of me. I shall be rendered Suspected, by my own sister. Just as I am getting on!\"\n\"The gracious and merciful Heavens forbid!\" cried Miss Pross. \"Far rather would I never see you again, dear Solomon, though I have ever loved you truly, and ever shall. Say but one affectionate word to me, and tell me there is nothing angry or estranged between us, and I will detain you no longer.\"\nGood Miss Pross! As if the estrangement between them had come of any culpability of hers. As if Mr. Lorry had not known it for a fact, years ago, in the quiet corner in Soho, that this precious brother had spent her money and left her!\nHe was saying the affectionate word, however, with a far more grudging condescension and patronage than he could have shown if their relative merits and positions had been reversed (which is invariably the case, all the world over), when Mr. Cruncher, touching him on the shoulder, hoarsely and unexpectedly interposed with the following singular question:\n\"I say! Might I ask the favour? As to whether your name is John Solomon, or Solomon John?\"\nThe official turned towards him with sudden distrust. He had not previously uttered a word.\n\"Come!\" said Mr. Cruncher. \"Speak out, you know.\" (Which, by the way, was more than he could do himself.) \"John Solomon, or Solomon John? She calls you Solomon, and she must know, being your sister. And I know you're John, you know. Which of the two goes first? And regarding that name of Pross, likewise. That warn't your name over the water.\"\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\"Well, I don't know all I mean, for I can't call to mind what your name was, over the water.\"\n\"No?\"\n\"No. But I'll swear it was a name of two syllables.\"\n\"Indeed?\"\n\"Yes. T'other one's was one syllable. I know you. You was a spy--witness at the Bailey. What, in the name of the Father of Lies, own father to yourself, was you called at that time?\"\n\"Barsad,\" said another voice, striking in.\n\"That's the name for a thousand pound!\" cried Jerry.\nThe speaker who struck in, was Sydney Carton. He had his hands behind him under the skirts of his riding-coat, and he stood at Mr. Cruncher's elbow as negligently as he might have stood at the Old Bailey itself.", "chosen": "Slightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people, pipe in mouth, playing with limp cards and yellow dominoes; of the one bare-breasted, bare-armed, soot-begrimed workman reading a journal aloud, and of the others listening to him; of the weapons worn, or laid aside to be resumed; of the two or three customers fallen forward asleep, who in the popular high-shouldered shaggy black spencer looked, in that attitude, like slumbering bears or dogs; the two outlandish customers approached the counter, and showed what they wanted.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nSlightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people, pipe in mouth, playing with limp cards and yellow dominoes; of the one bare-breasted, bare-armed, soot-begrimed workman reading a journal aloud, and of the others listening to him; of the weapons worn, or laid aside to be resumed; of the two or three customers fallen forward asleep, who in the popular high-shouldered shaggy black spencer looked, in that attitude, like slumbering bears or dogs; the two outlandish customers approached the counter, and showed what they wanted.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-98-038-00-c9a41e78", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nClown. . . . 'Twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not? Froth. I have so: because it is an open room, and good for winter. Clo. Why, very well then: I hope here be truths. —Measure for Measure.\nFive days after the death of Raffles, Mr. Bambridge was standing at his leisure under the large archway leading into the yard of the Green Dragon. He was not fond of solitary contemplation, but he had only just come out of the house, and any human figure standing at ease under the archway in the early afternoon was as certain to attract companionship as a pigeon which has found something worth pecking at. In this case there was no material object to feed upon, but the eye of reason saw a probability of mental sustenance in the shape of gossip. Mr. Hopkins, the meek-mannered draper opposite, was the first to act on this inward vision, being the more ambitious of a little masculine talk because his customers were chiefly women. Mr. Bambridge was rather curt to the draper, feeling that Hopkins was of course glad to talk to him, but that he was not going to waste much of his talk on Hopkins. Soon, however, there was a small cluster of more important listeners, who were either deposited from the passers-by, or had sauntered to the spot expressly to see if there were anything going on at the Green Dragon; and Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say many impressive things about the fine studs he had been seeing and the purchases he had made on a journey in the north from which he had just returned. Gentlemen present were assured that when they could show him anything to cut out a blood mare, a bay, rising four, which was to be seen at Doncaster if they chose to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot \"from here to Hereford.\" Also, a pair of blacks which he was going to put into the break recalled vividly to his mind a pair which he had sold to Faulkner in '19, for a hundred guineas, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred and sixty two months later—any gent who could disprove this statement being offered the privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made his throat dry.\nWhen the discourse was at this point of animation, came up Mr. Frank Hawley. He was not a man to compromise his dignity by lounging at the Green Dragon, but happening to pass along the High Street and seeing Bambridge on the other side, he took some of his long strides across to ask the horsedealer whether he had found the first-rate gig-horse which he had engaged to look for. Mr. Hawley was requested to wait until he had seen a gray selected at Bilkley: if that did not meet his wishes to a hair, Bambridge did not know a horse when he saw it, which seemed to be the highest conceivable unlikelihood. Mr. Hawley, standing with his back to the street, was fixing a time for looking at the gray and seeing it tried, when a horseman passed slowly by.\n\"Bulstrode!\" said two or three voices at once in a low tone, one of them, which was the draper's, respectfully prefixing the \"Mr.;\" but nobody having more intention in this interjectural naming than if they had said \"the Riverston coach\" when that vehicle appeared in the distance. Mr. Hawley gave a careless glance round at Bulstrode's back, but as Bambridge's eyes followed it he made a sarcastic grimace.\n\"By jingo! that reminds me,\" he began, lowering his voice a little, \"I picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse, Mr. Hawley. I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode. Do you know how he came by his fortune? Any gentleman wanting a bit of curious information, I can give it him free of expense. If everybody got their deserts, Bulstrode might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay.\"\n\"What do you mean?\" said Mr. Hawley, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and pushing a little forward under the archway. If Bulstrode should turn out to be a rascal, Frank Hawley had a prophetic soul.\n\"I had it from a party who was an old chum of Bulstrode's. I'll tell you where I first picked him up,\" said Bambridge, with a sudden gesture of his fore-finger. \"He was at Larcher's sale, but I knew nothing of him then—he slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt. He tells me he can tap Bulstrode to any amount, knows all his secrets. However, he blabbed to me at Bilkley: he takes a stiff glass. Damme if I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, till he'd brag of a spavin as if it 'ud fetch money. A man should know when to pull up.\" Mr. Bambridge made this remark with an air of disgust, satisfied that his own bragging showed a fine sense of the marketable.\n\"What's the man's name? Where can he be found?\" said Mr. Hawley.\n\"As to where he is to be found, I left him to it at the Saracen's Head; but his name is Raffles.\"\n\"Raffles!\" exclaimed Mr. Hopkins. \"I furnished his funeral yesterday. He was buried at Lowick. Mr. Bulstrode followed him. A very decent funeral.\" There was a strong sensation among the listeners. Mr. Bambridge gave an ejaculation in which \"brimstone\" was the mildest word, and Mr. Hawley, knitting his brows and bending his head forward, exclaimed, \"What?—where did the man die?\"\n\"At Stone Court,\" said the draper. \"The housekeeper said he was a relation of the master's. He came there ill on Friday.\"\n\"Why, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him,\" interposed Bambridge.\n\"Did any doctor attend him?\" said Mr. Hawley\n\"Yes. Mr. Lydgate. Mr. Bulstrode sat up with him one night. He died the third morning.\"\n\"Go on, Bambridge,\" said Mr. Hawley, insistently. \"What did this fellow say about Bulstrode?\"\nThe group had already become larger, the town-clerk's presence being a guarantee that something worth listening to was going on there; and Mr. Bambridge delivered his narrative in the hearing of seven. It was mainly what we know, including the fact about Will Ladislaw, with some local color and circumstance added: it was what Bulstrode had dreaded the betrayal of—and hoped to have buried forever with the corpse of Raffles—it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon he was trusting that Providence had delivered him from. Yes, Providence. He had not confessed to himself yet that he had done anything in the way of contrivance to this end; he had accepted what seemed to have been offered. It was impossible to prove that he had done anything which hastened the departure of that man's soul.", "chosen": "[\"from here to Hereford.\", \"Bulstrode!\", \"Mr.;\", \"the Riverston coach\", \"By jingo! that reminds me,\", \"What do you mean?\", \"I had it from a party who was an old chum of Bulstrode's. I'll tell you where I first picked him up,\", \" Mr. Bambridge made this remark with an air of disgust, satisfied that his own bragging showed a fine sense of the marketable.\\n\", \" said Mr. Hawley.\\n\", \"Raffles!\", \"I furnished his funeral yesterday. He was buried at Lowick. Mr. Bulstrode followed him. A very decent funeral.\", \"brimstone\", \"What?\\u2014where did the man die?\", \"At Stone Court,\", \"The housekeeper said he was a relation of the master's. He came there ill on Friday.\", \"Why, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him,\", \"Did any doctor attend him?\", \"Yes. Mr. Lydgate. Mr. Bulstrode sat up with him one night. He died the third morning.\", \"Go on, Bambridge,\", \"What did this fellow say about Bulstrode?\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"from here to Hereford.\", \"Bulstrode!\", \"Mr.;\", \"the Riverston coach\", \"By jingo! that reminds me,\", \"What do you mean?\", \"I had it from a party who was an old chum of Bulstrode's. I'll tell you where I first picked him up,\", \" Mr. Bambridge made this remark with an air of disgust, satisfied that his own bragging showed a fine sense of the marketable.\\n\", \" said Mr. Hawley.\\n\", \"Raffles!\", \"I furnished his funeral yesterday. He was buried at Lowick. Mr. Bulstrode followed him. A very decent funeral.\", \"brimstone\", \"What?\\u2014where did the man die?\", \"At Stone Court,\", \"The housekeeper said he was a relation of the master's. He came there ill on Friday.\", \"Why, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him,\", \"Did any doctor attend him?\", \"Yes. Mr. Lydgate. Mr. Bulstrode sat up with him one night. He died the third morning.\", \"Go on, Bambridge,\", \"What did this fellow say about Bulstrode?\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-071-00-b1dd60c2", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Don't inquire. I seemed to see something terrible yesterday ... as though his whole future were expressed in his eyes. A look came into his eyes—so that I was instantly horror-stricken at what that man is preparing for himself. Once or twice in my life I've seen such a look in a man's face ... reflecting as it were his future fate, and that fate, alas, came to pass. I sent you to him, Alexey, for I thought your brotherly face would help him. But everything and all our fates are from the Lord. 'Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.' Remember that. You, Alexey, I've many times silently blessed for your face, know that,\" added the elder with a gentle smile. \"This is what I think of you, you will go forth from these walls, but will live like a monk in the world. You will have many enemies, but even your foes will love you. Life will bring you many misfortunes, but you will find your happiness in them, and will bless life and will make others bless it—which is what matters most. Well, that is your character. Fathers and teachers,\" he addressed his friends with a tender smile, \"I have never till to-day told even him why the face of this youth is so dear to me. Now I will tell you. His face has been as it were a remembrance and a prophecy for me. At the dawn of my life when I was a child I had an elder brother who died before my eyes at seventeen. And later on in the course of my life I gradually became convinced that that brother had been for a guidance and a sign from on high for me. For had he not come into my life, I should never perhaps, so I fancy at least, have become a monk and entered on this precious path. He appeared first to me in my childhood, and here, at the end of my pilgrimage, he seems to have come to me over again. It is marvelous, fathers and teachers, that Alexey, who has some, though not a great, resemblance in face, seems to me so like him spiritually, that many times I have taken him for that young man, my brother, mysteriously come back to me at the end of my pilgrimage, as a reminder and an inspiration. So that I positively wondered at so strange a dream in myself. Do you hear this, Porfiry?\" he turned to the novice who waited on him. \"Many times I've seen in your face as it were a look of mortification that I love Alexey more than you. Now you know why that was so, but I love you too, know that, and many times I grieved at your mortification. I should like to tell you, dear friends, of that youth, my brother, for there has been no presence in my life more precious, more significant and touching. My heart is full of tenderness, and I look at my whole life at this moment as though living through it again.\"\nHere I must observe that this last conversation of Father Zossima with the friends who visited him on the last day of his life has been partly preserved in writing. Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov wrote it down from memory, some time after his elder's death. But whether this was only the conversation that took place then, or whether he added to it his notes of parts of former conversations with his teacher, I cannot determine. In his account, Father Zossima's talk goes on without interruption, as though he told his life to his friends in the form of a story, though there is no doubt, from other accounts of it, that the conversation that evening was general. Though the guests did not interrupt Father Zossima much, yet they too talked, perhaps even told something themselves. Besides, Father Zossima could not have carried on an uninterrupted narrative, for he was sometimes gasping for breath, his voice failed him, and he even lay down to rest on his bed, though he did not fall asleep and his visitors did not leave their seats. Once or twice the conversation was interrupted by Father Païssy's reading the Gospel. It is worthy of note, too, that no one of them supposed that he would die that night, for on that evening of his life after his deep sleep in the day he seemed suddenly to have found new strength, which kept him up through this long conversation. It was like a last effort of love which gave him marvelous energy; only for a little time, however, for his life was cut short immediately.... But of that later. I will only add now that I have preferred to confine myself to the account given by Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov. It will be shorter and not so fatiguing, though of course, as I must repeat, Alyosha took a great deal from previous conversations and added them to it.\nNotes of the Life of the deceased Priest and Monk, the Elder Zossima, taken from his own words by Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov.\nBIOGRAPHICAL NOTES\n(a) Father Zossima's Brother\nBeloved fathers and teachers, I was born in a distant province in the north, in the town of V. My father was a gentleman by birth, but of no great consequence or position. He died when I was only two years old, and I don't remember him at all. He left my mother a small house built of wood, and a fortune, not large, but sufficient to keep her and her children in comfort. There were two of us, my elder brother Markel and I. He was eight years older than I was, of hasty irritable temperament, but kind-hearted and never ironical. He was remarkably silent, especially at home with me, his mother, and the servants. He did well at school, but did not get on with his schoolfellows, though he never quarreled, at least so my mother has told me. Six months before his death, when he was seventeen, he made friends with a political exile who had been banished from Moscow to our town for freethinking, and led a solitary existence there. He was a good scholar who had gained distinction in philosophy in the university. Something made him take a fancy to Markel, and he used to ask him to see him. The young man would spend whole evenings with him during that winter, till the exile was summoned to Petersburg to take up his post again at his own request, as he had powerful friends.\nIt was the beginning of Lent, and Markel would not fast, he was rude and laughed at it. \"That's all silly twaddle, and there is no God,\" he said, horrifying my mother, the servants, and me too. For though I was only nine, I too was aghast at hearing such words. We had four servants, all serfs. I remember my mother selling one of the four, the cook Afimya, who was lame and elderly, for sixty paper roubles, and hiring a free servant to take her place.\nIn the sixth week in Lent, my brother, who was never strong and had a tendency to consumption, was taken ill. He was tall but thin and delicate-looking, and of very pleasing countenance. I suppose he caught cold, anyway the doctor, who came, soon whispered to my mother that it was galloping consumption, that he would not live through the spring. My mother began weeping, and, careful not to alarm my brother, she entreated him to go to church, to confess and take the sacrament, as he was still able to move about. This made him angry, and he said something profane about the church. He grew thoughtful, however; he guessed at once that he was seriously ill, and that that was why his mother was begging him to confess and take the sacrament. He had been aware, indeed, for a long time past, that he was far from well, and had a year before coolly observed at dinner to our mother and me, \"My life won't be long among you, I may not live another year,\" which seemed now like a prophecy.", "chosen": "prophecy", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nprophecy\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-038-01-e46da4b6", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"My dear Chettam, that is all very fine, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke. \"But how will you make yourself proof against calumny? You should read history—look at ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind of thing. They always happen to the best men, you know. But what is that in Horace?—fiat justitia, ruat … something or other.\"\n\"Exactly,\" said Sir James, with a little more heat than usual. \"What I mean by being proof against calumny is being able to point to the fact as a contradiction.\"\n\"And it is not martyrdom to pay bills that one has run into one's self,\" said Mrs. Cadwallader.\nBut it was Sir James's evident annoyance that most stirred Mr. Brooke. \"Well, you know, Chettam,\" he said, rising, taking up his hat and leaning on his stick, \"you and I have a different system. You are all for outlay with your farms. I don't want to make out that my system is good under all circumstances—under all circumstances, you know.\"\n\"There ought to be a new valuation made from time to time,\" said Sir James. \"Returns are very well occasionally, but I like a fair valuation. What do you say, Cadwallader?\"\n\"I agree with you. If I were Brooke, I would choke the 'Trumpet' at once by getting Garth to make a new valuation of the farms, and giving him carte blanche about gates and repairs: that's my view of the political situation,\" said the Rector, broadening himself by sticking his thumbs in his armholes, and laughing towards Mr. Brooke.\n\"That's a showy sort of thing to do, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke. \"But I should like you to tell me of another landlord who has distressed his tenants for arrears as little as I have. I let the old tenants stay on. I'm uncommonly easy, let me tell you, uncommonly easy. I have my own ideas, and I take my stand on them, you know. A man who does that is always charged with eccentricity, inconsistency, and that kind of thing. When I change my line of action, I shall follow my own ideas.\"\nAfter that, Mr. Brooke remembered that there was a packet which he had omitted to send off from the Grange, and he bade everybody hurriedly good-by.\n\"I didn't want to take a liberty with Brooke,\" said Sir James; \"I see he is nettled. But as to what he says about old tenants, in point of fact no new tenant would take the farms on the present terms.\"\n\"I have a notion that he will be brought round in time,\" said the Rector. \"But you were pulling one way, Elinor, and we were pulling another. You wanted to frighten him away from expense, and we want to frighten him into it. Better let him try to be popular and see that his character as a landlord stands in his way. I don't think it signifies two straws about the 'Pioneer,' or Ladislaw, or Brooke's speechifying to the Middlemarchers. But it does signify about the parishioners in Tipton being comfortable.\"\n\"Excuse me, it is you two who are on the wrong tack,\" said Mrs. Cadwallader. \"You should have proved to him that he loses money by bad management, and then we should all have pulled together. If you put him a-horseback on politics, I warn you of the consequences. It was all very well to ride on sticks at home and call them ideas.\"", "chosen": "[\"Chettam\", \"Horace\", \"Exactly\", \"James\", \"Returns\", \"Cadwallader\", \"Brooke\", \"Garth\", \"Rector\", \"Grange\", \"Elinor\", \"Ladislaw\", \"Middlemarchers\", \"Tipton\", \"Excuse\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Chettam\", \"Horace\", \"Exactly\", \"James\", \"Returns\", \"Cadwallader\", \"Brooke\", \"Garth\", \"Rector\", \"Grange\", \"Elinor\", \"Ladislaw\", \"Middlemarchers\", \"Tipton\", \"Excuse\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-145-038-02-ef34ed6d", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIn about a minute somebody spoke out of a window without putting his head out, and says:\n\"Be done, boys! Who's there?\"\nI says:\n\"It's me.\"\n\"Who's me?\"\n\"George Jackson, sir.\"\n\"What do you want?\"\n\"I don't want nothing, sir. I only want to go along by, but the dogs won't let me.\"\n\"What are you prowling around here this time of night for—hey?\"\n\"I warn't prowling around, sir, I fell overboard off of the steamboat.\"\n\"Oh, you did, did you? Strike a light there, somebody. What did you say your name was?\"\n\"George Jackson, sir. I'm only a boy.\"\n\"Look here, if you're telling the truth you needn't be afraid—nobody'll hurt you. But don't try to budge; stand right where you are. Rouse out Bob and Tom, some of you, and fetch the guns. George Jackson, is there anybody with you?\"\n\"No, sir, nobody.\"\nI heard the people stirring around in the house now, and see a light. The man sung out:\n\"Snatch that light away, Betsy, you old fool—ain't you got any sense? Put it on the floor behind the front door. Bob, if you and Tom are ready, take your places.\"\n\"All ready.\"\n\"Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?\"\n\"No, sir; I never heard of them.\"\n\"Well, that may be so, and it mayn't. Now, all ready. Step forward, George Jackson. And mind, don't you hurry—come mighty slow. If there's anybody with you, let him keep back—if he shows himself he'll be shot. Come along now. Come slow; push the door open yourself—just enough to squeeze in, d' you hear?\"\nI didn't hurry; I couldn't if I'd a wanted to. I took one slow step at a time and there warn't a sound, only I thought I could hear my heart. The dogs were as still as the humans, but they followed a little behind me. When I got to the three log doorsteps I heard them unlocking and unbarring and unbolting. I put my hand on the door and pushed it a little and a little more till somebody said, \"There, that's enough—put your head in.\" I done it, but I judged they would take it off.\nThe candle was on the floor, and there they all was, looking at me, and me at them, for about a quarter of a minute: Three big men with guns pointed at me, which made me wince, I tell you; the oldest, gray and about sixty, the other two thirty or more—all of them fine and handsome—and the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her two young women which I couldn't see right well. The old gentleman says:\n\"There; I reckon it's all right. Come in.\"\nAs soon as I was in the old gentleman he locked the door and barred it and bolted it, and told the young men to come in with their guns, and they all went in a big parlor that had a new rag carpet on the floor, and got together in a corner that was out of the range of the front windows—there warn't none on the side. They held the candle, and took a good look at me, and all said, \"Why, he ain't a Shepherdson—no, there ain't any Shepherdson about him.\" Then the old man said he hoped I wouldn't mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by it—it was only to make sure. So he didn't pry into my pockets, but only felt outside with his hands, and said it was all right. He told me to make myself easy and at home, and tell all about myself; but the old lady says:\n\"Why, bless you, Saul, the poor thing's as wet as he can be; and don't you reckon it may be he's hungry?\"\n\"True for you, Rachel—I forgot.\"\nSo the old lady says:\n\"Betsy\" (this was a nigger woman), \"you fly around and get him something to eat as quick as you can, poor thing; and one of you girls go and wake up Buck and tell him—oh, here he is himself. Buck, take this little stranger and get the wet clothes off from him and dress him up in some of yours that's dry.\"\nBuck looked about as old as me—thirteen or fourteen or along there, though he was a little bigger than me. He hadn't on anything but a shirt, and he was very frowzy-headed. He came in gaping and digging one fist into his eyes, and he was dragging a gun along with the other one. He says:\n\"Ain't they no Shepherdsons around?\"\nThey said, no, 'twas a false alarm.\n\"Well,\" he says, \"if they'd a ben some, I reckon I'd a got one.\"\nThey all laughed, and Bob says:\n\"Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, you've been so slow in coming.\"\n\"Well, nobody come after me, and it ain't right I'm always kept down; I don't get no show.\"\n\"Never mind, Buck, my boy,\" says the old man, \"you'll have show enough, all in good time, don't you fret about that. Go 'long with you now, and do as your mother told you.\"\nWhen we got up-stairs to his room he got me a coarse shirt and a roundabout and pants of his, and I put them on. While I was at it he asked me what my name was, but before I could tell him he started to tell me about a bluejay and a young rabbit he had catched in the woods day before yesterday, and he asked me where Moses was when the candle went out. I said I didn't know; I hadn't heard about it before, no way.\n\"Well, guess,\" he says.\n\"How'm I going to guess,\" says I, \"when I never heard tell of it before?\"\n\"But you can guess, can't you? It's just as easy.\"\n\"Which candle?\" I says.\n\"Why, any candle,\" he says.\n\"I don't know where he was,\" says I; \"where was he?\"\n\"Why, he was in the dark! That's where he was!\"\n\"Well, if you knowed where he was, what did you ask me for?\"\n\"Why, blame it, it's a riddle, don't you see? Say, how long are you going to stay here? You got to stay always. We can just have booming times—they don't have no school now. Do you own a dog? I've got a dog—and he'll go in the river and bring out chips that you throw in. Do you like to comb up Sundays, and all that kind of foolishness? You bet I don't, but ma she makes me. Confound these ole britches! I reckon I'd better put 'em on, but I'd ruther not, it's so warm. Are you all ready? All right. Come along, old hoss.\"\nCold corn-pone, cold corn-beef, butter and buttermilk—that is what they had for me down there, and there ain't nothing better that ever I've come across yet. Buck and his ma and all of them smoked cob pipes, except the nigger woman, which was gone, and the two young women. They all smoked and talked, and I eat and talked. The young women had quilts around them, and their hair down their backs. They all asked me questions, and I told them how pap and me and all the family was living on a little farm down at the bottom of Arkansaw, and my sister Mary Ann run off and got married and never was heard of no more, and Bill went to hunt them and he warn't heard of no more, and Tom and Mort died, and then there warn't nobody but just me and pap left, and he was just trimmed down to nothing, on account of his troubles; so when he died I took what there was left, because the farm didn't belong to us, and started up the river, deck passage, and fell overboard; and that was how I come to be here. So they said I could have a home there as long as I wanted it. Then it was most daylight and everybody went to bed, and I went to bed with Buck, and when I waked up in the morning, drat it all, I had forgot what my name was. So I laid there about an hour trying to think, and when Buck waked up I says:\n\"Can you spell, Buck?\"\n\"Yes,\" he says.", "chosen": "In, Who's, I, Strike, What, I'm, But, Rouse, George, The, Put, Bob,, Now,, Step, And, If, Come, Come, I, The, When, I, The, The, Come, They, So, He, Buck,, He, He, He, Well,\", Go, While, I, Well,, How'm, It's, Why,, I, That's, Say,, You, We, Do, I've, Do, You, Confound, I, Are, All, Come, Buck, They, The, They, So, Then, So", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nIn, Who's, I, Strike, What, I'm, But, Rouse, George, The, Put, Bob,, Now,, Step, And, If, Come, Come, I, The, When, I, The, The, Come, They, So, He, Buck,, He, He, He, Well,\", Go, While, I, Well,, How'm, It's, Why,, I, That's, Say,, You, We, Do, I've, Do, You, Confound, I, Are, All, Come, Buck, They, The, They, So, Then, So\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-017-00-6b02e0f9", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThough Mitya bustled about seeing after things, he gave his orders strangely, as it were disconnectedly, and inconsecutively. He began a sentence and forgot the end of it. Pyotr Ilyitch found himself obliged to come to the rescue.\n\"Four hundred roubles' worth, not less than four hundred roubles' worth, just as it was then,\" commanded Mitya. \"Four dozen champagne, not a bottle less.\"\n\"What do you want with so much? What's it for? Stay!\" cried Pyotr Ilyitch. \"What's this box? What's in it? Surely there isn't four hundred roubles' worth here?\"\nThe officious shopmen began explaining with oily politeness that the first box contained only half a dozen bottles of champagne, and only \"the most indispensable articles,\" such as savories, sweets, toffee, etc. But the main part of the goods ordered would be packed and sent off, as on the previous occasion, in a special cart also with three horses traveling at full speed, so that it would arrive not more than an hour later than Dmitri Fyodorovitch himself.\n\"Not more than an hour! Not more than an hour! And put in more toffee and fondants. The girls there are so fond of it,\" Mitya insisted hotly.\n\"The fondants are all right. But what do you want with four dozen of champagne? One would be enough,\" said Pyotr Ilyitch, almost angry. He began bargaining, asking for a bill of the goods, and refused to be satisfied. But he only succeeded in saving a hundred roubles. In the end it was agreed that only three hundred roubles' worth should be sent.\n\"Well, you may go to the devil!\" cried Pyotr Ilyitch, on second thoughts. \"What's it to do with me? Throw away your money, since it's cost you nothing.\"\n\"This way, my economist, this way, don't be angry.\" Mitya drew him into a room at the back of the shop. \"They'll give us a bottle here directly. We'll taste it. Ech, Pyotr Ilyitch, come along with me, for you're a nice fellow, the sort I like.\"\nMitya sat down on a wicker chair, before a little table, covered with a dirty dinner-napkin. Pyotr Ilyitch sat down opposite, and the champagne soon appeared, and oysters were suggested to the gentlemen. \"First-class oysters, the last lot in.\"\n\"Hang the oysters. I don't eat them. And we don't need anything,\" cried Pyotr Ilyitch, almost angrily.\n\"There's no time for oysters,\" said Mitya. \"And I'm not hungry. Do you know, friend,\" he said suddenly, with feeling, \"I never have liked all this disorder.\"\n\"Who does like it? Three dozen of champagne for peasants, upon my word, that's enough to make any one angry!\"\n\"That's not what I mean. I'm talking of a higher order. There's no order in me, no higher order. But ... that's all over. There's no need to grieve about it. It's too late, damn it! My whole life has been disorder, and one must set it in order. Is that a pun, eh?\"\n\"You're raving, not making puns!\"\n\"Glory be to God in Heaven, Glory be to God in me....\n\"That verse came from my heart once, it's not a verse, but a tear.... I made it myself ... not while I was pulling the captain's beard, though....\"\n\"Why do you bring him in all of a sudden?\"\n\"Why do I bring him in? Foolery! All things come to an end; all things are made equal. That's the long and short of it.\"\n\"You know, I keep thinking of your pistols.\"\n\"That's all foolery, too! Drink, and don't be fanciful. I love life. I've loved life too much, shamefully much. Enough! Let's drink to life, dear boy, I propose the toast. Why am I pleased with myself? I'm a scoundrel, but I'm satisfied with myself. And yet I'm tortured by the thought that I'm a scoundrel, but satisfied with myself. I bless the creation. I'm ready to bless God and His creation directly, but ... I must kill one noxious insect for fear it should crawl and spoil life for others.... Let us drink to life, dear brother. What can be more precious than life? Nothing! To life, and to one queen of queens!\"\n\"Let's drink to life and to your queen, too, if you like.\"\nThey drank a glass each. Although Mitya was excited and expansive, yet he was melancholy, too. It was as though some heavy, overwhelming anxiety were weighing upon him.\n\"Misha ... here's your Misha come! Misha, come here, my boy, drink this glass to Phœbus, the golden-haired, of to-morrow morn....\"\n\"What are you giving it him for?\" cried Pyotr Ilyitch, irritably.\n\"Yes, yes, yes, let me! I want to!\"\n\"E—ech!\"\nMisha emptied the glass, bowed, and ran out.\n\"He'll remember it afterwards,\" Mitya remarked. \"Woman, I love woman! What is woman? The queen of creation! My heart is sad, my heart is sad, Pyotr Ilyitch. Do you remember Hamlet? 'I am very sorry, good Horatio! Alas, poor Yorick!' Perhaps that's me, Yorick? Yes, I'm Yorick now, and a skull afterwards.\"\nPyotr Ilyitch listened in silence. Mitya, too, was silent for a while.\n\"What dog's that you've got here?\" he asked the shopman, casually, noticing a pretty little lap-dog with dark eyes, sitting in the corner.\n\"It belongs to Varvara Alexyevna, the mistress,\" answered the clerk. \"She brought it and forgot it here. It must be taken back to her.\"\n\"I saw one like it ... in the regiment ...\" murmured Mitya dreamily, \"only that one had its hind leg broken.... By the way, Pyotr Ilyitch, I wanted to ask you: have you ever stolen anything in your life?\"\n\"What a question!\"\n\"Oh, I didn't mean anything. From somebody's pocket, you know. I don't mean government money, every one steals that, and no doubt you do, too....\"\n\"You go to the devil.\"\n\"I'm talking of other people's money. Stealing straight out of a pocket? Out of a purse, eh?\"\n\"I stole twenty copecks from my mother when I was nine years old. I took it off the table on the sly, and held it tight in my hand.\"\n\"Well, and what happened?\"\n\"Oh, nothing. I kept it three days, then I felt ashamed, confessed, and gave it back.\"\n\"And what then?\"\n\"Naturally I was whipped. But why do you ask? Have you stolen something?\"\n\"I have,\" said Mitya, winking slyly.\n\"What have you stolen?\" inquired Pyotr Ilyitch curiously.\n\"I stole twenty copecks from my mother when I was nine years old, and gave it back three days after.\"\nAs he said this, Mitya suddenly got up.\n\"Dmitri Fyodorovitch, won't you come now?\" called Andrey from the door of the shop.\n\"Are you ready? We'll come!\" Mitya started. \"A few more last words and—Andrey, a glass of vodka at starting. Give him some brandy as well! That box\" (the one with the pistols) \"put under my seat. Good-by, Pyotr Ilyitch, don't remember evil against me.\"\n\"But you're coming back to-morrow?\"\n\"Of course.\"\n\"Will you settle the little bill now?\" cried the clerk, springing forward.\n\"Oh, yes, the bill. Of course.\"\nHe pulled the bundle of notes out of his pocket again, picked out three hundred roubles, threw them on the counter, and ran hurriedly out of the shop. Every one followed him out, bowing and wishing him good luck. Andrey, coughing from the brandy he had just swallowed, jumped up on the box. But Mitya was only just taking his seat when suddenly to his surprise he saw Fenya before him. She ran up panting, clasped her hands before him with a cry, and plumped down at his feet.\n\"Dmitri Fyodorovitch, dear good Dmitri Fyodorovitch, don't harm my mistress. And it was I told you all about it.... And don't murder him, he came first, he's hers! He'll marry Agrafena Alexandrovna now. That's why he's come back from Siberia. Dmitri Fyodorovitch, dear, don't take a fellow creature's life!\"\n\"Tut—tut—tut! That's it, is it? So you're off there to make trouble!\" muttered Pyotr Ilyitch. \"Now, it's all clear, as clear as daylight. Dmitri Fyodorovitch, give me your pistols at once if you mean to behave like a man,\" he shouted aloud to Mitya. \"Do you hear, Dmitri?\"", "chosen": "121", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n121\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-28054-048-03-ba9428b4", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nThere were in the cell, a chair, a table, and a straw mattress. As the gaoler made a general inspection of these objects, and of the four walls, before going out, a wandering fancy wandered through the mind of the prisoner leaning against the wall opposite to him, that this gaoler was so unwholesomely bloated, both in face and person, as to look like a man who had been drowned and filled with water. When the gaoler was gone, he thought in the same wandering way, \"Now am I left, as if I were dead.\" Stopping then, to look down at the mattress, he turned from it with a sick feeling, and thought, \"And here in these crawling creatures is the first condition of the body after death.\"\n\"Five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half.\" The prisoner walked to and fro in his cell, counting its measurement, and the roar of the city arose like muffled drums with a wild swell of voices added to them. \"He made shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes.\" The prisoner counted the measurement again, and paced faster, to draw his mind with him from that latter repetition. \"The ghosts that vanished when the wicket closed. There was one among them, the appearance of a lady dressed in black, who was leaning in the embrasure of a window, and she had a light shining upon her golden hair, and she looked like * * * * Let us ride on again, for God's sake, through the illuminated villages with the people all awake! * * * * He made shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes. * * * * Five paces by four and a half.\" With such scraps tossing and rolling upward from the depths of his mind, the prisoner walked faster and faster, obstinately counting and counting; and the roar of the city changed to this extent--that it still rolled in like muffled drums, but with the wail of voices that he knew, in the swell that rose above them.", "chosen": "When the gaoler was gone, he thought in the same wandering way, \"Now am I left, as if I were dead.\" Stopping then, to look down at the mattress, he turned from it with a sick feeling, and thought, \"And here in these crawling creatures is the first condition of the body after death.\"\n\"Five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half.\" The prisoner walked to and fro in his cell, counting its measurement, and the roar of the city arose like muffled drums with a wild swell of voices added to them.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nWhen the gaoler was gone, he thought in the same wandering way, \"Now am I left, as if I were dead.\" Stopping then, to look down at the mattress, he turned from it with a sick feeling, and thought, \"And here in these crawling creatures is the first condition of the body after death.\"\n\"Five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half.\" The prisoner walked to and fro in his cell, counting its measurement, and the roar of the city arose like muffled drums with a wild swell of voices added to them.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-98-031-03-4d77eb9d", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nWill was thoroughly out of temper with himself as well as with his \"principal,\" and he went to shut himself in his rooms with a half-formed resolve to throw up the \"Pioneer\" and Mr. Brooke together. Why should he stay? If the impassable gulf between himself and Dorothea were ever to be filled up, it must rather be by his going away and getting into a thoroughly different position than by staying here and slipping into deserved contempt as an understrapper of Brooke's. Then came the young dream of wonders that he might do—in five years, for example: political writing, political speaking, would get a higher value now public life was going to be wider and more national, and they might give him such distinction that he would not seem to be asking Dorothea to step down to him. Five years:—if he could only be sure that she cared for him more than for others; if he could only make her aware that he stood aloof until he could tell his love without lowering himself—then he could go away easily, and begin a career which at five-and-twenty seemed probable enough in the inward order of things, where talent brings fame, and fame everything else which is delightful. He could speak and he could write; he could master any subject if he chose, and he meant always to take the side of reason and justice, on which he would carry all his ardor. Why should he not one day be lifted above the shoulders of the crowd, and feel that he had won that eminence well? Without doubt he would leave Middlemarch, go to town, and make himself fit for celebrity by \"eating his dinners.\"\nBut not immediately: not until some kind of sign had passed between him and Dorothea. He could not be satisfied until she knew why, even if he were the man she would choose to marry, he would not marry her. Hence he must keep his post and bear with Mr. Brooke a little longer.\nBut he soon had reason to suspect that Mr. Brooke had anticipated him in the wish to break up their connection. Deputations without and voices within had concurred in inducing that philanthropist to take a stronger measure than usual for the good of mankind; namely, to withdraw in favor of another candidate, to whom he left the advantages of his canvassing machinery. He himself called this a strong measure, but observed that his health was less capable of sustaining excitement than he had imagined.\n\"I have felt uneasy about the chest—it won't do to carry that too far,\" he said to Ladislaw in explaining the affair. \"I must pull up. Poor Casaubon was a warning, you know. I've made some heavy advances, but I've dug a channel. It's rather coarse work—this electioneering, eh, Ladislaw? dare say you are tired of it. However, we have dug a channel with the 'Pioneer'—put things in a track, and so on. A more ordinary man than you might carry it on now—more ordinary, you know.\"\n\"Do you wish me to give it up?\" said Will, the quick color coming in his face, as he rose from the writing-table, and took a turn of three steps with his hands in his pockets. \"I am ready to do so whenever you wish it.\"\n\"As to wishing, my dear Ladislaw, I have the highest opinion of your powers, you know. But about the 'Pioneer,' I have been consulting a little with some of the men on our side, and they are inclined to take it into their hands—indemnify me to a certain extent—carry it on, in fact. And under the circumstances, you might like to give up—might find a better field. These people might not take that high view of you which I have always taken, as an alter ego, a right hand—though I always looked forward to your doing something else. I think of having a run into France. But I'll write you any letters, you know—to Althorpe and people of that kind. I've met Althorpe.\"\n\"I am exceedingly obliged to you,\" said Ladislaw, proudly. \"Since you are going to part with the 'Pioneer,' I need not trouble you about the steps I shall take. I may choose to continue here for the present.\"\nAfter Mr. Brooke had left him Will said to himself, \"The rest of the family have been urging him to get rid of me, and he doesn't care now about my going. I shall stay as long as I like. I shall go of my own movements and not because they are afraid of me.\"", "chosen": "[\"principal,\", \"Pioneer\", \"eating his dinners.\", \"I have felt uneasy about the chest\\u2014it won't do to carry that too far,\", \"Do you wish me to give it up?\", \"I am ready to do so whenever you wish it.\", \"I am exceedingly obliged to you,\", \"Since you are going to part with the 'Pioneer,' I need not trouble you about the steps I shall take. I may choose to continue here for the present.\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"principal,\", \"Pioneer\", \"eating his dinners.\", \"I have felt uneasy about the chest\\u2014it won't do to carry that too far,\", \"Do you wish me to give it up?\", \"I am ready to do so whenever you wish it.\", \"I am exceedingly obliged to you,\", \"Since you are going to part with the 'Pioneer,' I need not trouble you about the steps I shall take. I may choose to continue here for the present.\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-051-03-d1f1f48e", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nSo far as what there may be of a narrative in this book; and, indeed, as indirectly touching one or two very interesting and curious particulars in the habits of sperm whales, the foregoing chapter, in its earlier part, is as important a one as will be found in this volume; but the leading matter of it requires to be still further and more familiarly enlarged upon, in order to be adequately understood, and moreover to take away any incredulity which a profound ignorance of the entire subject may induce in some minds, as to the natural verity of the main points of this affair.\nI care not to perform this part of my task methodically; but shall be content to produce the desired impression by separate citations of items, practically or reliably known to me as a whaleman; and from these citations, I take it—the conclusion aimed at will naturally follow of itself.\nFirst: I have personally known three instances where a whale, after receiving a harpoon, has effected a complete escape; and, after an interval (in one instance of three years), has been again struck by the same hand, and slain; when the two irons, both marked by the same private cypher, have been taken from the body. In the instance where three years intervened between the flinging of the two harpoons; and I think it may have been something more than that; the man who darted them happening, in the interval, to go in a trading ship on a voyage to Africa, went ashore there, joined a discovery party, and penetrated far into the interior, where he travelled for a period of nearly two years, often endangered by serpents, savages, tigers, poisonous miasmas, with all the other common perils incident to wandering in the heart of unknown regions. Meanwhile, the whale he had struck must also have been on its travels; no doubt it had thrice circumnavigated the globe, brushing with its flanks all the coasts of Africa; but to no purpose. This man and this whale again came together, and the one vanquished the other. I say I, myself, have known three instances similar to this; that is in two of them I saw the whales struck; and, upon the second attack, saw the two irons with the respective marks cut in them, afterwards taken from the dead fish. In the three-year instance, it so fell out that I was in the boat both times, first and last, and the last time distinctly recognised a peculiar sort of huge mole under the whale's eye, which I had observed there three years previous. I say three years, but I am pretty sure it was more than that. Here are three instances, then, which I personally know the truth of; but I have heard of many other instances from persons whose veracity in the matter there is no good ground to impeach.\nSecondly: It is well known in the Sperm Whale Fishery, however ignorant the world ashore may be of it, that there have been several memorable historical instances where a particular whale in the ocean has been at distant times and places popularly cognisable. Why such a whale became thus marked was not altogether and originally owing to his bodily peculiarities as distinguished from other whales; for however peculiar in that respect any chance whale may be, they soon put an end to his peculiarities by killing him, and boiling him down into a peculiarly valuable oil. No: the reason was this: that from the fatal experiences of the fishery there hung a terrible prestige of perilousness about such a whale as there did about Rinaldo Rinaldini, insomuch that most fishermen were content to recognise him by merely touching their tarpaulins when he would be discovered lounging by them on the sea, without seeking to cultivate a more intimate acquaintance. Like some poor devils ashore that happen to know an irascible great man, they make distant unobtrusive salutations to him in the street, lest if they pursued the acquaintance further, they might receive a summary thump for their presumption.\nBut not only did each of these famous whales enjoy great individual celebrity—Nay, you may call it an ocean-wide renown; not only was he famous in life and now is immortal in forecastle stories after death, but he was admitted into all the rights, privileges, and distinctions of a name; had as much a name indeed as Cambyses or Cæsar. Was it not so, O Timor Tom! thou famed leviathan, scarred like an iceberg, who so long did'st lurk in the Oriental straits of that name, whose spout was oft seen from the palmy beach of Ombay? Was it not so, O New Zealand Jack! thou terror of all cruisers that crossed their wakes in the vicinity of the Tattoo Land? Was it not so, O Morquan! King of Japan, whose lofty jet they say at times assumed the semblance of a snow-white cross against the sky? Was it not so, O Don Miguel! thou Chilian whale, marked like an old tortoise with mystic hieroglyphics upon the back! In plain prose, here are four whales as well known to the students of Cetacean History as Marius or Sylla to the classic scholar.\nBut this is not all. New Zealand Tom and Don Miguel, after at various times creating great havoc among the boats of different vessels, were finally gone in quest of, systematically hunted out, chased and killed by valiant whaling captains, who heaved up their anchors with that express object as much in view, as in setting out through the Narragansett Woods, Captain Butler of old had it in his mind to capture that notorious murderous savage Annawon, the headmost warrior of the Indian King Philip.\nI do not know where I can find a better place than just here, to make mention of one or two other things, which to me seem important, as in printed form establishing in all respects the reasonableness of the whole story of the White Whale, more especially the catastrophe. For this is one of those disheartening instances where truth requires full as much bolstering as error. So ignorant are most landsmen of some of the plainest and most palpable wonders of the world, that without some hints touching the plain facts, historical and otherwise, of the fishery, they might scout at Moby Dick as a monstrous fable, or still worse and more detestable, a hideous and intolerable allegory.\nFirst: Though most men have some vague flitting ideas of the general perils of the grand fishery, yet they have nothing like a fixed, vivid conception of those perils, and the frequency with which they recur. One reason perhaps is, that not one in fifty of the actual disasters and deaths by casualties in the fishery, ever finds a public record at home, however transient and immediately forgotten that record. Do you suppose that that poor fellow there, who this moment perhaps caught by the whale-line off the coast of New Guinea, is being carried down to the bottom of the sea by the sounding leviathan—do you suppose that that poor fellow's name will appear in the newspaper obituary you will read to-morrow at your breakfast? No: because the mails are very irregular between here and New Guinea. In fact, did you ever hear what might be called regular news direct or indirect from New Guinea? Yet I tell you that upon one particular voyage which I made to the Pacific, among many others we spoke thirty different ships, every one of which had had a death by a whale, some of them more than one, and three that had each lost a boat's crew. For God's sake, be economical with your lamps and candles! not a gallon you burn, but at least one drop of man's blood was spilled for it.\nSecondly: People ashore have indeed some indefinite idea that a whale is an enormous creature of enormous power; but I have ever found that when narrating to them some specific example of this two-fold enormousness, they have significantly complimented me upon my facetiousness; when, I declare upon my soul, I had no more idea of being facetious than Moses, when he wrote the history of the plagues of Egypt.", "chosen": "Egypt", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nEgypt\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-038-00-c881caad", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nYet the voice spake true; for scarce had he pushed from the ship, when numbers of sharks, seemingly rising from out the dark waters beneath the hull, maliciously snapped at the blades of the oars, every time they dipped in the water; and in this way accompanied the boat with their bites. It is a thing not uncommonly happening to the whale-boats in those swarming seas; the sharks at times apparently following them in the same prescient way that vultures hover over the banners of marching regiments in the east. But these were the first sharks that had been observed by the Pequod since the White Whale had been first descried; and whether it was that Ahab's crew were all such tiger-yellow barbarians, and therefore their flesh more musky to the senses of the sharks—a matter sometimes well known to affect them,—however it was, they seemed to follow that one boat without molesting the others.\n\"Heart of wrought steel!\" murmured Starbuck gazing over the side, and following with his eyes the receding boat—\"canst thou yet ring boldly to that sight?—lowering thy keel among ravening sharks, and followed by them, open-mouthed to the chase; and this the critical third day?—For when three days flow together in one continuous intense pursuit; be sure the first is the morning, the second the noon, and the third the evening and the end of that thing—be that end what it may. Oh! my God! what is this that shoots through me, and leaves me so deadly calm, yet expectant,—fixed at the top of a shudder! Future things swim before me, as in empty outlines and skeletons; all the past is somehow grown dim. Mary, girl! thou fadest in pale glories behind me; boy! I seem to see but thy eyes grown wondrous blue. Strangest problems of life seem clearing; but clouds sweep between—Is my journey's end coming? My legs feel faint; like his who has footed it all day. Feel thy heart,—beats it yet? Stir thyself, Starbuck!—stave it off—move, move! speak aloud!—Mast-head there! See ye my boy's hand on the hill?—Crazed;—aloft there!—keep thy keenest eye upon the boats:—mark well the whale!—Ho! again!—drive off that hawk! see! he pecks—he tears the vane\"—pointing to the red flag flying at the main-truck—\"Ha! he soars away with it!—Where's the old man now? see'st thou that sight, oh Ahab!—shudder, shudder!\"\nThe boats had not gone very far, when by a signal from the mast-heads—a downward pointed arm, Ahab knew that the whale had sounded; but intending to be near him at the next rising, he held on his way a little sideways from the vessel; the becharmed crew maintaining the profoundest silence, as the head-beat waves hammered and hammered against the opposing bow.\n\"Drive, drive in your nails, oh ye waves! to their uttermost heads drive them in! ye but strike a thing without a lid; and no coffin and no hearse can be mine:—and hemp only can kill me! Ha! ha!\"\nSuddenly the waters around them slowly swelled in broad circles; then quickly upheaved, as if sideways sliding from a submerged berg of ice, swiftly rising to the surface. A low rumbling sound was heard; a subterraneous hum; and then all held their breaths; as bedraggled with trailing ropes, and harpoons, and lances, a vast form shot lengthwise, but obliquely from the sea. Shrouded in a thin drooping veil of mist, it hovered for a moment in the rainbowed air; and then fell swamping back into the deep. Crushed thirty feet upwards, the waters flashed for an instant like heaps of fountains, then brokenly sank in a shower of flakes, leaving the circling surface creamed like new milk round the marble trunk of the whale.\n\"Give way!\" cried Ahab to the oarsmen, and the boats darted forward to the attack; but maddened by yesterday's fresh irons that corroded in him, Moby Dick seemed combinedly possessed by all the angels that fell from heaven. The wide tiers of welded tendons overspreading his broad white forehead, beneath the transparent skin, looked knitted together; as head on, he came churning his tail among the boats; and once more flailed them apart; spilling out the irons and lances from the two mates' boats, and dashing in one side of the upper part of their bows, but leaving Ahab's almost without a scar.\nWhile Daggoo and Queequeg were stopping the strained planks; and as the whale swimming out from them, turned, and showed one entire flank as he shot by them again; at that moment a quick cry went up. Lashed round and round to the fish's back; pinioned in the turns upon turns in which, during the past night, the whale had reeled the involutions of the lines around him, the half torn body of the Parsee was seen; his sable raiment frayed to shreds; his distended eyes turned full upon old Ahab.\nThe harpoon dropped from his hand.\n\"Befooled, befooled!\"—drawing in a long lean breath—\"Aye, Parsee! I see thee again.—Aye, and thou goest before; and this, this then is the hearse that thou didst promise. But I hold thee to the last letter of thy word. Where is the second hearse? Away, mates, to the ship! those boats are useless now; repair them if ye can in time, and return to me; if not, Ahab is enough to die—Down, men! the first thing that but offers to jump from this boat I stand in, that thing I harpoon. Ye are not other men, but my arms and my legs; and so obey me.—Where's the whale? gone down again?\"\nBut he looked too nigh the boat; for as if bent upon escaping with the corpse he bore, and as if the particular place of the last encounter had been but a stage in his leeward voyage, Moby Dick was now again steadily swimming forward; and had almost passed the ship,—which thus far had been sailing in the contrary direction to him, though for the present her headway had been stopped. He seemed swimming with his utmost velocity, and now only intent upon pursuing his own straight path in the sea.\n\"Oh! Ahab,\" cried Starbuck, \"not too late is it, even now, the third day, to desist. See! Moby Dick seeks thee not. It is thou, thou, that madly seekest him!\"\nSetting sail to the rising wind, the lonely boat was swiftly impelled to leeward, by both oars and canvas. And at last when Ahab was sliding by the vessel, so near as plainly to distinguish Starbuck's face as he leaned over the rail, he hailed him to turn the vessel about, and follow him, not too swiftly, at a judicious interval. Glancing upwards, he saw Tashtego, Queequeg, and Daggoo, eagerly mounting to the three mast-heads; while the oarsmen were rocking in the two staved boats which had but just been hoisted to the side, and were busily at work in repairing them. One after the other, through the port-holes, as he sped, he also caught flying glimpses of Stubb and Flask, busying themselves on deck among bundles of new irons and lances. As he saw all this; as he heard the hammers in the broken boats; far other hammers seemed driving a nail into his heart. But he rallied. And now marking that the vane or flag was gone from the main-mast-head, he shouted to Tashtego, who had just gained that perch, to descend again for another flag, and a hammer and nails, and so nail it to the mast.\nWhether fagged by the three days' running chase, and the resistance to his swimming in the knotted hamper he bore; or whether it was some latent deceitfulness and malice in him: whichever was true, the White Whale's way now began to abate, as it seemed, from the boat so rapidly nearing him once more; though indeed the whale's last start had not been so long a one as before. And still as Ahab glided over the waves the unpitying sharks accompanied him; and so pertinaciously stuck to the boat; and so continually bit at the plying oars, that the blades became jagged and crunched, and left small splinters in the sea, at almost every dip.\n\"Heed them not! those teeth but give new rowlocks to your oars. Pull on! 'tis the better rest, the shark's jaw than the yielding water.\"\n\"But at every bite, sir, the thin blades grow smaller and smaller!\"", "chosen": "[\"Pequod\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Ahab\", \"Heart\", \"Starbuck\", \"God\", \"Drive\", \"Give\", \"Moby\", \"Dick\", \"Daggoo\", \"Queequeg\", \"Parsee\", \"Befooled\", \"Aye\", \"Tashtego\", \"Stubb\", \"Flask\", \"Heed\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Pequod\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Ahab\", \"Heart\", \"Starbuck\", \"God\", \"Drive\", \"Give\", \"Moby\", \"Dick\", \"Daggoo\", \"Queequeg\", \"Parsee\", \"Befooled\", \"Aye\", \"Tashtego\", \"Stubb\", \"Flask\", \"Heed\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-117-01-5cd675f3", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"I had no idea,\" Mr. van der Luyden continued, \"that things had come to such a pass.\" He paused, and looked at his wife again. \"It occurs to me, my dear, that the Countess Olenska is already a sort of relation--through Medora Manson's first husband. At any rate, she will be when Newland marries.\" He turned toward the young man. \"Have you read this morning's Times, Newland?\"\n\"Why, yes, sir,\" said Archer, who usually tossed off half a dozen papers with his morning coffee.\nHusband and wife looked at each other again. Their pale eyes clung together in prolonged and serious consultation; then a faint smile fluttered over Mrs. van der Luyden's face. She had evidently guessed and approved.\nMr. van der Luyden turned to Mrs. Archer. \"If Louisa's health allowed her to dine out--I wish you would say to Mrs. Lovell Mingott--she and I would have been happy to--er--fill the places of the Lawrence Leffertses at her dinner.\" He paused to let the irony of this sink in. \"As you know, this is impossible.\" Mrs. Archer sounded a sympathetic assent. \"But Newland tells me he has read this morning's Times; therefore he has probably seen that Louisa's relative, the Duke of St. Austrey, arrives next week on the Russia. He is coming to enter his new sloop, the Guinevere, in next summer's International Cup Race; and also to have a little canvasback shooting at Trevenna.\" Mr. van der Luyden paused again, and continued with increasing benevolence: \"Before taking him down to Maryland we are inviting a few friends to meet him here--only a little dinner--with a reception afterward. I am sure Louisa will be as glad as I am if Countess Olenska will let us include her among our guests.\" He got up, bent his long body with a stiff friendliness toward his cousin, and added: \"I think I have Louisa's authority for saying that she will herself leave the invitation to dine when she drives out presently: with our cards--of course with our cards.\"\nMrs. Archer, who knew this to be a hint that the seventeen-hand chestnuts which were never kept waiting were at the door, rose with a hurried murmur of thanks. Mrs. van der Luyden beamed on her with the smile of Esther interceding with Ahasuerus; but her husband raised a protesting hand.\n\"There is nothing to thank me for, dear Adeline; nothing whatever. This kind of thing must not happen in New York; it shall not, as long as I can help it,\" he pronounced with sovereign gentleness as he steered his cousins to the door.\nTwo hours later, every one knew that the great C-spring barouche in which Mrs. van der Luyden took the air at all seasons had been seen at old Mrs. Mingott's door, where a large square envelope was handed in; and that evening at the Opera Mr. Sillerton Jackson was able to state that the envelope contained a card inviting the Countess Olenska to the dinner which the van der Luydens were giving the following week for their cousin, the Duke of St. Austrey.\nSome of the younger men in the club box exchanged a smile at this announcement, and glanced sideways at Lawrence Lefferts, who sat carelessly in the front of the box, pulling his long fair moustache, and who remarked with authority, as the soprano paused: \"No one but Patti ought to attempt the Sonnambula.\"\nIt was generally agreed in New York that the Countess Olenska had \"lost her looks.\"\nShe had appeared there first, in Newland Archer's boyhood, as a brilliantly pretty little girl of nine or ten, of whom people said that she \"ought to be painted.\" Her parents had been continental wanderers, and after a roaming babyhood she had lost them both, and been taken in charge by her aunt, Medora Manson, also a wanderer, who was herself returning to New York to \"settle down.\"\nPoor Medora, repeatedly widowed, was always coming home to settle down (each time in a less expensive house), and bringing with her a new husband or an adopted child; but after a few months she invariably parted from her husband or quarrelled with her ward, and, having got rid of her house at a loss, set out again on her wanderings. As her mother had been a Rushworth, and her last unhappy marriage had linked her to one of the crazy Chiverses, New York looked indulgently on her eccentricities; but when she returned with her little orphaned niece, whose parents had been popular in spite of their regrettable taste for travel, people thought it a pity that the pretty child should be in such hands.\nEvery one was disposed to be kind to little Ellen Mingott, though her dusky red cheeks and tight curls gave her an air of gaiety that seemed unsuitable in a child who should still have been in black for her parents. It was one of the misguided Medora's many peculiarities to flout the unalterable rules that regulated American mourning, and when she stepped from the steamer her family were scandalised to see that the crape veil she wore for her own brother was seven inches shorter than those of her sisters-in-law, while little Ellen was in crimson merino and amber beads, like a gipsy foundling.\nBut New York had so long resigned itself to Medora that only a few old ladies shook their heads over Ellen's gaudy clothes, while her other relations fell under the charm of her high colour and high spirits. She was a fearless and familiar little thing, who asked disconcerting questions, made precocious comments, and possessed outlandish arts, such as dancing a Spanish shawl dance and singing Neapolitan love-songs to a guitar. Under the direction of her aunt (whose real name was Mrs. Thorley Chivers, but who, having received a Papal title, had resumed her first husband's patronymic, and called herself the Marchioness Manson, because in Italy she could turn it into Manzoni) the little girl received an expensive but incoherent education, which included \"drawing from the model,\" a thing never dreamed of before, and playing the piano in quintets with professional musicians.\nOf course no good could come of this; and when, a few years later, poor Chivers finally died in a madhouse, his widow (draped in strange weeds) again pulled up stakes and departed with Ellen, who had grown into a tall bony girl with conspicuous eyes. For some time no more was heard of them; then news came of Ellen's marriage to an immensely rich Polish nobleman of legendary fame, whom she had met at a ball at the Tuileries, and who was said to have princely establishments in Paris, Nice and Florence, a yacht at Cowes, and many square miles of shooting in Transylvania. She disappeared in a kind of sulphurous apotheosis, and when a few years later Medora again came back to New York, subdued, impoverished, mourning a third husband, and in quest of a still smaller house, people wondered that her rich niece had not been able to do something for her. Then came the news that Ellen's own marriage had ended in disaster, and that she was herself returning home to seek rest and oblivion among her kinsfolk.\nThese things passed through Newland Archer's mind a week later as he watched the Countess Olenska enter the van der Luyden drawing-room on the evening of the momentous dinner. The occasion was a solemn one, and he wondered a little nervously how she would carry it off. She came rather late, one hand still ungloved, and fastening a bracelet about her wrist; yet she entered without any appearance of haste or embarrassment the drawing-room in which New York's most chosen company was somewhat awfully assembled.", "chosen": "I, van, It, At, Have, Husband, Their, van, She, Mr., van, Archer., If, Lovell, As, Archer, But, Austrey,, He, van, I, Archer,, Mrs., van, There, This, Two, van, Mingott's, Sillerton, Austrey., Some, As, Every, It, But, She, Under, Thorley, Of, For, She, Then, These, The, She", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nI, van, It, At, Have, Husband, Their, van, She, Mr., van, Archer., If, Lovell, As, Archer, But, Austrey,, He, van, I, Archer,, Mrs., van, There, This, Two, van, Mingott's, Sillerton, Austrey., Some, As, Every, It, But, She, Under, Thorley, Of, For, She, Then, These, The, She\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-541-003-01-58c3a509", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe Art of Inhumation\nABOUT the same time, I encountered a man in the street, whom I had not seen for six or seven years; and something like this talk followed. I said--\n'But you used to look sad and oldish; you don't now. Where did you get all this youth and bubbling cheerfulness? Give me the address.'\nHe chuckled blithely, took off his shining tile, pointed to a notched pink circlet of paper pasted into its crown, with something lettered on it, and went on chuckling while I read, 'J. B----, Undertaker.' Then he clapped his hat on, gave it an irreverent tilt to leeward, and cried out--\n'That's what's the matter! It used to be rough times with me when you knew me--insurance-agency business, you know; mighty irregular. Big fire, all right--brisk trade for ten days while people scared; after that, dull policy-business till next fire. Town like this don't have fires often enough--a fellow strikes so many dull weeks in a row that he gets discouraged. But you bet you, this is the business! People don't wait for examples to die. No, sir, they drop off right along--there ain't any dull spots in the undertaker line. I just started in with two or three little old coffins and a hired hearse, and now look at the thing! I've worked up a business here that would satisfy any man, don't care who he is. Five years ago, lodged in an attic; live in a swell house now, with a mansard roof, and all the modern inconveniences.'\n'Does a coffin pay so well. Is there much profit on a coffin?'\n'Go-way! How you talk!' Then, with a confidential wink, a dropping of the voice, and an impressive laying of his hand on my arm; 'Look here; there's one thing in this world which isn't ever cheap. That's a coffin. There's one thing in this world which a person don't ever try to jew you down on. That's a coffin. There's one thing in this world which a person don't say--\"I'll look around a little, and if I find I can't do better I'll come back and take it.\" That's a coffin. There's one thing in this world which a person won't take in pine if he can go walnut; and won't take in walnut if he can go mahogany; and won't take in mahogany if he can go an iron casket with silver door-plate and bronze handles. That's a coffin. And there's one thing in this world which you don't have to worry around after a person to get him to pay for. And that's a coffin. Undertaking?--why it's the dead-surest business in Christendom, and the nobbiest.\n'Why, just look at it. A rich man won't have anything but your very best; and you can just pile it on, too--pile it on and sock it to him--he won't ever holler. And you take in a poor man, and if you work him right he'll bust himself on a single lay-out. Or especially a woman. F'r instance: Mrs. O'Flaherty comes in--widow--wiping her eyes and kind of moaning. Unhandkerchiefs one eye, bats it around tearfully over the stock; says--\n'\"And fhat might ye ask for that wan?\"\n'\"Thirty-nine dollars, madam,\" says I.\n'\"It 's a foine big price, sure, but Pat shall be buried like a gintleman, as he was, if I have to work me fingers off for it. I'll have that wan, sor.\"\n'\"Yes, madam,\" says I, \"and it is a very good one, too; not costly, to be sure, but in this life we must cut our garment to our clothes, as the saying is.\" And as she starts out, I heave in, kind of casually, \"This one with the white satin lining is a beauty, but I am afraid--well, sixty-five dollars is a rather--rather--but no matter, I felt obliged to say to Mrs. O'Shaughnessy--\"\n'\"D'ye mane to soy that Bridget O'Shaughnessy bought the mate to that joo-ul box to ship that dhrunken divil to Purgatory in?\"\n'\"Yes, madam.\"\n'\"Then Pat shall go to heaven in the twin to it, if it takes the last rap the O'Flaherties can raise; and moind you, stick on some extras, too, and I'll give ye another dollar.\"\n'And as I lay-in with the livery stables, of course I don't forget to mention that Mrs. O'Shaughnessy hired fifty-four dollars' worth of hacks and flung as much style into Dennis's funeral as if he had been a duke or an assassin. And of course she sails in and goes the O'Shaughnessy about four hacks and an omnibus better. That used to be, but that's all played now; that is, in this particular town. The Irish got to piling up hacks so, on their funerals, that a funeral left them ragged and hungry for two years afterward; so the priest pitched in and broke it all up. He don't allow them to have but two hacks now, and sometimes only one.'\n'Well,' said I, 'if you are so light-hearted and jolly in ordinary times, what must you be in an epidemic?'\nHe shook his head.\n'No, you're off, there. We don't like to see an epidemic. An epidemic don't pay. Well, of course I don't mean that, exactly; but it don't pay in proportion to the regular thing. Don't it occur to you, why?'\nNo.\n'Think.'\n'I can't imagine. What is it?'\n'It's just two things.'\n'Well, what are they?'\n'One's Embamming.'\n'And what's the other?'\n'Ice.'\n'How is that?'\n'Well, in ordinary times, a person dies, and we lay him up in ice; one day two days, maybe three, to wait for friends to come. Takes a lot of it--melts fast. We charge jewelry rates for that ice, and war-prices for attendance. Well, don't you know, when there's an epidemic, they rush 'em to the cemetery the minute the breath's out. No market for ice in an epidemic. Same with Embamming. You take a family that's able to embam, and you've got a soft thing. You can mention sixteen different ways to do it--though there ain't only one or two ways, when you come down to the bottom facts of it--and they'll take the highest-priced way, every time. It's human nature--human nature in grief. It don't reason, you see. Time being, it don't care a dam. All it wants is physical immortality for deceased, and they're willing to pay for it. All you've got to do is to just be ca'm and stack it up--they'll stand the racket. Why, man, you can take a defunct that you couldn't _give _away; and get your embamming traps around you and go to work; and in a couple of hours he is worth a cool six hundred--that's what he's worth. There ain't anything equal to it but trading rats for di'monds in time of famine. Well, don't you see, when there's an epidemic, people don't wait to embam. No, indeed they don't; and it hurts the business like hell-th, as we say--hurts it like hell-th, health, see?--Our little joke in the trade. Well, I must be going. Give me a call whenever you need any--I mean, when you're going by, sometime.'\nIn his joyful high spirits, he did the exaggerating himself, if any has been done. I have not enlarged on him.\nWith the above brief references to inhumation, let us leave the subject. As for me, I hope to be cremated. I made that remark to my pastor once, who said, with what he seemed to think was an impressive manner--\n'I wouldn't worry about that, if I had your chances.' Much he knew about it--the family all so opposed to it.", "chosen": "69", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n69\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-245-042-00-54fd355d", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nAt day-break, the three mast-heads were punctually manned afresh.\n\"D'ye see him?\" cried Ahab after allowing a little space for the light to spread.\n\"See nothing, sir.\"\n\"Turn up all hands and make sail! he travels faster than I thought for;—the top-gallant sails!—aye, they should have been kept on her all night. But no matter—'tis but resting for the rush.\"\nHere be it said, that this pertinacious pursuit of one particular whale, continued through day into night, and through night into day, is a thing by no means unprecedented in the South sea fishery. For such is the wonderful skill, prescience of experience, and invincible confidence acquired by some great natural geniuses among the Nantucket commanders; that from the simple observation of a whale when last descried, they will, under certain given circumstances, pretty accurately foretell both the direction in which he will continue to swim for a time, while out of sight, as well as his probable rate of progression during that period. And, in these cases, somewhat as a pilot, when about losing sight of a coast, whose general trending he well knows, and which he desires shortly to return to again, but at some further point; like as this pilot stands by his compass, and takes the precise bearing of the cape at present visible, in order the more certainly to hit aright the remote, unseen headland, eventually to be visited: so does the fisherman, at his compass, with the whale; for after being chased, and diligently marked, through several hours of daylight, then, when night obscures the fish, the creature's future wake through the darkness is almost as established to the sagacious mind of the hunter, as the pilot's coast is to him. So that to this hunter's wondrous skill, the proverbial evanescence of a thing writ in water, a wake, is to all desired purposes well nigh as reliable as the steadfast land. And as the mighty iron Leviathan of the modern railway is so familiarly known in its every pace, that, with watches in their hands, men time his rate as doctors that of a baby's pulse; and lightly say of it, the up train or the down train will reach such or such a spot, at such or such an hour; even so, almost, there are occasions when these Nantucketers time that other Leviathan of the deep, according to the observed humor of his speed; and say to themselves, so many hours hence this whale will have gone two hundred miles, will have about reached this or that degree of latitude or longitude. But to render this acuteness at all successful in the end, the wind and the sea must be the whaleman's allies; for of what present avail to the becalmed or windbound mariner is the skill that assures him he is exactly ninety-three leagues and a quarter from his port? Inferable from these statements, are many collateral subtile matters touching the chase of whales.\nThe ship tore on; leaving such a furrow in the sea as when a cannon-ball, missent, becomes a plough-share and turns up the level field.\n\"By salt and hemp!\" cried Stubb, \"but this swift motion of the deck creeps up one's legs and tingles at the heart. This ship and I are two brave fellows!—Ha, ha! Some one take me up, and launch me, spine-wise, on the sea,—for by live-oaks! my spine's a keel. Ha, ha! we go the gait that leaves no dust behind!\"\n\"There she blows—she blows!—she blows!—right ahead!\" was now the mast-head cry.\n\"Aye, aye!\" cried Stubb, \"I knew it—ye can't escape—blow on and split your spout, O whale! the mad fiend himself is after ye! blow your trump—blister your lungs!—Ahab will dam off your blood, as a miller shuts his watergate upon the stream!\"\nAnd Stubb did but speak out for well nigh all that crew. The frenzies of the chase had by this time worked them bubblingly up, like old wine worked anew. Whatever pale fears and forebodings some of them might have felt before; these were not only now kept out of sight through the growing awe of Ahab, but they were broken up, and on all sides routed, as timid prairie hares that scatter before the bounding bison. The hand of Fate had snatched all their souls; and by the stirring perils of the previous day; the rack of the past night's suspense; the fixed, unfearing, blind, reckless way in which their wild craft went plunging towards its flying mark; by all these things, their hearts were bowled along. The wind that made great bellies of their sails, and rushed the vessel on by arms invisible as irresistible; this seemed the symbol of that unseen agency which so enslaved them to the race.\nThey were one man, not thirty. For as the one ship that held them all; though it was put together of all contrasting things—oak, and maple, and pine wood; iron, and pitch, and hemp—yet all these ran into each other in the one concrete hull, which shot on its way, both balanced and directed by the long central keel; even so, all the individualities of the crew, this man's valor, that man's fear; guilt and guiltiness, all varieties were welded into oneness, and were all directed to that fatal goal which Ahab their one lord and keel did point to.\nThe rigging lived. The mast-heads, like the tops of tall palms, were outspreadingly tufted with arms and legs. Clinging to a spar with one hand, some reached forth the other with impatient wavings; others, shading their eyes from the vivid sunlight, sat far out on the rocking yards; all the spars in full bearing of mortals, ready and ripe for their fate. Ah! how they still strove through that infinite blueness to seek out the thing that might destroy them!\n\"Why sing ye not out for him, if ye see him?\" cried Ahab, when, after the lapse of some minutes since the first cry, no more had been heard. \"Sway me up, men; ye have been deceived; not Moby Dick casts one odd jet that way, and then disappears.\"\nIt was even so; in their headlong eagerness, the men had mistaken some other thing for the whale-spout, as the event itself soon proved; for hardly had Ahab reached his perch; hardly was the rope belayed to its pin on deck, when he struck the key-note to an orchestra, that made the air vibrate as with the combined discharges of rifles. The triumphant halloo of thirty buckskin lungs was heard, as—much nearer to the ship than the place of the imaginary jet, less than a mile ahead—Moby Dick bodily burst into view! For not by any calm and indolent spoutings; not by the peaceable gush of that mystic fountain in his head, did the White Whale now reveal his vicinity; but by the far more wondrous phenomenon of breaching. Rising with his utmost velocity from the furthest depths, the Sperm Whale thus booms his entire bulk into the pure element of air, and piling up a mountain of dazzling foam, shows his place to the distance of seven miles and more. In those moments, the torn, enraged waves he shakes off, seem his mane; in some cases, this breaching is his act of defiance.\n\"There she breaches! there she breaches!\" was the cry, as in his immeasurable bravadoes the White Whale tossed himself salmon-like to Heaven. So suddenly seen in the blue plain of the sea, and relieved against the still bluer margin of the sky, the spray that he raised, for the moment, intolerably glittered and glared like a glacier; and stood there gradually fading and fading away from its first sparkling intensity, to the dim mistiness of an advancing shower in a vale.\n\"Aye, breach your last to the sun, Moby Dick!\" cried Ahab, \"thy hour and thy harpoon are at hand!—Down! down all of ye, but one man at the fore. The boats!—stand by!\"\nUnmindful of the tedious rope-ladders of the shrouds, the men, like shooting stars, slid to the deck, by the isolated backstays and halyards; while Ahab, less dartingly, but still rapidly was dropped from his perch.\n\"Lower away,\" he cried, so soon as he had reached his boat—a spare one, rigged the afternoon previous. \"Mr. Starbuck, the ship is thine—keep away from the boats, but keep near them. Lower, all!\"", "chosen": "And, in these cases, somewhat as a pilot, when about losing sight of a coast, whose general trending he well knows, and which he desires shortly to return to again, but at some further point; like as this pilot stands by his compass, and takes the precise bearing of the cape at present visible, in order the more certainly to hit aright the remote, unseen headland, eventually to be visited: so does the fisherman, at his compass, with the whale; for after being chased, and diligently marked, through several hours of daylight, then, when night obscures the fish, the creature's future wake through the darkness is almost as established to the sagacious mind of the hunter, as the pilot's coast is to him.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nAnd, in these cases, somewhat as a pilot, when about losing sight of a coast, whose general trending he well knows, and which he desires shortly to return to again, but at some further point; like as this pilot stands by his compass, and takes the precise bearing of the cape at present visible, in order the more certainly to hit aright the remote, unseen headland, eventually to be visited: so does the fisherman, at his compass, with the whale; for after being chased, and diligently marked, through several hours of daylight, then, when night obscures the fish, the creature's future wake through the darkness is almost as established to the sagacious mind of the hunter, as the pilot's coast is to him.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2701-116-00-3ca5ea42", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHe certainly was really grieved in a way he had seldom been before. He had rushed in like a fool, and meddled in what? In a love-affair. \"But what do I know about it? What can I tell about such things?\" he repeated to himself for the hundredth time, flushing crimson. \"Oh, being ashamed would be nothing; shame is only the punishment I deserve. The trouble is I shall certainly have caused more unhappiness.... And Father Zossima sent me to reconcile and bring them together. Is this the way to bring them together?\" Then he suddenly remembered how he had tried to join their hands, and he felt fearfully ashamed again. \"Though I acted quite sincerely, I must be more sensible in the future,\" he concluded suddenly, and did not even smile at his conclusion.\nKaterina Ivanovna's commission took him to Lake Street, and his brother Dmitri lived close by, in a turning out of Lake Street. Alyosha decided to go to him in any case before going to the captain, though he had a presentiment that he would not find his brother. He suspected that he would intentionally keep out of his way now, but he must find him anyhow. Time was passing: the thought of his dying elder had not left Alyosha for one minute from the time he set off from the monastery.\nThere was one point which interested him particularly about Katerina Ivanovna's commission; when she had mentioned the captain's son, the little schoolboy who had run beside his father crying, the idea had at once struck Alyosha that this must be the schoolboy who had bitten his finger when he, Alyosha, asked him what he had done to hurt him. Now Alyosha felt practically certain of this, though he could not have said why. Thinking of another subject was a relief, and he resolved to think no more about the \"mischief\" he had done, and not to torture himself with remorse, but to do what he had to do, let come what would. At that thought he was completely comforted. Turning to the street where Dmitri lodged, he felt hungry, and taking out of his pocket the roll he had brought from his father's, he ate it. It made him feel stronger.\nDmitri was not at home. The people of the house, an old cabinet-maker, his son, and his old wife, looked with positive suspicion at Alyosha. \"He hasn't slept here for the last three nights. Maybe he has gone away,\" the old man said in answer to Alyosha's persistent inquiries. Alyosha saw that he was answering in accordance with instructions. When he asked whether he were not at Grushenka's or in hiding at Foma's (Alyosha spoke so freely on purpose), all three looked at him in alarm. \"They are fond of him, they are doing their best for him,\" thought Alyosha. \"That's good.\"\nAt last he found the house in Lake Street. It was a decrepit little house, sunk on one side, with three windows looking into the street, and with a muddy yard, in the middle of which stood a solitary cow. He crossed the yard and found the door opening into the passage. On the left of the passage lived the old woman of the house with her old daughter. Both seemed to be deaf. In answer to his repeated inquiry for the captain, one of them at last understood that he was asking for their lodgers, and pointed to a door across the passage. The captain's lodging turned out to be a simple cottage room. Alyosha had his hand on the iron latch to open the door, when he was struck by the strange hush within. Yet he knew from Katerina Ivanovna's words that the man had a family. \"Either they are all asleep or perhaps they have heard me coming and are waiting for me to open the door. I'd better knock first,\" and he knocked. An answer came, but not at once, after an interval of perhaps ten seconds.\n\"Who's there?\" shouted some one in a loud and very angry voice.\nThen Alyosha opened the door and crossed the threshold. He found himself in a regular peasant's room. Though it was large, it was cumbered up with domestic belongings of all sorts, and there were several people in it. On the left was a large Russian stove. From the stove to the window on the left was a string running across the room, and on it there were rags hanging. There was a bedstead against the wall on each side, right and left, covered with knitted quilts. On the one on the left was a pyramid of four print-covered pillows, each smaller than the one beneath. On the other there was only one very small pillow. The opposite corner was screened off by a curtain or a sheet hung on a string. Behind this curtain could be seen a bed made up on a bench and a chair. The rough square table of plain wood had been moved into the middle window. The three windows, which consisted each of four tiny greenish mildewy panes, gave little light, and were close shut, so that the room was not very light and rather stuffy. On the table was a frying-pan with the remains of some fried eggs, a half-eaten piece of bread, and a small bottle with a few drops of vodka.\nA woman of genteel appearance, wearing a cotton gown, was sitting on a chair by the bed on the left. Her face was thin and yellow, and her sunken cheeks betrayed at the first glance that she was ill. But what struck Alyosha most was the expression in the poor woman's eyes—a look of surprised inquiry and yet of haughty pride. And while he was talking to her husband, her big brown eyes moved from one speaker to the other with the same haughty and questioning expression. Beside her at the window stood a young girl, rather plain, with scanty reddish hair, poorly but very neatly dressed. She looked disdainfully at Alyosha as he came in. Beside the other bed was sitting another female figure. She was a very sad sight, a young girl of about twenty, but hunchback and crippled \"with withered legs,\" as Alyosha was told afterwards. Her crutches stood in the corner close by. The strikingly beautiful and gentle eyes of this poor girl looked with mild serenity at Alyosha. A man of forty-five was sitting at the table, finishing the fried eggs. He was spare, small and weakly built. He had reddish hair and a scanty light-colored beard, very much like a wisp of tow (this comparison and the phrase \"a wisp of tow\" flashed at once into Alyosha's mind for some reason, he remembered it afterwards). It was obviously this gentleman who had shouted to him, as there was no other man in the room. But when Alyosha went in, he leapt up from the bench on which he was sitting, and, hastily wiping his mouth with a ragged napkin, darted up to Alyosha.\n\"It's a monk come to beg for the monastery. A nice place to come to!\" the girl standing in the left corner said aloud. The man spun round instantly towards her and answered her in an excited and breaking voice:\n\"No, Varvara, you are wrong. Allow me to ask,\" he turned again to Alyosha, \"what has brought you to—our retreat?\"", "chosen": "[\"But what do I know about it? What can I tell about such things?\", \" Then he suddenly remembered how he had tried to join their hands, and he felt fearfully ashamed again. \", \"mischief\", \"He hasn't slept here for the last three nights. Maybe he has gone away,\", \"They are fond of him, they are doing their best for him,\", \"That's good.\", \"Either they are all asleep or perhaps they have heard me coming and are waiting for me to open the door. I'd better knock first,\", \"Who's there?\", \"with withered legs,\", \"a wisp of tow\", \"It's a monk come to beg for the monastery. A nice place to come to!\", \"No, Varvara, you are wrong. Allow me to ask,\", \"what has brought you to\\u2014our retreat?\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"But what do I know about it? What can I tell about such things?\", \" Then he suddenly remembered how he had tried to join their hands, and he felt fearfully ashamed again. \", \"mischief\", \"He hasn't slept here for the last three nights. Maybe he has gone away,\", \"They are fond of him, they are doing their best for him,\", \"That's good.\", \"Either they are all asleep or perhaps they have heard me coming and are waiting for me to open the door. I'd better knock first,\", \"Who's there?\", \"with withered legs,\", \"a wisp of tow\", \"It's a monk come to beg for the monastery. A nice place to come to!\", \"No, Varvara, you are wrong. Allow me to ask,\", \"what has brought you to\\u2014our retreat?\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-030-00-b870da80", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Do you mean,\" asked Syme, \"that there is really as much connection between crime and the modern intellect as all that?\"\n\"You are not sufficiently democratic,\" answered the policeman, \"but you were right when you said just now that our ordinary treatment of the poor criminal was a pretty brutal business. I tell you I am sometimes sick of my trade when I see how perpetually it means merely a war upon the ignorant and the desperate. But this new movement of ours is a very different affair. We deny the snobbish English assumption that the uneducated are the dangerous criminals. We remember the Roman Emperors. We remember the great poisoning princes of the Renaissance. We say that the dangerous criminal is the educated criminal. We say that the most dangerous criminal now is the entirely lawless modern philosopher. Compared to him, burglars and bigamists are essentially moral men; my heart goes out to them. They accept the essential ideal of man; they merely seek it wrongly. Thieves respect property. They merely wish the property to become their property that they may more perfectly respect it. But philosophers dislike property as property; they wish to destroy the very idea of personal possession. Bigamists respect marriage, or they would not go through the highly ceremonial and even ritualistic formality of bigamy. But philosophers despise marriage as marriage. Murderers respect human life; they merely wish to attain a greater fulness of human life in themselves by the sacrifice of what seems to them to be lesser lives. But philosophers hate life itself, their own as much as other people's.\"\nSyme struck his hands together.\n\"How true that is,\" he cried. \"I have felt it from my boyhood, but never could state the verbal antithesis. The common criminal is a bad man, but at least he is, as it were, a conditional good man. He says that if only a certain obstacle be removed—say a wealthy uncle—he is then prepared to accept the universe and to praise God. He is a reformer, but not an anarchist. He wishes to cleanse the edifice, but not to destroy it. But the evil philosopher is not trying to alter things, but to annihilate them. Yes, the modern world has retained all those parts of police work which are really oppressive and ignominious, the harrying of the poor, the spying upon the unfortunate. It has given up its more dignified work, the punishment of powerful traitors in the State and powerful heresiarchs in the Church. The moderns say we must not punish heretics. My only doubt is whether we have a right to punish anybody else.\"\n\"But this is absurd!\" cried the policeman, clasping his hands with an excitement uncommon in persons of his figure and costume, \"but it is intolerable! I don't know what you're doing, but you're wasting your life. You must, you shall, join our special army against anarchy. Their armies are on our frontiers. Their bolt is ready to fall. A moment more, and you may lose the glory of working with us, perhaps the glory of dying with the last heroes of the world.\"\n\"It is a chance not to be missed, certainly,\" assented Syme, \"but still I do not quite understand. I know as well as anybody that the modern world is full of lawless little men and mad little movements. But, beastly as they are, they generally have the one merit of disagreeing with each other. How can you talk of their leading one army or hurling one bolt. What is this anarchy?\"\n\"Do not confuse it,\" replied the constable, \"with those chance dynamite outbreaks from Russia or from Ireland, which are really the outbreaks of oppressed, if mistaken, men. This is a vast philosophic movement, consisting of an outer and an inner ring. You might even call the outer ring the laity and the inner ring the priesthood. I prefer to call the outer ring the innocent section, the inner ring the supremely guilty section. The outer ring—the main mass of their supporters—are merely anarchists; that is, men who believe that rules and formulas have destroyed human happiness. They believe that all the evil results of human crime are the results of the system that has called it crime. They do not believe that the crime creates the punishment. They believe that the punishment has created the crime. They believe that if a man seduced seven women he would naturally walk away as blameless as the flowers of spring. They believe that if a man picked a pocket he would naturally feel exquisitely good. These I call the innocent section.\"\n\"Oh!\" said Syme.\n\"Naturally, therefore, these people talk about 'a happy time coming'; 'the paradise of the future'; 'mankind freed from the bondage of vice and the bondage of virtue,' and so on. And so also the men of the inner circle speak—the sacred priesthood. They also speak to applauding crowds of the happiness of the future, and of mankind freed at last. But in their mouths\"—and the policeman lowered his voice—\"in their mouths these happy phrases have a horrible meaning. They are under no illusions; they are too intellectual to think that man upon this earth can ever be quite free of original sin and the struggle. And they mean death. When they say that mankind shall be free at last, they mean that mankind shall commit suicide. When they talk of a paradise without right or wrong, they mean the grave.\n\"They have but two objects, to destroy first humanity and then themselves. That is why they throw bombs instead of firing pistols. The innocent rank and file are disappointed because the bomb has not killed the king; but the high-priesthood are happy because it has killed somebody.\"\n\"How can I join you?\" asked Syme, with a sort of passion.\n\"I know for a fact that there is a vacancy at the moment,\" said the policeman, \"as I have the honour to be somewhat in the confidence of the chief of whom I have spoken. You should really come and see him. Or rather, I should not say see him, nobody ever sees him; but you can talk to him if you like.\"\n\"Telephone?\" inquired Syme, with interest.\n\"No,\" said the policeman placidly, \"he has a fancy for always sitting in a pitch-dark room. He says it makes his thoughts brighter. Do come along.\"\nSomewhat dazed and considerably excited, Syme allowed himself to be led to a side-door in the long row of buildings of Scotland Yard. Almost before he knew what he was doing, he had been passed through the hands of about four intermediate officials, and was suddenly shown into a room, the abrupt blackness of which startled him like a blaze of light. It was not the ordinary darkness, in which forms can be faintly traced; it was like going suddenly stone-blind.\n\"Are you the new recruit?\" asked a heavy voice.\nAnd in some strange way, though there was not the shadow of a shape in the gloom, Syme knew two things: first, that it came from a man of massive stature; and second, that the man had his back to him.\n\"Are you the new recruit?\" said the invisible chief, who seemed to have heard all about it. \"All right. You are engaged.\"\nSyme, quite swept off his feet, made a feeble fight against this irrevocable phrase.\n\"I really have no experience,\" he began.\n\"No one has any experience,\" said the other, \"of the Battle of Armageddon.\"\n\"But I am really unfit—\"\n\"You are willing, that is enough,\" said the unknown.\n\"Well, really,\" said Syme, \"I don't know any profession of which mere willingness is the final test.\"\n\"I do,\" said the other—\"martyrs. I am condemning you to death. Good day.\"", "chosen": "day", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nday\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-1695-004-01-8dad9990", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nCharles Darnay felt it hopeless to entreat him further, and his pride was touched besides. As they walked on in silence, he could not but see how used the people were to the spectacle of prisoners passing along the streets. The very children scarcely noticed him. A few passers turned their heads, and a few shook their fingers at him as an aristocrat; otherwise, that a man in good clothes should be going to prison, was no more remarkable than that a labourer in working clothes should be going to work. In one narrow, dark, and dirty street through which they passed, an excited orator, mounted on a stool, was addressing an excited audience on the crimes against the people, of the king and the royal family. The few words that he caught from this man's lips, first made it known to Charles Darnay that the king was in prison, and that the foreign ambassadors had one and all left Paris. On the road (except at Beauvais) he had heard absolutely nothing. The escort and the universal watchfulness had completely isolated him.\nThat he had fallen among far greater dangers than those which had developed themselves when he left England, he of course knew now. That perils had thickened about him fast, and might thicken faster and faster yet, he of course knew now. He could not but admit to himself that he might not have made this journey, if he could have foreseen the events of a few days. And yet his misgivings were not so dark as, imagined by the light of this later time, they would appear. Troubled as the future was, it was the unknown future, and in its obscurity there was ignorant hope. The horrible massacre, days and nights long, which, within a few rounds of the clock, was to set a great mark of blood upon the blessed garnering time of harvest, was as far out of his knowledge as if it had been a hundred thousand years away. The \"sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine,\" was hardly known to him, or to the generality of people, by name. The frightful deeds that were to be soon done, were probably unimagined at that time in the brains of the doers. How could they have a place in the shadowy conceptions of a gentle mind?\nOf unjust treatment in detention and hardship, and in cruel separation from his wife and child, he foreshadowed the likelihood, or the certainty; but, beyond this, he dreaded nothing distinctly. With this on his mind, which was enough to carry into a dreary prison courtyard, he arrived at the prison of La Force.\nA man with a bloated face opened the strong wicket, to whom Defarge presented \"The Emigrant Evrémonde.\"\n\"What the Devil! How many more of them!\" exclaimed the man with the bloated face.\nDefarge took his receipt without noticing the exclamation, and withdrew, with his two fellow-patriots.\n\"What the Devil, I say again!\" exclaimed the gaoler, left with his wife. \"How many more!\"\nThe gaoler's wife, being provided with no answer to the question, merely replied, \"One must have patience, my dear!\" Three turnkeys who entered responsive to a bell she rang, echoed the sentiment, and one added, \"For the love of Liberty;\" which sounded in that place like an inappropriate conclusion.\nThe prison of La Force was a gloomy prison, dark and filthy, and with a horrible smell of foul sleep in it. Extraordinary how soon the noisome flavour of imprisoned sleep, becomes manifest in all such places that are ill cared for!\n\"In secret, too,\" grumbled the gaoler, looking at the written paper. \"As if I was not already full to bursting!\"\nHe stuck the paper on a file, in an ill-humour, and Charles Darnay awaited his further pleasure for half an hour: sometimes, pacing to and fro in the strong arched room: sometimes, resting on a stone seat: in either case detained to be imprinted on the memory of the chief and his subordinates.\n\"Come!\" said the chief, at length taking up his keys, \"come with me, emigrant.\"\nThrough the dismal prison twilight, his new charge accompanied him by corridor and staircase, many doors clanging and locking behind them, until they came into a large, low, vaulted chamber, crowded with prisoners of both sexes. The women were seated at a long table, reading and writing, knitting, sewing, and embroidering; the men were for the most part standing behind their chairs, or lingering up and down the room.\nIn the instinctive association of prisoners with shameful crime and disgrace, the new-comer recoiled from this company. But the crowning unreality of his long unreal ride, was, their all at once rising to receive him, with every refinement of manner known to the time, and with all the engaging graces and courtesies of life.\nSo strangely clouded were these refinements by the prison manners and gloom, so spectral did they become in the inappropriate squalor and misery through which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to stand in a company of the dead. Ghosts all! The ghost of beauty, the ghost of stateliness, the ghost of elegance, the ghost of pride, the ghost of frivolity, the ghost of wit, the ghost of youth, the ghost of age, all waiting their dismissal from the desolate shore, all turning on him eyes that were changed by the death they had died in coming there.\nIt struck him motionless. The gaoler standing at his side, and the other gaolers moving about, who would have been well enough as to appearance in the ordinary exercise of their functions, looked so extravagantly coarse contrasted with sorrowing mothers and blooming daughters who were there--with the apparitions of the coquette, the young beauty, and the mature woman delicately bred--that the inversion of all experience and likelihood which the scene of shadows presented, was heightened to its utmost. Surely, ghosts all. Surely, the long unreal ride some progress of disease that had brought him to these gloomy shades!\n\"In the name of the assembled companions in misfortune,\" said a gentleman of courtly appearance and address, coming forward, \"I have the honour of giving you welcome to La Force, and of condoling with you on the calamity that has brought you among us. May it soon terminate happily! It would be an impertinence elsewhere, but it is not so here, to ask your name and condition?\"\nCharles Darnay roused himself, and gave the required information, in words as suitable as he could find.\n\"But I hope,\" said the gentleman, following the chief gaoler with his eyes, who moved across the room, \"that you are not in secret?\"\n\"I do not understand the meaning of the term, but I have heard them say so.\"\n\"Ah, what a pity! We so much regret it! But take courage; several members of our society have been in secret, at first, and it has lasted but a short time.\" Then he added, raising his voice, \"I grieve to inform the society--in secret.\"\nThere was a murmur of commiseration as Charles Darnay crossed the room to a grated door where the gaoler awaited him, and many voices--among which, the soft and compassionate voices of women were conspicuous--gave him good wishes and encouragement. He turned at the grated door, to render the thanks of his heart; it closed under the gaoler's hand; and the apparitions vanished from his sight forever.\nThe wicket opened on a stone staircase, leading upward. When they had ascended forty steps (the prisoner of half an hour already counted them), the gaoler opened a low black door, and they passed into a solitary cell. It struck cold and damp, but was not dark.\n\"Yours,\" said the gaoler.\n\"Why am I confined alone?\"\n\"How do I know!\"\n\"I can buy pen, ink, and paper?\"\n\"Such are not my orders. You will be visited, and can ask then. At present, you may buy your food, and nothing more.\"", "chosen": "[\"Darnay\", \"Charles\", \"Paris\", \"Beauvais\", \"England\", \"Guillotine\", \"Force\", \"Defarge\", \"Emigrant\", \"Evr\", \"Devil\", \"One\", \"Three\", \"Liberty\", \"Come\", \"Yours\", \"Such\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Darnay\", \"Charles\", \"Paris\", \"Beauvais\", \"England\", \"Guillotine\", \"Force\", \"Defarge\", \"Emigrant\", \"Evr\", \"Devil\", \"One\", \"Three\", \"Liberty\", \"Come\", \"Yours\", \"Such\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-98-031-02-6bc64302", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nI have given no small attention to that not unvexed subject, the skin of the whale. I have had controversies about it with experienced whalemen afloat, and learned naturalists ashore. My original opinion remains unchanged; but it is only an opinion.\nThe question is, what and where is the skin of the whale? Already you know what his blubber is. That blubber is something of the consistence of firm, close-grained beef, but tougher, more elastic and compact, and ranges from eight or ten to twelve and fifteen inches in thickness.\nNow, however preposterous it may at first seem to talk of any creature's skin as being of that sort of consistence and thickness, yet in point of fact these are no arguments against such a presumption; because you cannot raise any other dense enveloping layer from the whale's body but that same blubber; and the outermost enveloping layer of any animal, if reasonably dense, what can that be but the skin? True, from the unmarred dead body of the whale, you may scrape off with your hand an infinitely thin, transparent substance, somewhat resembling the thinnest shreds of isinglass, only it is almost as flexible and soft as satin; that is, previous to being dried, when it not only contracts and thickens, but becomes rather hard and brittle. I have several such dried bits, which I use for marks in my whale-books. It is transparent, as I said before; and being laid upon the printed page, I have sometimes pleased myself with fancying it exerted a magnifying influence. At any rate, it is pleasant to read about whales through their own spectacles, as you may say. But what I am driving at here is this. That same infinitely thin, isinglass substance, which, I admit, invests the entire body of the whale, is not so much to be regarded as the skin of the creature, as the skin of the skin, so to speak; for it were simply ridiculous to say, that the proper skin of the tremendous whale is thinner and more tender than the skin of a new-born child. But no more of this.\nAssuming the blubber to be the skin of the whale; then, when this skin, as in the case of a very large Sperm Whale, will yield the bulk of one hundred barrels of oil; and, when it is considered that, in quantity, or rather weight, that oil, in its expressed state, is only three fourths, and not the entire substance of the coat; some idea may hence be had of the enormousness of that animated mass, a mere part of whose mere integument yields such a lake of liquid as that. Reckoning ten barrels to the ton, you have ten tons for the net weight of only three quarters of the stuff of the whale's skin.\nIn life, the visible surface of the Sperm Whale is not the least among the many marvels he presents. Almost invariably it is all over obliquely crossed and re-crossed with numberless straight marks in thick array, something like those in the finest Italian line engravings. But these marks do not seem to be impressed upon the isinglass substance above mentioned, but seem to be seen through it, as if they were engraved upon the body itself. Nor is this all. In some instances, to the quick, observant eye, those linear marks, as in a veritable engraving, but afford the ground for far other delineations. These are hieroglyphical; that is, if you call those mysterious cyphers on the walls of pyramids hieroglyphics, then that is the proper word to use in the present connexion. By my retentive memory of the hieroglyphics upon one Sperm Whale in particular, I was much struck with a plate representing the old Indian characters chiselled on the famous hieroglyphic palisades on the banks of the Upper Mississippi. Like those mystic rocks, too, the mystic-marked whale remains undecipherable. This allusion to the Indian rocks reminds me of another thing. Besides all the other phenomena which the exterior of the Sperm Whale presents, he not seldom displays the back, and more especially his flanks, effaced in great part of the regular linear appearance, by reason of numerous rude scratches, altogether of an irregular, random aspect. I should say that those New England rocks on the sea-coast, which Agassiz imagines to bear the marks of violent scraping contact with vast floating icebergs—I should say, that those rocks must not a little resemble the Sperm Whale in this particular. It also seems to me that such scratches in the whale are probably made by hostile contact with other whales; for I have most remarked them in the large, full-grown bulls of the species.\nA word or two more concerning this matter of the skin or blubber of the whale. It has already been said, that it is stript from him in long pieces, called blanket-pieces. Like most sea-terms, this one is very happy and significant. For the whale is indeed wrapt up in his blubber as in a real blanket or counterpane; or, still better, an Indian poncho slipt over his head, and skirting his extremity. It is by reason of this cosy blanketing of his body, that the whale is enabled to keep himself comfortable in all weathers, in all seas, times, and tides. What would become of a Greenland whale, say, in those shuddering, icy seas of the North, if unsupplied with his cosy surtout? True, other fish are found exceedingly brisk in those Hyperborean waters; but these, be it observed, are your cold-blooded, lungless fish, whose very bellies are refrigerators; creatures, that warm themselves under the lee of an iceberg, as a traveller in winter would bask before an inn fire; whereas, like man, the whale has lungs and warm blood. Freeze his blood, and he dies. How wonderful is it then—except after explanation—that this great monster, to whom corporeal warmth is as indispensable as it is to man; how wonderful that he should be found at home, immersed to his lips for life in those Arctic waters! where, when seamen fall overboard, they are sometimes found, months afterwards, perpendicularly frozen into the hearts of fields of ice, as a fly is found glued in amber. But more surprising is it to know, as has been proved by experiment, that the blood of a Polar whale is warmer than that of a Borneo negro in summer.\nIt does seem to me, that herein we see the rare virtue of a strong individual vitality, and the rare virtue of thick walls, and the rare virtue of interior spaciousness. Oh, man! admire and model thyself after the whale! Do thou, too, remain warm among ice. Do thou, too, live in this world without being of it. Be cool at the equator; keep thy blood fluid at the Pole. Like the great dome of St. Peter's, and like the great whale, retain, O man! in all seasons a temperature of thine own.\nBut how easy and how hopeless to teach these fine things! Of erections, how few are domed like St. Peter's! of creatures, how few vast as the whale!", "chosen": "I, I, My, The, Already, That, Now,, True,, I, It, At, But, That, But, Assuming, Reckoning, In, Almost, But, Nor, In, These, By, Like, This, Besides, I, It, A, It, Like, For, It, What, True,, Freeze, How, where,, But, It, Oh,, admire, Do, Do, Be, Like, Peter's,, in, But, Of, Peter's!, of", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nI, I, My, The, Already, That, Now,, True,, I, It, At, But, That, But, Assuming, Reckoning, In, Almost, But, Nor, In, These, By, Like, This, Besides, I, It, A, It, Like, For, It, What, True,, Freeze, How, where,, But, It, Oh,, admire, Do, Do, Be, Like, Peter's,, in, But, Of, Peter's!, of\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-058-00-97df5d9b", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Never fear, sir; you are not speaking to one who is altogether ignorant of the vis medicatrix,\" said he, with his usual superiority of expression, made rather pathetic by difficulty of breathing. And he went without shrinking through his abstinence from drugs, much sustained by application of the thermometer which implied the importance of his temperature, by the sense that he furnished objects for the microscope, and by learning many new words which seemed suited to the dignity of his secretions. For Lydgate was acute enough to indulge him with a little technical talk.\nIt may be imagined that Mr. Trumbull rose from his couch with a disposition to speak of an illness in which he had manifested the strength of his mind as well as constitution; and he was not backward in awarding credit to the medical man who had discerned the quality of patient he had to deal with. The auctioneer was not an ungenerous man, and liked to give others their due, feeling that he could afford it. He had caught the words \"expectant method,\" and rang chimes on this and other learned phrases to accompany the assurance that Lydgate \"knew a thing or two more than the rest of the doctors—was far better versed in the secrets of his profession than the majority of his compeers.\"\nThis had happened before the affair of Fred Vincy's illness had given to Mr. Wrench's enmity towards Lydgate more definite personal ground. The new-comer already threatened to be a nuisance in the shape of rivalry, and was certainly a nuisance in the shape of practical criticism or reflections on his hard-driven elders, who had had something else to do than to busy themselves with untried notions. His practice had spread in one or two quarters, and from the first the report of his high family had led to his being pretty generally invited, so that the other medical men had to meet him at dinner in the best houses; and having to meet a man whom you dislike is not observed always to end in a mutual attachment. There was hardly ever so much unanimity among them as in the opinion that Lydgate was an arrogant young fellow, and yet ready for the sake of ultimately predominating to show a crawling subservience to Bulstrode. That Mr. Farebrother, whose name was a chief flag of the anti-Bulstrode party, always defended Lydgate and made a friend of him, was referred to Farebrother's unaccountable way of fighting on both sides.\nHere was plenty of preparation for the outburst of professional disgust at the announcement of the laws Mr. Bulstrode was laying down for the direction of the New Hospital, which were the more exasperating because there was no present possibility of interfering with his will and pleasure, everybody except Lord Medlicote having refused help towards the building, on the ground that they preferred giving to the Old Infirmary. Mr. Bulstrode met all the expenses, and had ceased to be sorry that he was purchasing the right to carry out his notions of improvement without hindrance from prejudiced coadjutors; but he had had to spend large sums, and the building had lingered. Caleb Garth had undertaken it, had failed during its progress, and before the interior fittings were begun had retired from the management of the business; and when referring to the Hospital he often said that however Bulstrode might ring if you tried him, he liked good solid carpentry and masonry, and had a notion both of drains and chimneys. In fact, the Hospital had become an object of intense interest to Bulstrode, and he would willingly have continued to spare a large yearly sum that he might rule it dictatorially without any Board; but he had another favorite object which also required money for its accomplishment: he wished to buy some land in the neighborhood of Middlemarch, and therefore he wished to get considerable contributions towards maintaining the Hospital. Meanwhile he framed his plan of management. The Hospital was to be reserved for fever in all its forms; Lydgate was to be chief medical superintendent, that he might have free authority to pursue all comparative investigations which his studies, particularly in Paris, had shown him the importance of, the other medical visitors having a consultative influence, but no power to contravene Lydgate's ultimate decisions; and the general management was to be lodged exclusively in the hands of five directors associated with Mr. Bulstrode, who were to have votes in the ratio of their contributions, the Board itself filling up any vacancy in its numbers, and no mob of small contributors being admitted to a share of government.\nThere was an immediate refusal on the part of every medical man in the town to become a visitor at the Fever Hospital.\n\"Very well,\" said Lydgate to Mr. Bulstrode, \"we have a capital house-surgeon and dispenser, a clear-headed, neat-handed fellow; we'll get Webbe from Crabsley, as good a country practitioner as any of them, to come over twice a-week, and in case of any exceptional operation, Protheroe will come from Brassing. I must work the harder, that's all, and I have given up my post at the Infirmary. The plan will flourish in spite of them, and then they'll be glad to come in. Things can't last as they are: there must be all sorts of reform soon, and then young fellows may be glad to come and study here.\" Lydgate was in high spirits.\n\"I shall not flinch, you may depend upon it, Mr. Lydgate,\" said Mr. Bulstrode. \"While I see you carrying out high intentions with vigor, you shall have my unfailing support. And I have humble confidence that the blessing which has hitherto attended my efforts against the spirit of evil in this town will not be withdrawn. Suitable directors to assist me I have no doubt of securing. Mr. Brooke of Tipton has already given me his concurrence, and a pledge to contribute yearly: he has not specified the sum—probably not a great one. But he will be a useful member of the board.\"\nA useful member was perhaps to be defined as one who would originate nothing, and always vote with Mr. Bulstrode.\nThe medical aversion to Lydgate was hardly disguised now. Neither Dr. Sprague nor Dr. Minchin said that he disliked Lydgate's knowledge, or his disposition to improve treatment: what they disliked was his arrogance, which nobody felt to be altogether deniable. They implied that he was insolent, pretentious, and given to that reckless innovation for the sake of noise and show which was the essence of the charlatan.\nThe word charlatan once thrown on the air could not be let drop. In those days the world was agitated about the wondrous doings of Mr. St. John Long, \"noblemen and gentlemen\" attesting his extraction of a fluid like mercury from the temples of a patient.\nMr. Toller remarked one day, smilingly, to Mrs. Taft, that \"Bulstrode had found a man to suit him in Lydgate; a charlatan in religion is sure to like other sorts of charlatans.\"\n\"Yes, indeed, I can imagine,\" said Mrs. Taft, keeping the number of thirty stitches carefully in her mind all the while; \"there are so many of that sort. I remember Mr. Cheshire, with his irons, trying to make people straight when the Almighty had made them crooked.\"\n\"No, no,\" said Mr. Toller, \"Cheshire was all right—all fair and above board. But there's St. John Long—that's the kind of fellow we call a charlatan, advertising cures in ways nobody knows anything about: a fellow who wants to make a noise by pretending to go deeper than other people. The other day he was pretending to tap a man's brain and get quicksilver out of it.\"\n\"Good gracious! what dreadful trifling with people's constitutions!\" said Mrs. Taft.", "chosen": "59", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n59\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-045-03-ccbf516f", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nThe lodging-house was to be given up. It seems it would not answer to carry it on. It would have been too much trouble for Mr Verloc. It would not have been convenient for his other business. What his business was he did not say; but after his engagement to Winnie he took the trouble to get up before noon, and descending the basement stairs, make himself pleasant to Winnie's mother in the breakfast-room downstairs where she had her motionless being. He stroked the cat, poked the fire, had his lunch served to him there. He left its slightly stuffy cosiness with evident reluctance, but, all the same, remained out till the night was far advanced. He never offered to take Winnie to theatres, as such a nice gentleman ought to have done. His evenings were occupied. His work was in a way political, he told Winnie once. She would have, he warned her, to be very nice to his political friends.\nAnd with her straight, unfathomable glance she answered that she would be so, of course.\nHow much more he told her as to his occupation it was impossible for Winnie's mother to discover. The married couple took her over with the furniture. The mean aspect of the shop surprised her. The change from the Belgravian square to the narrow street in Soho affected her legs adversely. They became of an enormous size. On the other hand, she experienced a complete relief from material cares. Her son-in-law's heavy good nature inspired her with a sense of absolute safety. Her daughter's future was obviously assured, and even as to her son Stevie she need have no anxiety. She had not been able to conceal from herself that he was a terrible encumbrance, that poor Stevie. But in view of Winnie's fondness for her delicate brother, and of Mr Verloc's kind and generous disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty safe in this rough world. And in her heart of hearts she was not perhaps displeased that the Verlocs had no children. As that circumstance seemed perfectly indifferent to Mr Verloc, and as Winnie found an object of quasi-maternal affection in her brother, perhaps this was just as well for poor Stevie.\nFor he was difficult to dispose of, that boy. He was delicate and, in a frail way, good-looking too, except for the vacant droop of his lower lip. Under our excellent system of compulsory education he had learned to read and write, notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect of the lower lip. But as errand-boy he did not turn out a great success. He forgot his messages; he was easily diverted from the straight path of duty by the attractions of stray cats and dogs, which he followed down narrow alleys into unsavoury courts; by the comedies of the streets, which he contemplated open-mouthed, to the detriment of his employer's interests; or by the dramas of fallen horses, whose pathos and violence induced him sometimes to shriek pierceingly in a crowd, which disliked to be disturbed by sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment of the national spectacle. When led away by a grave and protecting policeman, it would often become apparent that poor Stevie had forgotten his address—at least for a time. A brusque question caused him to stutter to the point of suffocation. When startled by anything perplexing he used to squint horribly. However, he never had any fits (which was encouraging); and before the natural outbursts of impatience on the part of his father he could always, in his childhood's days, run for protection behind the short skirts of his sister Winnie. On the other hand, he might have been suspected of hiding a fund of reckless naughtiness. When he had reached the age of fourteen a friend of his late father, an agent for a foreign preserved milk firm, having given him an opening as office-boy, he was discovered one foggy afternoon, in his chief's absence, busy letting off fireworks on the staircase. He touched off in quick succession a set of fierce rockets, angry catherine wheels, loudly exploding squibs—and the matter might have turned out very serious. An awful panic spread through the whole building. Wild-eyed, choking clerks stampeded through the passages full of smoke, silk hats and elderly business men could be seen rolling independently down the stairs. Stevie did not seem to derive any personal gratification from what he had done. His motives for this stroke of originality were difficult to discover. It was only later on that Winnie obtained from him a misty and confused confession. It seems that two other office-boys in the building had worked upon his feelings by tales of injustice and oppression till they had wrought his compassion to the pitch of that frenzy. But his father's friend, of course, dismissed him summarily as likely to ruin his business. After that altruistic exploit Stevie was put to help wash the dishes in the basement kitchen, and to black the boots of the gentlemen patronising the Belgravian mansion. There was obviously no future in such work. The gentlemen tipped him a shilling now and then. Mr Verloc showed himself the most generous of lodgers. But altogether all that did not amount to much either in the way of gain or prospects; so that when Winnie announced her engagement to Mr Verloc her mother could not help wondering, with a sigh and a glance towards the scullery, what would become of poor Stephen now.\nIt appeared that Mr Verloc was ready to take him over together with his wife's mother and with the furniture, which was the whole visible fortune of the family. Mr Verloc gathered everything as it came to his broad, good-natured breast. The furniture was disposed to the best advantage all over the house, but Mrs Verloc's mother was confined to two back rooms on the first floor. The luckless Stevie slept in one of them. By this time a growth of thin fluffy hair had come to blur, like a golden mist, the sharp line of his small lower jaw. He helped his sister with blind love and docility in her household duties. Mr Verloc thought that some occupation would be good for him. His spare time he occupied by drawing circles with compass and pencil on a piece of paper. He applied himself to that pastime with great industry, with his elbows spread out and bowed low over the kitchen table. Through the open door of the parlour at the back of the shop Winnie, his sister, glanced at him from time to time with maternal vigilance.", "chosen": "He forgot his messages; he was easily diverted from the straight path of duty by the attractions of stray cats and dogs, which he followed down narrow alleys into unsavoury courts; by the comedies of the streets, which he contemplated open-mouthed, to the detriment of his employer's interests; or by the dramas of fallen horses, whose pathos and violence induced him sometimes to shriek pierceingly in a crowd, which disliked to be disturbed by sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment of the national spectacle.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nHe forgot his messages; he was easily diverted from the straight path of duty by the attractions of stray cats and dogs, which he followed down narrow alleys into unsavoury courts; by the comedies of the streets, which he contemplated open-mouthed, to the detriment of his employer's interests; or by the dramas of fallen horses, whose pathos and violence induced him sometimes to shriek pierceingly in a crowd, which disliked to be disturbed by sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment of the national spectacle.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-974-001-01-fb35f46a", "source": "pg-974", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Besides its being honestly acquired from a 'sister,' so highly respected and revered, do you know that now I can look after mamma and Nina, my hunchback angel daughter? Doctor Herzenstube came to me in the kindness of his heart and was examining them both for a whole hour. 'I can make nothing of it,' said he, but he prescribed a mineral water which is kept at a chemist's here. He said it would be sure to do her good, and he ordered baths, too, with some medicine in them. The mineral water costs thirty copecks, and she'd need to drink forty bottles perhaps; so I took the prescription and laid it on the shelf under the ikons, and there it lies. And he ordered hot baths for Nina with something dissolved in them, morning and evening. But how can we carry out such a cure in our mansion, without servants, without help, without a bath, and without water? Nina is rheumatic all over, I don't think I told you that. All her right side aches at night, she is in agony, and, would you believe it, the angel bears it without groaning for fear of waking us. We eat what we can get, and she'll only take the leavings, what you'd scarcely give to a dog. 'I am not worth it, I am taking it from you, I am a burden on you,' that's what her angel eyes try to express. We wait on her, but she doesn't like it. 'I am a useless cripple, no good to any one.' As though she were not worth it, when she is the saving of all of us with her angelic sweetness. Without her, without her gentle word it would be hell among us! She softens even Varvara. And don't judge Varvara harshly either, she is an angel too, she, too, has suffered wrong. She came to us for the summer, and she brought sixteen roubles she had earned by lessons and saved up, to go back with to Petersburg in September, that is now. But we took her money and lived on it, so now she has nothing to go back with. Though indeed she couldn't go back, for she has to work for us like a slave. She is like an overdriven horse with all of us on her back. She waits on us all, mends and washes, sweeps the floor, puts mamma to bed. And mamma is capricious and tearful and insane! And now I can get a servant with this money, you understand, Alexey Fyodorovitch, I can get medicines for the dear creatures, I can send my student to Petersburg, I can buy beef, I can feed them properly. Good Lord, but it's a dream!\"\nAlyosha was delighted that he had brought him such happiness and that the poor fellow had consented to be made happy.\n\"Stay, Alexey Fyodorovitch, stay,\" the captain began to talk with frenzied rapidity, carried away by a new day-dream. \"Do you know that Ilusha and I will perhaps really carry out our dream. We will buy a horse and cart, a black horse, he insists on its being black, and we will set off as we pretended the other day. I have an old friend, a lawyer in K. province, and I heard through a trustworthy man that if I were to go he'd give me a place as clerk in his office, so, who knows, maybe he would. So I'd just put mamma and Nina in the cart, and Ilusha could drive, and I'd walk, I'd walk.... Why, if I only succeed in getting one debt paid that's owing me, I should have perhaps enough for that too!\"\n\"There would be enough!\" cried Alyosha. \"Katerina Ivanovna will send you as much more as you need, and you know, I have money too, take what you want, as you would from a brother, from a friend, you can give it back later.... (You'll get rich, you'll get rich!) And you know you couldn't have a better idea than to move to another province! It would be the saving of you, especially of your boy—and you ought to go quickly, before the winter, before the cold. You must write to us when you are there, and we will always be brothers.... No, it's not a dream!\"\nAlyosha could have hugged him, he was so pleased. But glancing at him he stopped short. The man was standing with his neck outstretched and his lips protruding, with a pale and frenzied face. His lips were moving as though trying to articulate something; no sound came, but still his lips moved. It was uncanny.\n\"What is it?\" asked Alyosha, startled.\n\"Alexey Fyodorovitch ... I ... you,\" muttered the captain, faltering, looking at him with a strange, wild, fixed stare, and an air of desperate resolution. At the same time there was a sort of grin on his lips. \"I ... you, sir ... wouldn't you like me to show you a little trick I know?\" he murmured, suddenly, in a firm rapid whisper, his voice no longer faltering.\n\"What trick?\"\n\"A pretty trick,\" whispered the captain. His mouth was twisted on the left side, his left eye was screwed up. He still stared at Alyosha.\n\"What is the matter? What trick?\" Alyosha cried, now thoroughly alarmed.\n\"Why, look,\" squealed the captain suddenly, and showing him the two notes which he had been holding by one corner between his thumb and forefinger during the conversation, he crumpled them up savagely and squeezed them tight in his right hand. \"Do you see, do you see?\" he shrieked, pale and infuriated. And suddenly flinging up his hand, he threw the crumpled notes on the sand. \"Do you see?\" he shrieked again, pointing to them. \"Look there!\"\nAnd with wild fury he began trampling them under his heel, gasping and exclaiming as he did so:\n\"So much for your money! So much for your money! So much for your money! So much for your money!\"\nSuddenly he darted back and drew himself up before Alyosha, and his whole figure expressed unutterable pride.\n\"Tell those who sent you that the wisp of tow does not sell his honor,\" he cried, raising his arm in the air. Then he turned quickly and began to run; but he had not run five steps before he turned completely round and kissed his hand to Alyosha. He ran another five paces and then turned round for the last time. This time his face was not contorted with laughter, but quivering all over with tears. In a tearful, faltering, sobbing voice he cried:\n\"What should I say to my boy if I took money from you for our shame?\"\nAnd then he ran on without turning. Alyosha looked after him, inexpressibly grieved. Oh, he saw that till the very last moment the man had not known he would crumple up and fling away the notes. He did not turn back. Alyosha knew he would not. He would not follow him and call him back, he knew why. When he was out of sight, Alyosha picked up the two notes. They were very much crushed and crumpled, and had been pressed into the sand, but were uninjured and even rustled like new ones when Alyosha unfolded them and smoothed them out. After smoothing them out, he folded them up, put them in his pocket and went to Katerina Ivanovna to report on the success of her commission.", "chosen": "[\"\\nAlyosha was delighted that he had brought him such happiness and that the poor fellow had consented to be made happy.\\n\", \" the captain began to talk with frenzied rapidity, carried away by a new day-dream. \", \"There would be enough!\", \"What is it?\", \"Alexey Fyodorovitch ... I ... you,\", \"I ... you, sir ... wouldn't you like me to show you a little trick I know?\", \"What trick?\", \"A pretty trick,\", \"What is the matter? What trick?\", \"Why, look,\", \"Do you see, do you see?\", \"Do you see?\", \"Look there!\", \"So much for your money! So much for your money! So much for your money! So much for your money!\", \"Tell those who sent you that the wisp of tow does not sell his honor,\", \"What should I say to my boy if I took money from you for our shame?\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"\\nAlyosha was delighted that he had brought him such happiness and that the poor fellow had consented to be made happy.\\n\", \" the captain began to talk with frenzied rapidity, carried away by a new day-dream. \", \"There would be enough!\", \"What is it?\", \"Alexey Fyodorovitch ... I ... you,\", \"I ... you, sir ... wouldn't you like me to show you a little trick I know?\", \"What trick?\", \"A pretty trick,\", \"What is the matter? What trick?\", \"Why, look,\", \"Do you see, do you see?\", \"Do you see?\", \"Look there!\", \"So much for your money! So much for your money! So much for your money! So much for your money!\", \"Tell those who sent you that the wisp of tow does not sell his honor,\", \"What should I say to my boy if I took money from you for our shame?\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-031-03-c33dc407", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nMr. Grewgious, alternately opening and shutting the palms of his hands as he warmed them at the fire, and looking fixedly at him sideways, and never changing either his action or his look in all that followed, went on to reply.\n\"This young couple, the lost youth and Miss Rosa, my ward, though so long betrothed, and so long recognising their betrothal, and so near being married—\"\nMr. Grewgious saw a staring white face, and two quivering white lips, in the easy-chair, and saw two muddy hands gripping its sides. But for the hands, he might have thought he had never seen the face.\n\"—This young couple came gradually to the discovery (made on both sides pretty equally, I think), that they would be happier and better, both in their present and their future lives, as affectionate friends, or say rather as brother and sister, than as husband and wife.\"\nMr. Grewgious saw a lead-coloured face in the easy-chair, and on its surface dreadful starting drops or bubbles, as if of steel.\n\"This young couple formed at length the healthy resolution of interchanging their discoveries, openly, sensibly, and tenderly. They met for that purpose. After some innocent and generous talk, they agreed to dissolve their existing, and their intended, relations, for ever and ever.\"\nMr. Grewgious saw a ghastly figure rise, open-mouthed, from the easy-chair, and lift its outspread hands towards its head.\n\"One of this young couple, and that one your nephew, fearful, however, that in the tenderness of your affection for him you would be bitterly disappointed by so wide a departure from his projected life, forbore to tell you the secret, for a few days, and left it to be disclosed by me, when I should come down to speak to you, and he would be gone. I speak to you, and he is gone.\"\nMr. Grewgious saw the ghastly figure throw back its head, clutch its hair with its hands, and turn with a writhing action from him.\n\"I have now said all I have to say: except that this young couple parted, firmly, though not without tears and sorrow, on the evening when you last saw them together.\"\nMr. Grewgious heard a terrible shriek, and saw no ghastly figure, sitting or standing; saw nothing but a heap of torn and miry clothes upon the floor.\nNot changing his action even then, he opened and shut the palms of his hands as he warmed them, and looked down at it.", "chosen": "it", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nit\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-564-015-02-11a1e59a", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe merchant having withdrawn, the other remained seated alone for a time, with the air of one who, after having conversed with some excellent man, carefully ponders what fell from him, however intellectually inferior it may be, that none of the profit may be lost; happy if from any honest word he has heard he can derive some hint, which, besides confirming him in the theory of virtue, may, likewise, serve for a finger-post to virtuous action.\nEre long his eye brightened, as if some such hint was now caught. He rises, book in hand, quits the cabin, and enters upon a sort of corridor, narrow and dim, a by-way to a retreat less ornate and cheery than the former; in short, the emigrants' quarters; but which, owing to the present trip being a down-river one, will doubtless be found comparatively tenantless. Owing to obstructions against the side windows, the whole place is dim and dusky; very much so, for the most part; yet, by starts, haggardly lit here and there by narrow, capricious sky-lights in the cornices. But there would seem no special need for light, the place being designed more to pass the night in, than the day; in brief, a pine barrens dormitory, of knotty pine bunks, without bedding. As with the nests in the geometrical towns of the associate penguin and pelican, these bunks were disposed with Philadelphian regularity, but, like the cradle of the oriole, they were pendulous, and, moreover, were, so to speak, three-story cradles; the description of one of which will suffice for all.\nFour ropes, secured to the ceiling, passed downwards through auger-holes bored in the corners of three rough planks, which at equal distances rested on knots vertically tied in the ropes, the lowermost plank but an inch or two from the floor, the whole affair resembling, on a large scale, rope book-shelves; only, instead of hanging firmly against a wall, they swayed to and fro at the least suggestion of motion, but were more especially lively upon the provocation of a green emigrant sprawling into one, and trying to lay himself out there, when the cradling would be such as almost to toss him back whence he came. In consequence, one less inexperienced, essaying repose on the uppermost shelf, was liable to serious disturbance, should a raw beginner select a shelf beneath. Sometimes a throng of poor emigrants, coming at night in a sudden rain to occupy these oriole nests, would--through ignorance of their peculiarity--bring about such a rocking uproar of carpentry, joining to it such an uproar of exclamations, that it seemed as if some luckless ship, with all its crew, was being dashed to pieces among the rocks. They were beds devised by some sardonic foe of poor travelers, to deprive them of that tranquility which should precede, as well as accompany, slumber.--Procrustean beds, on whose hard grain humble worth and honesty writhed, still invoking repose, while but torment responded. Ah, did any one make such a bunk for himself, instead of having it made for him, it might be just, but how cruel, to say, You must lie on it!\nBut, purgatory as the place would appear, the stranger advances into it: and, like Orpheus in his gay descent to Tartarus, lightly hums to himself an opera snatch.\nSuddenly there is a rustling, then a creaking, one of the cradles swings out from a murky nook, a sort of wasted penguin-flipper is supplicatingly put forth, while a wail like that of Dives is heard:--\"Water, water!\"\nIt was the miser of whom the merchant had spoken.\nSwift as a sister-of-charity, the stranger hovers over him:--\n\"My poor, poor sir, what can I do for you?\"\n\"Ugh, ugh--water!\"\nDarting out, he procures a glass, returns, and, holding it to the sufferer's lips, supports his head while he drinks: \"And did they let you lie here, my poor sir, racked with this parching thirst?\"\nThe miser, a lean old man, whose flesh seemed salted cod-fish, dry as combustibles; head, like one whittled by an idiot out of a knot; flat, bony mouth, nipped between buzzard nose and chin; expression, flitting between hunks and imbecile--now one, now the other--he made no response. His eyes were closed, his cheek lay upon an old white moleskin coat, rolled under his head like a wizened apple upon a grimy snow-bank.\nRevived at last, he inclined towards his ministrant, and, in a voice disastrous with a cough, said:--\"I am old and miserable, a poor beggar, not worth a shoestring--how can I repay you?\"\n\"By giving me your confidence.\"\n\"Confidence!\" he squeaked, with changed manner, while the pallet swung, \"little left at my age, but take the stale remains, and welcome.\"\n\"Such as it is, though, you give it. Very good. Now give me a hundred dollars.\"\nUpon this the miser was all panic. His hands groped towards his waist, then suddenly flew upward beneath his moleskin pillow, and there lay clutching something out of sight. Meantime, to himself he incoherently mumbled:--\"Confidence? Cant, gammon! Confidence? hum, bubble!--Confidence? fetch, gouge!--Hundred dollars?--hundred devils!\"\nHalf spent, he lay mute awhile, then feebly raising himself, in a voice for the moment made strong by the sarcasm, said, \"A hundred dollars? rather high price to put upon confidence. But don't you see I am a poor, old rat here, dying in the wainscot? You have served me; but, wretch that I am, I can but cough you my thanks,--ugh, ugh, ugh!\"\nThis time his cough was so violent that its convulsions were imparted to the plank, which swung him about like a stone in a sling preparatory to its being hurled.\n\"Ugh, ugh, ugh!\"\n\"What a shocking cough. I wish, my friend, the herb-doctor was here now; a box of his Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator would do you good.\"\n\"Ugh, ugh, ugh!\"\n\"I've a good mind to go find him. He's aboard somewhere. I saw his long, snuff-colored surtout. Trust me, his medicines are the best in the world.\"\n\"Ugh, ugh, ugh!\"\n\"Oh, how sorry I am.\"\n\"No doubt of it,\" squeaked the other again, \"but go, get your charity out on deck. There parade the pursy peacocks; they don't cough down here in desertion and darkness, like poor old me. Look how scaly a pauper I am, clove with this churchyard cough. Ugh, ugh, ugh!\"\n\"Again, how sorry I feel, not only for your cough, but your poverty. Such a rare chance made unavailable. Did you have but the sum named, how I could invest it for you. Treble profits. But confidence--I fear that, even had you the precious cash, you would not have the more precious confidence I speak of.\"\n\"Ugh, ugh, ugh!\" flightily raising himself. \"What's that? How, how? Then you don't want the money for yourself?\"\n\"My dear, dear sir, how could you impute to me such preposterous self-seeking? To solicit out of hand, for my private behoof, an hundred dollars from a perfect stranger? I am not mad, my dear sir.\"\n\"How, how?\" still more bewildered, \"do you, then, go about the world, gratis, seeking to invest people's money for them?\"\n\"My humble profession, sir. I live not for myself; but the world will not have confidence in me, and yet confidence in me were great gain.\"\n\"But, but,\" in a kind of vertigo, \"what do--do you do--do with people's money? Ugh, ugh! How is the gain made?\"\n\"To tell that would ruin me. That known, every one would be going into the business, and it would be overdone. A secret, a mystery--all I have to do with you is to receive your confidence, and all you have to do with me is, in due time, to receive it back, thrice paid in trebling profits.\"\n\"What, what?\" imbecility in the ascendant once more; \"but the vouchers, the vouchers,\" suddenly hunkish again.\n\"Honesty's best voucher is honesty's face.\"\n\"Can't see yours, though,\" peering through the obscurity.\nFrom this last alternating flicker of rationality, the miser fell back, sputtering, into his previous gibberish, but it took now an arithmetical turn. Eyes closed, he lay muttering to himself--\n\"One hundred, one hundred--two hundred, two hundred--three hundred, three hundred.\"\nHe opened his eyes, feebly stared, and still more feebly said--\n\"It's a little dim here, ain't it? Ugh, ugh! But, as well as my poor old eyes can see, you look honest.\"\n\"I am glad to hear that.\"", "chosen": "[\"Philadelphian\", \"Orpheus\", \"Tartarus\", \"Dives\", \"Water\", \"Ugh\", \"Confidence\", \"Such\", \"Omni\", \"Reinvigorator\", \"Again\", \"Honesty\", \"Can\", \"One\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Philadelphian\", \"Orpheus\", \"Tartarus\", \"Dives\", \"Water\", \"Ugh\", \"Confidence\", \"Such\", \"Omni\", \"Reinvigorator\", \"Again\", \"Honesty\", \"Can\", \"One\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-21816-015-00-84df589a", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThen he turns and goes in. The crowd looked mighty sober; nobody stirred, and there warn't no more laughing. Boggs rode off blackguarding Sherburn as loud as he could yell, all down the street; and pretty soon back he comes and stops before the store, still keeping it up. Some men crowded around him and tried to get him to shut up, but he wouldn't; they told him it would be one o'clock in about fifteen minutes, and so he must go home—he must go right away. But it didn't do no good. He cussed away with all his might, and throwed his hat down in the mud and rode over it, and pretty soon away he went a-raging down the street again, with his gray hair a-flying. Everybody that could get a chance at him tried their best to coax him off of his horse so they could lock him up and get him sober; but it warn't no use—up the street he would tear again, and give Sherburn another cussing. By-and-by somebody says:\n\"Go for his daughter!—quick, go for his daughter; sometimes he'll listen to her. If anybody can persuade him, she can.\"\nSo somebody started on a run. I walked down street a ways and stopped. In about five or ten minutes here comes Boggs again, but not on his horse. He was a-reeling across the street towards me, bare-headed, with a friend on both sides of him a-holt of his arms and hurrying him along. He was quiet, and looked uneasy; and he warn't hanging back any, but was doing some of the hurrying himself. Somebody sings out:\n\"Boggs!\"\nI looked over there to see who said it, and it was that Colonel Sherburn. He was standing perfectly still in the street, and had a pistol raised in his right hand—not aiming it, but holding it out with the barrel tilted up towards the sky. The same second I see a young girl coming on the run, and two men with her. Boggs and the men turned round to see who called him, and when they see the pistol the men jumped to one side, and the pistol-barrel come down slow and steady to a level—both barrels cocked. Boggs throws up both of his hands and says, \"O Lord, don't shoot!\" Bang! goes the first shot, and he staggers back, clawing at the air—bang! goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards onto the ground, heavy and solid, with his arms spread out. That young girl screamed out and comes rushing, and down she throws herself on her father, crying, and saying, \"Oh, he's killed him, he's killed him!\" The crowd closed up around them, and shouldered and jammed one another, with their necks stretched, trying to see, and people on the inside trying to shove them back and shouting, \"Back, back! give him air, give him air!\"\nColonel Sherburn he tossed his pistol onto the ground, and turned around on his heels and walked off.\nThey took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just the same, and the whole town following, and I rushed and got a good place at the window, where I was close to him and could see in. They laid him on the floor and put one large Bible under his head, and opened another one and spread it on his breast; but they tore open his shirt first, and I seen where one of the bullets went in. He made about a dozen long gasps, his breast lifting the Bible up when he drawed in his breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it out—and after that he laid still; he was dead. Then they pulled his daughter away from him, screaming and crying, and took her off. She was about sixteen, and very sweet and gentle-looking, but awful pale and scared.\nWell, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and scrouging and pushing and shoving to get at the window and have a look, but people that had the places wouldn't give them up, and folks behind them was saying all the time, \"Say, now, you've looked enough, you fellows; 'tain't right and 'tain't fair for you to stay thar all the time, and never give nobody a chance; other folks has their rights as well as you.\"\nThere was considerable jawing back, so I slid out, thinking maybe there was going to be trouble. The streets was full, and everybody was excited. Everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened, and there was a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows, stretching their necks and listening. One long, lanky man, with long hair and a big white fur stovepipe hat on the back of his head, and a crooked-handled cane, marked out the places on the ground where Boggs stood and where Sherburn stood, and the people following him around from one place to t'other and watching everything he done, and bobbing their heads to show they understood, and stooping a little and resting their hands on their thighs to watch him mark the places on the ground with his cane; and then he stood up straight and stiff where Sherburn had stood, frowning and having his hat-brim down over his eyes, and sung out, \"Boggs!\" and then fetched his cane down slow to a level, and says \"Bang!\" staggered backwards, says \"Bang!\" again, and fell down flat on his back. The people that had seen the thing said he done it perfect; said it was just exactly the way it all happened. Then as much as a dozen people got out their bottles and treated him.\nWell, by-and-by somebody said Sherburn ought to be lynched. In about a minute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and yelling, and snatching down every clothes-line they come to, to do the hanging with.", "chosen": "Then, The, Boggs, Some, But, He, Everybody, By-and-by, If, I, In, He, He, Somebody, He, The, Boggs, Boggs, goes, goes, That, give, They, They, He, Then, She, Well,, The, Everybody, One, The, Then, Well,, In", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nThen, The, Boggs, Some, But, He, Everybody, By-and-by, If, I, In, He, He, Somebody, He, The, Boggs, Boggs, goes, goes, That, give, They, They, He, Then, She, Well,, The, Everybody, One, The, Then, Well,, In\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-021-02-bf73d393", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n'Perhaps you've brought the wrong book, sir?' chimed in Haymoss, kindly. 'I've knowed music early in life and late,--in short, ever since Luke Sneap broke his new fiddle-bow in the wedding psalm, when Pa'son Wilton brought home his bride (you can mind the time, Sammy?--when we sung \"His wife, like a fair fertile vine, her lovely fruit shall bring,\" when the young woman turned as red as a rose, not knowing 'twas coming). I've knowed music ever since then, I say, sir, and never heard the like o' that. Every martel note had his name of A, B, C, at that time.'\n'Yes, yes, men; but this is a more recent system!'\n'Still, you can't alter a old-established note that's A or B by nater,' rejoined Haymoss, with yet deeper conviction that Mr. Torkingham was getting off his head. 'Now sound A, neighbour Sammy, and let's have a slap at Christen sojers again, and show the Pa'son the true way!'\nSammy produced a private tuning-fork, black and grimy, which, being about seventy years of age, and wrought before pianoforte builders had sent up the pitch to make their instruments brilliant, was nearly a note flatter than the parson's. While an argument as to the true pitch was in progress, there came a knocking without.\n'Somebody's at the door!' said a little treble girl.\n'Thought I heard a knock before!' said the relieved choir.\nThe latch was lifted, and a man asked from the darkness, 'Is Mr. Torkingham here?'\n'Yes, Mills. What do you want?'\nIt was the parson's man.\n'Oh, if you please,' said Mills, showing an advanced margin of himself round the door, 'Lady Constantine wants to see you very particular, sir, and could you call on her after dinner, if you ben't engaged with poor fokes? She's just had a letter,--so they say,--and it's about that, I believe.'\nFinding, on looking at his watch, that it was necessary to start at once if he meant to see her that night, the parson cut short the practising, and, naming another night for meeting, he withdrew. All the singers assisted him on to his cob, and watched him till he disappeared over the edge of the Bottom.", "chosen": "15", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n15\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-3146-002-02-f27c9398", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nThen I struck up the road, and when I passed the mill I see a sign on it, \"Phelps's Sawmill,\" and when I come to the farm-houses, two or three hundred yards further along, I kept my eyes peeled, but didn't see nobody around, though it was good daylight now. But I didn't mind, because I didn't want to see nobody just yet—I only wanted to get the lay of the land. According to my plan, I was going to turn up there from the village, not from below. So I just took a look, and shoved along, straight for town. Well, the very first man I see when I got there was the duke. He was sticking up a bill for the Royal Nonesuch—three-night performance—like that other time. They had the cheek, them frauds! I was right on him before I could shirk. He looked astonished, and says:\n\"Hel-lo! Where'd you come from?\" Then he says, kind of glad and eager, \"Where's the raft?—got her in a good place?\"\nI says:\n\"Why, that's just what I was going to ask your grace.\"\nThen he didn't look so joyful, and says:\n\"What was your idea for asking me?\" he says.\n\"Well,\" I says, \"when I see the king in that doggery yesterday I says to myself, we can't get him home for hours, till he's soberer; so I went a-loafing around town to put in the time and wait. A man up and offered me ten cents to help him pull a skiff over the river and back to fetch a sheep, and so I went along; but when we was dragging him to the boat, and the man left me a-holt of the rope and went behind him to shove him along, he was too strong for me and jerked loose and run, and we after him. We didn't have no dog, and so we had to chase him all over the country till we tired him out. We never got him till dark; then we fetched him over, and I started down for the raft. When I got there and see it was gone, I says to myself, 'they've got into trouble and had to leave; and they've took my nigger, which is the only nigger I've got in the world, and now I'm in a strange country, and ain't got no property no more, nor nothing, and no way to make my living;' so I set down and cried. I slept in the woods all night. But what did become of the raft, then?—and Jim—poor Jim!\"\n\"Blamed if I know—that is, what's become of the raft. That old fool had made a trade and got forty dollars, and when we found him in the doggery the loafers had matched half-dollars with him and got every cent but what he'd spent for whisky; and when I got him home late last night and found the raft gone, we said, 'That little rascal has stole our raft and shook us, and run off down the river.'\"\n\"I wouldn't shake my nigger, would I?—the only nigger I had in the world, and the only property.\"\n\"We never thought of that. Fact is, I reckon we'd come to consider him our nigger; yes, we did consider him so—goodness knows we had trouble enough for him. So when we see the raft was gone and we flat broke, there warn't anything for it but to try the Royal Nonesuch another shake. And I've pegged along ever since, dry as a powder-horn. Where's that ten cents? Give it here.\"\nI had considerable money, so I give him ten cents, but begged him to spend it for something to eat, and give me some, because it was all the money I had, and I hadn't had nothing to eat since yesterday. He never said nothing. The next minute he whirls on me and says:\n\"Do you reckon that nigger would blow on us? We'd skin him if he done that!\"\n\"How can he blow? Hain't he run off?\"\n\"No! That old fool sold him, and never divided with me, and the money's gone.\"\n\"Sold him?\" I says, and begun to cry; \"why, he was my nigger, and that was my money. Where is he?—I want my nigger.\"\n\"Well, you can't get your nigger, that's all—so dry up your blubbering. Looky here—do you think you'd venture to blow on us? Blamed if I think I'd trust you. Why, if you was to blow on us—\"\nHe stopped, but I never see the duke look so ugly out of his eyes before. I went on a-whimpering, and says:\n\"I don't want to blow on nobody; and I ain't got no time to blow, nohow. I got to turn out and find my nigger.\"\nHe looked kinder bothered, and stood there with his bills fluttering on his arm, thinking, and wrinkling up his forehead. At last he says:\n\"I'll tell you something. We got to be here three days. If you'll promise you won't blow, and won't let the nigger blow, I'll tell you where to find him.\"\nSo I promised, and he says:\n\"A farmer by the name of Silas Ph—\" and then he stopped. You see, he started to tell me the truth; but when he stopped that way, and begun to study and think again, I reckoned he was changing his mind. And so he was. He wouldn't trust me; he wanted to make sure of having me out of the way the whole three days. So pretty soon he says:\n\"The man that bought him is named Abram Foster—Abram G. Foster—and he lives forty mile back here in the country, on the road to Lafayette.\"\n\"All right,\" I says, \"I can walk it in three days. And I'll start this very afternoon.\"\n\"No you wont, you'll start now; and don't you lose any time about it, neither, nor do any gabbling by the way. Just keep a tight tongue in your head and move right along, and then you won't get into trouble with us, d'ye hear?\"\nThat was the order I wanted, and that was the one I played for. I wanted to be left free to work my plans.\n\"So clear out,\" he says; \"and you can tell Mr. Foster whatever you want to. Maybe you can get him to believe that Jim is your nigger—some idiots don't require documents—leastways I've heard there's such down South here. And when you tell him the handbill and the reward's bogus, maybe he'll believe you when you explain to him what the idea was for getting 'em out. Go 'long now, and tell him anything you want to; but mind you don't work your jaw any between here and there.\"\nSo I left, and struck for the back country. I didn't look around, but I kinder felt like he was watching me. But I knowed I could tire him out at that. I went straight out in the country as much as a mile before I stopped; then I doubled back through the woods towards Phelps'. I reckoned I better start in on my plan straight off without fooling around, because I wanted to stop Jim's mouth till these fellows could get away. I didn't want no trouble with their kind. I'd seen all I wanted to of them, and wanted to get entirely shut of them.", "chosen": "That old fool had made a trade and got forty dollars, and when we found him in the doggery the loafers had matched half-dollars with him and got every cent but what he'd spent for whisky; and when I got him home late last night and found the raft gone, we said, 'That little rascal has stole our raft and shook us, and run off down the river.'\"\n\"I wouldn't shake my nigger, would I?—the only nigger I had in the world, and the only property.\"\n\"We never thought of that.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nThat old fool had made a trade and got forty dollars, and when we found him in the doggery the loafers had matched half-dollars with him and got every cent but what he'd spent for whisky; and when I got him home late last night and found the raft gone, we said, 'That little rascal has stole our raft and shook us, and run off down the river.'\"\n\"I wouldn't shake my nigger, would I?—the only nigger I had in the world, and the only property.\"\n\"We never thought of that.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-76-031-02-bafe2d62", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"You have at all events taken your share in using good practical precautions for the town, and that is the best mode of asking for protection,\" said Lydgate, with a strong distaste for the broken metaphor and bad logic of the banker's religion, somewhat increased by the apparent deafness of his sympathy. But his mind had taken up its long-prepared movement towards getting help, and was not yet arrested. He added, \"The town has done well in the way of cleansing, and finding appliances; and I think that if the cholera should come, even our enemies will admit that the arrangements in the Hospital are a public good.\"\n\"Truly,\" said Mr. Bulstrode, with some coldness. \"With regard to what you say, Mr. Lydgate, about the relaxation of my mental labor, I have for some time been entertaining a purpose to that effect—a purpose of a very decided character. I contemplate at least a temporary withdrawal from the management of much business, whether benevolent or commercial. Also I think of changing my residence for a time: probably I shall close or let 'The Shrubs,' and take some place near the coast—under advice of course as to salubrity. That would be a measure which you would recommend?\"\n\"Oh yes,\" said Lydgate, falling backward in his chair, with ill-repressed impatience under the banker's pale earnest eyes and intense preoccupation with himself.\n\"I have for some time felt that I should open this subject with you in relation to our Hospital,\" continued Bulstrode. \"Under the circumstances I have indicated, of course I must cease to have any personal share in the management, and it is contrary to my views of responsibility to continue a large application of means to an institution which I cannot watch over and to some extent regulate. I shall therefore, in case of my ultimate decision to leave Middlemarch, consider that I withdraw other support to the New Hospital than that which will subsist in the fact that I chiefly supplied the expenses of building it, and have contributed further large sums to its successful working.\"\nLydgate's thought, when Bulstrode paused according to his wont, was, \"He has perhaps been losing a good deal of money.\" This was the most plausible explanation of a speech which had caused rather a startling change in his expectations. He said in reply—\n\"The loss to the Hospital can hardly be made up, I fear.\"\n\"Hardly,\" returned Bulstrode, in the same deliberate, silvery tone; \"except by some changes of plan. The only person who may be certainly counted on as willing to increase her contributions is Mrs. Casaubon. I have had an interview with her on the subject, and I have pointed out to her, as I am about to do to you, that it will be desirable to win a more general support to the New Hospital by a change of system.\" Another pause, but Lydgate did not speak.\n\"The change I mean is an amalgamation with the Infirmary, so that the New Hospital shall be regarded as a special addition to the elder institution, having the same directing board. It will be necessary, also, that the medical management of the two shall be combined. In this way any difficulty as to the adequate maintenance of our new establishment will be removed; the benevolent interests of the town will cease to be divided.\"\nMr. Bulstrode had lowered his eyes from Lydgate's face to the buttons of his coat as he again paused.\n\"No doubt that is a good device as to ways and means,\" said Lydgate, with an edge of irony in his tone. \"But I can't be expected to rejoice in it at once, since one of the first results will be that the other medical men will upset or interrupt my methods, if it were only because they are mine.\"\n\"I myself, as you know, Mr. Lydgate, highly valued the opportunity of new and independent procedure which you have diligently employed: the original plan, I confess, was one which I had much at heart, under submission to the Divine Will. But since providential indications demand a renunciation from me, I renounce.\"\nBulstrode showed a rather exasperating ability in this conversation. The broken metaphor and bad logic of motive which had stirred his hearer's contempt were quite consistent with a mode of putting the facts which made it difficult for Lydgate to vent his own indignation and disappointment. After some rapid reflection, he only asked—\n\"What did Mrs. Casaubon say?\"\n\"That was the further statement which I wished to make to you,\" said Bulstrode, who had thoroughly prepared his ministerial explanation. \"She is, you are aware, a woman of most munificent disposition, and happily in possession—not I presume of great wealth, but of funds which she can well spare. She has informed me that though she has destined the chief part of those funds to another purpose, she is willing to consider whether she cannot fully take my place in relation to the Hospital. But she wishes for ample time to mature her thoughts on the subject, and I have told her that there is no need for haste—that, in fact, my own plans are not yet absolute.\"\nLydgate was ready to say, \"If Mrs. Casaubon would take your place, there would be gain, instead of loss.\" But there was still a weight on his mind which arrested this cheerful candor. He replied, \"I suppose, then, that I may enter into the subject with Mrs. Casaubon.\"\n\"Precisely; that is what she expressly desires. Her decision, she says, will much depend on what you can tell her. But not at present: she is, I believe, just setting out on a journey. I have her letter here,\" said Mr. Bulstrode, drawing it out, and reading from it. \"'I am immediately otherwise engaged,' she says. 'I am going into Yorkshire with Sir James and Lady Chettam; and the conclusions I come to about some land which I am to see there may affect my power of contributing to the Hospital.' Thus, Mr. Lydgate, there is no haste necessary in this matter; but I wished to apprise you beforehand of what may possibly occur.\"\nMr. Bulstrode returned the letter to his side-pocket, and changed his attitude as if his business were closed. Lydgate, whose renewed hope about the Hospital only made him more conscious of the facts which poisoned his hope, felt that his effort after help, if made at all, must be made now and vigorously.\n\"I am much obliged to you for giving me full notice,\" he said, with a firm intention in his tone, yet with an interruptedness in his delivery which showed that he spoke unwillingly. \"The highest object to me is my profession, and I had identified the Hospital with the best use I can at present make of my profession. But the best use is not always the same with monetary success. Everything which has made the Hospital unpopular has helped with other causes—I think they are all connected with my professional zeal—to make me unpopular as a practitioner. I get chiefly patients who can't pay me. I should like them best, if I had nobody to pay on my own side.\" Lydgate waited a little, but Bulstrode only bowed, looking at him fixedly, and he went on with the same interrupted enunciation—as if he were biting an objectional leek.\n\"I have slipped into money difficulties which I can see no way out of, unless some one who trusts me and my future will advance me a sum without other security. I had very little fortune left when I came here. I have no prospects of money from my own family. My expenses, in consequence of my marriage, have been very much greater than I had expected. The result at this moment is that it would take a thousand pounds to clear me. I mean, to free me from the risk of having all my goods sold in security of my largest debt—as well as to pay my other debts—and leave anything to keep us a little beforehand with our small income. I find that it is out of the question that my wife's father should make such an advance. That is why I mention my position to—to the only other man who may be held to have some personal connection with my prosperity or ruin.\"", "chosen": "ruin", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nruin\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-067-01-6bf011ab", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nUrging the horses to a gallop, without respect to the rather rugged descent of the road, the horsemen soon regained their advantage over the men on the march, and at last the bulk of the first buildings of Lancy cut off the sight of their pursuers. Nevertheless, the ride had been a long one, and by the time they reached the real town the west was warming with the colour and quality of sunset. The Colonel suggested that, before making finally for the police station, they should make the effort, in passing, to attach to themselves one more individual who might be useful.\n\"Four out of the five rich men in this town,\" he said, \"are common swindlers. I suppose the proportion is pretty equal all over the world. The fifth is a friend of mine, and a very fine fellow; and what is even more important from our point of view, he owns a motor-car.\"\n\"I am afraid,\" said the Professor in his mirthful way, looking back along the white road on which the black, crawling patch might appear at any moment, \"I am afraid we have hardly time for afternoon calls.\"\n\"Doctor Renard's house is only three minutes off,\" said the Colonel.\n\"Our danger,\" said Dr. Bull, \"is not two minutes off.\"\n\"Yes,\" said Syme, \"if we ride on fast we must leave them behind, for they are on foot.\"\n\"He has a motor-car,\" said the Colonel.\n\"But we may not get it,\" said Bull.\n\"Yes, he is quite on your side.\"\n\"But he might be out.\"\n\"Hold your tongue,\" said Syme suddenly. \"What is that noise?\"\nFor a second they all sat as still as equestrian statues, and for a second—for two or three or four seconds—heaven and earth seemed equally still. Then all their ears, in an agony of attention, heard along the road that indescribable thrill and throb that means only one thing—horses!\nThe Colonel's face had an instantaneous change, as if lightning had struck it, and yet left it scatheless.\n\"They have done us,\" he said, with brief military irony. \"Prepare to receive cavalry!\"\n\"Where can they have got the horses?\" asked Syme, as he mechanically urged his steed to a canter.\nThe Colonel was silent for a little, then he said in a strained voice—\n\"I was speaking with strict accuracy when I said that the 'Soleil d'Or' was the only place where one can get horses within twenty miles.\"\n\"No!\" said Syme violently, \"I don't believe he'd do it. Not with all that white hair.\"\n\"He may have been forced,\" said the Colonel gently. \"They must be at least a hundred strong, for which reason we are all going to see my friend Renard, who has a motor-car.\"\nWith these words he swung his horse suddenly round a street corner, and went down the street with such thundering speed, that the others, though already well at the gallop, had difficulty in following the flying tail of his horse.\nDr. Renard inhabited a high and comfortable house at the top of a steep street, so that when the riders alighted at his door they could once more see the solid green ridge of the hill, with the white road across it, standing up above all the roofs of the town. They breathed again to see that the road as yet was clear, and they rang the bell.\nDr. Renard was a beaming, brown-bearded man, a good example of that silent but very busy professional class which France has preserved even more perfectly than England. When the matter was explained to him he pooh-poohed the panic of the ex-Marquis altogether; he said, with the solid French scepticism, that there was no conceivable probability of a general anarchist rising. \"Anarchy,\" he said, shrugging his shoulders, \"it is childishness!\"\n\"Et ça,\" cried out the Colonel suddenly, pointing over the other's shoulder, \"and that is childishness, isn't it?\"\nThey all looked round, and saw a curve of black cavalry come sweeping over the top of the hill with all the energy of Attila. Swiftly as they rode, however, the whole rank still kept well together, and they could see the black vizards of the first line as level as a line of uniforms. But although the main black square was the same, though travelling faster, there was now one sensational difference which they could see clearly upon the slope of the hill, as if upon a slanted map. The bulk of the riders were in one block; but one rider flew far ahead of the column, and with frantic movements of hand and heel urged his horse faster and faster, so that one might have fancied that he was not the pursuer but the pursued. But even at that great distance they could see something so fanatical, so unquestionable in his figure, that they knew it was the Secretary himself. \"I am sorry to cut short a cultured discussion,\" said the Colonel, \"but can you lend me your motor-car now, in two minutes?\"\n\"I have a suspicion that you are all mad,\" said Dr. Renard, smiling sociably; \"but God forbid that madness should in any way interrupt friendship. Let us go round to the garage.\"\nDr. Renard was a mild man with monstrous wealth; his rooms were like the Musée de Cluny, and he had three motor-cars. These, however, he seemed to use very sparingly, having the simple tastes of the French middle class, and when his impatient friends came to examine them, it took them some time to assure themselves that one of them even could be made to work. This with some difficulty they brought round into the street before the Doctor's house. When they came out of the dim garage they were startled to find that twilight had already fallen with the abruptness of night in the tropics. Either they had been longer in the place than they imagined, or some unusual canopy of cloud had gathered over the town. They looked down the steep streets, and seemed to see a slight mist coming up from the sea.\n\"It is now or never,\" said Dr. Bull. \"I hear horses.\"\n\"No,\" corrected the Professor, \"a horse.\"\nAnd as they listened, it was evident that the noise, rapidly coming nearer on the rattling stones, was not the noise of the whole cavalcade but that of the one horseman, who had left it far behind—the insane Secretary.\nSyme's family, like most of those who end in the simple life, had once owned a motor, and he knew all about them. He had leapt at once into the chauffeur's seat, and with flushed face was wrenching and tugging at the disused machinery. He bent his strength upon one handle, and then said quite quietly—\n\"I am afraid it's no go.\"\nAs he spoke, there swept round the corner a man rigid on his rushing horse, with the rush and rigidity of an arrow. He had a smile that thrust out his chin as if it were dislocated. He swept alongside of the stationary car, into which its company had crowded, and laid his hand on the front. It was the Secretary, and his mouth went quite straight in the solemnity of triumph.\nSyme was leaning hard upon the steering wheel, and there was no sound but the rumble of the other pursuers riding into the town. Then there came quite suddenly a scream of scraping iron, and the car leapt forward. It plucked the Secretary clean out of his saddle, as a knife is whipped out of its sheath, trailed him kicking terribly for twenty yards, and left him flung flat upon the road far in front of his frightened horse. As the car took the corner of the street with a splendid curve, they could just see the other anarchists filling the street and raising their fallen leader.\n\"I can't understand why it has grown so dark,\" said the Professor at last in a low voice.\n\"Going to be a storm, I think,\" said Dr. Bull. \"I say, it's a pity we haven't got a light on this car, if only to see by.\"", "chosen": "[\"Lancy\", \"Colonel\", \"Four\", \"Professor\", \"Renard\", \"Our\", \"Syme\", \"Bull\", \"Hold\", \"Prepare\", \"Where\", \"France\", \"England\", \"French\", \"Anarchy\", \"Attila\", \"Secretary\", \"God\", \"Mus\", \"Cluny\", \"Going\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Lancy\", \"Colonel\", \"Four\", \"Professor\", \"Renard\", \"Our\", \"Syme\", \"Bull\", \"Hold\", \"Prepare\", \"Where\", \"France\", \"England\", \"French\", \"Anarchy\", \"Attila\", \"Secretary\", \"God\", \"Mus\", \"Cluny\", \"Going\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1695-012-00-7763424f", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nI Want to be a Cub-pilot\nMONTHS afterward the hope within me struggled to a reluctant death, and I found myself without an ambition. But I was ashamed to go home. I was in Cincinnati, and I set to work to map out a new career. I had been reading about the recent exploration of the river Amazon by an expedition sent out by our government. It was said that the expedition, owing to difficulties, had not thoroughly explored a part of the country lying about the head-waters, some four thousand miles from the mouth of the river. It was only about fifteen hundred miles from Cincinnati to New Orleans, where I could doubtless get a ship. I had thirty dollars left; I would go and complete the exploration of the Amazon. This was all the thought I gave to the subject. I never was great in matters of detail. I packed my valise, and took passage on an ancient tub called the 'Paul Jones,' for New Orleans. For the sum of sixteen dollars I had the scarred and tarnished splendors of 'her' main saloon principally to myself, for she was not a creature to attract the eye of wiser travelers.\nWhen we presently got under way and went poking down the broad Ohio, I became a new being, and the subject of my own admiration. I was a traveler! A word never had tasted so good in my mouth before. I had an exultant sense of being bound for mysterious lands and distant climes which I never have felt in so uplifting a degree since. I was in such a glorified condition that all ignoble feelings departed out of me, and I was able to look down and pity the untraveled with a compassion that had hardly a trace of contempt in it. Still, when we stopped at villages and wood-yards, I could not help lolling carelessly upon the railings of the boiler deck to enjoy the envy of the country boys on the bank. If they did not seem to discover me, I presently sneezed to attract their attention, or moved to a position where they could not help seeing me. And as soon as I knew they saw me I gaped and stretched, and gave other signs of being mightily bored with traveling.\nI kept my hat off all the time, and stayed where the wind and the sun could strike me, because I wanted to get the bronzed and weather-beaten look of an old traveler. Before the second day was half gone I experienced a joy which filled me with the purest gratitude; for I saw that the skin had begun to blister and peel off my face and neck. I wished that the boys and girls at home could see me now.\nWe reached Louisville in time--at least the neighborhood of it. We stuck hard and fast on the rocks in the middle of the river, and lay there four days. I was now beginning to feel a strong sense of being a part of the boat's family, a sort of infant son to the captain and younger brother to the officers. There is no estimating the pride I took in this grandeur, or the affection that began to swell and grow in me for those people. I could not know how the lordly steamboatman scorns that sort of presumption in a mere landsman. I particularly longed to acquire the least trifle of notice from the big stormy mate, and I was on the alert for an opportunity to do him a service to that end. It came at last. The riotous powwow of setting a spar was going on down on the forecastle, and I went down there and stood around in the way--or mostly skipping out of it--till the mate suddenly roared a general order for somebody to bring him a capstan bar. I sprang to his side and said: 'Tell me where it is--I'll fetch it!'\nIf a rag-picker had offered to do a diplomatic service for the Emperor of Russia, the monarch could not have been more astounded than the mate was. He even stopped swearing. He stood and stared down at me. It took him ten seconds to scrape his disjointed remains together again. Then he said impressively: 'Well, if this don't beat hell!' and turned to his work with the air of a man who had been confronted with a problem too abstruse for solution.\nI crept away, and courted solitude for the rest of the day. I did not go to dinner; I stayed away from supper until everybody else had finished. I did not feel so much like a member of the boat's family now as before. However, my spirits returned, in installments, as we pursued our way down the river. I was sorry I hated the mate so, because it was not in (young) human nature not to admire him. He was huge and muscular, his face was bearded and whiskered all over; he had a red woman and a blue woman tattooed on his right arm,--one on each side of a blue anchor with a red rope to it; and in the matter of profanity he was sublime. When he was getting out cargo at a landing, I was always where I could see and hear. He felt all the majesty of his great position, and made the world feel it, too. When he gave even the simplest order, he discharged it like a blast of lightning, and sent a long, reverberating peal of profanity thundering after it. I could not help contrasting the way in which the average landsman would give an order, with the mate's way of doing it. If the landsman should wish the gang-plank moved a foot farther forward, he would probably say: 'James, or William, one of you push that plank forward, please;' but put the mate in his place and he would roar out: 'Here, now, start that gang-plank for'ard! Lively, now! what're you about! Snatch it! SNATCH it! There! there! Aft again! aft again! don't you hear me. Dash it to dash! are you going to _sleep over it! 'Vast _heaving. 'Vast heaving, I tell you! Going to heave it clear astern? Where're you going with that barrel! For'ard with it 'fore I make you swallow it, you dash-dash-dash-_dashed _split between a tired mud-turtle and a crippled hearse-horse!'\nI wished I could talk like that.\nWhen the soreness of my adventure with the mate had somewhat worn off, I began timidly to make up to the humblest official connected with the boat--the night watchman. He snubbed my advances at first, but I presently ventured to offer him a new chalk pipe; and that softened him. So he allowed me to sit with him by the big bell on the hurricane deck, and in time he melted into conversation. He could not well have helped it, I hung with such homage on his words and so plainly showed that I felt honored by his notice. He told me the names of dim capes and shadowy islands as we glided by them in the solemnity of the night, under the winking stars, and by and by got to talking about himself. He seemed over-sentimental for a man whose salary was six dollars a week--or rather he might have seemed so to an older person than I. But I drank in his words hungrily, and with a faith that might have moved mountains if it had been applied judiciously. What was it to me that he was soiled and seedy and fragrant with gin? What was it to me that his grammar was bad, his construction worse, and his profanity so void of art that it was an element of weakness rather than strength in his conversation? He was a wronged man, a man who had seen trouble, and that was enough for me. As he mellowed into his plaintive history his tears dripped upon the lantern in his lap, and I cried, too, from sympathy.", "chosen": "I, But, I, I, It, It, I, This, I, I, For, When, I, A, I, I, Still,, If, And, I, Before, I, We, We, I, There, I, I, It, The, I, He, He, It, Then, I, I, I, However,, I, He, When, He, When, I, If, Lively,, what're, Snatch, SNATCH, There!, there!, Aft, aft, don't, Dash, are, Vast, Vast, Going, Where're, For'ard, When, He, So, He, He, He, But, What, What, He, As", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nI, But, I, I, It, It, I, This, I, I, For, When, I, A, I, I, Still,, If, And, I, Before, I, We, We, I, There, I, I, It, The, I, He, He, It, Then, I, I, I, However,, I, He, When, He, When, I, If, Lively,, what're, Snatch, SNATCH, There!, there!, Aft, aft, don't, Dash, are, Vast, Vast, Going, Where're, For'ard, When, He, So, He, He, He, But, What, What, He, As\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-245-006-00-581852c6", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n'M-a-r-k three!... M-a-r-k three... Quarter less three!... Half twain!'\nThis was frightful! I seized the bell-ropes and stopped the engines.\n'Quarter twain! Quarter twain! _Mark _twain!'\nI was helpless. I did not know what in the world to do. I was quaking from head to foot, and I could have hung my hat on my eyes, they stuck out so far.\n'Quarter _less _twain! Nine and a half!'\nWe were _drawing _nine! My hands were in a nerveless flutter. I could not ring a bell intelligibly with them. I flew to the speaking-tube and shouted to the engineer--\n'Oh, Ben, if you love me, _back _her! Quick, Ben! Oh, back the immortal soul out of her!'\nI heard the door close gently. I looked around, and there stood Mr. Bixby, smiling a bland, sweet smile. Then the audience on the hurricane deck sent up a thundergust of humiliating laughter. I saw it all, now, and I felt meaner than the meanest man in human history. I laid in the lead, set the boat in her marks, came ahead on the engines, and said--\n'It was a fine trick to play on an orphan, wasn't it? I suppose I'll never hear the last of how I was ass enough to heave the lead at the head of 66.'\n'Well, no, you won't, maybe. In fact I hope you won't; for I want you to learn something by that experience. Didn't you _know _there was no bottom in that crossing?'\n'Yes, sir, I did.'\n'Very well, then. You shouldn't have allowed me or anybody else to shake your confidence in that knowledge. Try to remember that. And another thing: when you get into a dangerous place, don't turn coward. That isn't going to help matters any.'\nIt was a good enough lesson, but pretty hardly learned. Yet about the hardest part of it was that for months I so often had to hear a phrase which I had conceived a particular distaste for. It was, 'Oh, Ben, if you love me, back her!'", "chosen": "31", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n31\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-245-014-02-136bee88", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n'My, what a race I've had! I saw you didn't see me, and so I clapped on all steam for fear I'd miss you entirely. And here you are! there, just stand so, and let me look at you! just the same old noble countenance.' [To Yates's friend:] 'Just look at him! _Look _at him! Ain't it just _good _to look at him! ain't it now? Ain't he just a picture! _Some _call him a picture; I call him a panorama! That's what he is--an entire panorama. And now I'm reminded! How I do wish I could have seen you an hour earlier! For twenty-four hours I've been saving up that two hundred and fifty dollars for you; been looking for you everywhere. I waited at the Planter's from six yesterday evening till two o'clock this morning, without rest or food; my wife says, \"Where have you been all night?\" I said, \"This debt lies heavy on my mind.\" She says, \"In all my days I never saw a man take a debt to heart the way you do.\" I said, \"It's my nature; how can I change it?\" She says, \"Well, do go to bed and get some rest.\" I said, \"Not till that poor, noble young man has got his money.\" So I set up all night, and this morning out I shot, and the first man I struck told me you had shipped on the \"Grand Turk\" and gone to New Orleans. Well, sir, I had to lean up against a building and cry. So help me goodness, I couldn't help it. The man that owned the place come out cleaning up with a rag, and said he didn't like to have people cry against his building, and then it seemed to me that the whole world had turned against me, and it wasn't any use to live any more; and coming along an hour ago, suffering no man knows what agony, I met Jim Wilson and paid him the two hundred and fifty dollars on account; and to think that here you are, now, and I haven't got a cent! But as sure as I am standing here on this ground on this particular brick,--there, I've scratched a mark on the brick to remember it by,--I'll borrow that money and pay it over to you at twelve o'clock sharp, tomorrow! Now, stand so; let me look at you just once more.'\nAnd so on. Yates's life became a burden to him. He could not escape his debtor and his debtor's awful sufferings on account of not being able to pay. He dreaded to show himself in the street, lest he should find Stephen lying in wait for him at the corner.\nBogart's billiard saloon was a great resort for pilots in those days. They met there about as much to exchange river news as to play. One morning Yates was there; Stephen was there, too, but kept out of sight. But by and by, when about all the pilots had arrived who were in town, Stephen suddenly appeared in the midst, and rushed for Yates as for a long-lost brother.\n'Oh, I am so glad to see you! Oh my soul, the sight of you is such a comfort to my eyes! Gentlemen, I owe all of you money; among you I owe probably forty thousand dollars. I want to pay it; I intend to pay it every last cent of it. You all know, without my telling you, what sorrow it has cost me to remain so long under such deep obligations to such patient and generous friends; but the sharpest pang I suffer--by far the sharpest--is from the debt I owe to this noble young man here; and I have come to this place this morning especially to make the announcement that I have at last found a method whereby I can pay off all my debts! And most especially I wanted _him _to be here when I announced it. Yes, my faithful friend,--my benefactor, I've found the method! I've found the method to pay off all my debts, and you'll get your money!' Hope dawned in Yates's eye; then Stephen, beaming benignantly, and placing his hand upon Yates's head, added, 'I am going to pay them off in alphabetical order!'\nThen he turned and disappeared. The full significance of Stephen's 'method' did not dawn upon the perplexed and musing crowd for some two minutes; and then Yates murmured with a sigh--\n'Well, the Y's stand a gaudy chance. He won't get any further than the C's in _this _world, and I reckon that after a good deal of eternity has wasted away in the next one, I'll still be referred to up there as \"that poor, ragged pilot that came here from St. Louis in the early days!\"", "chosen": "I waited at the Planter's from six yesterday evening till two o'clock this morning, without rest or food; my wife says, \"Where have you been all night?\" I said, \"This debt lies heavy on my mind.\" She says, \"In all my days I never saw a man take a debt to heart the way you do.\" I said, \"It's my nature; how can I change it?\" She says, \"Well, do go to bed and get some rest.\" I said, \"Not till that poor, noble young man has got his money.\" So I set up all night, and this morning out I shot, and the first man I struck told me you had shipped on the \"Grand Turk\" and gone to New Orleans.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nI waited at the Planter's from six yesterday evening till two o'clock this morning, without rest or food; my wife says, \"Where have you been all night?\" I said, \"This debt lies heavy on my mind.\" She says, \"In all my days I never saw a man take a debt to heart the way you do.\" I said, \"It's my nature; how can I change it?\" She says, \"Well, do go to bed and get some rest.\" I said, \"Not till that poor, noble young man has got his money.\" So I set up all night, and this morning out I shot, and the first man I struck told me you had shipped on the \"Grand Turk\" and gone to New Orleans.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-245-018-02-0323536e", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe announcement was received in silence. Mrs. Welland sighed resignedly, and May rose from her seat and went to gather up some newspapers that had been scattered on the floor.\n\"I suppose it must be done,\" Mrs. Lovell Mingott continued, as if hoping to be contradicted; and May turned back toward the middle of the room.\n\"Of course it must be done,\" she said. \"Granny knows what she wants, and we must carry out all her wishes. Shall I write the telegram for you, Auntie? If it goes at once Ellen can probably catch tomorrow morning's train.\" She pronounced the syllables of the name with a peculiar clearness, as if she had tapped on two silver bells.\n\"Well, it can't go at once. Jasper and the pantry-boy are both out with notes and telegrams.\"\nMay turned to her husband with a smile. \"But here's Newland, ready to do anything. Will you take the telegram, Newland? There'll be just time before luncheon.\"\nArcher rose with a murmur of readiness, and she seated herself at old Catherine's rosewood \"Bonheur du Jour,\" and wrote out the message in her large immature hand. When it was written she blotted it neatly and handed it to Archer.\n\"What a pity,\" she said, \"that you and Ellen will cross each other on the way!--Newland,\" she added, turning to her mother and aunt, \"is obliged to go to Washington about a patent law-suit that is coming up before the Supreme Court. I suppose Uncle Lovell will be back by tomorrow night, and with Granny improving so much it doesn't seem right to ask Newland to give up an important engagement for the firm--does it?\"\nShe paused, as if for an answer, and Mrs. Welland hastily declared: \"Oh, of course not, darling. Your Granny would be the last person to wish it.\" As Archer left the room with the telegram, he heard his mother-in-law add, presumably to Mrs. Lovell Mingott: \"But why on earth she should make you telegraph for Ellen Olenska--\" and May's clear voice rejoin: \"Perhaps it's to urge on her again that after all her duty is with her husband.\"\nThe outer door closed on Archer and he walked hastily away toward the telegraph office.", "chosen": "[\"I suppose it must be done,\", \"Of course it must be done,\", \"Granny knows what she wants, and we must carry out all her wishes. Shall I write the telegram for you, Auntie? If it goes at once Ellen can probably catch tomorrow morning's train.\", \"Well, it can't go at once. Jasper and the pantry-boy are both out with notes and telegrams.\", \"But here's Newland, ready to do anything. Will you take the telegram, Newland? There'll be just time before luncheon.\", \"Bonheur du Jour,\", \"What a pity,\", \"that you and Ellen will cross each other on the way!--Newland,\", \"\\nShe paused, as if for an answer, and Mrs. Welland hastily declared: \", \" As Archer left the room with the telegram, he heard his mother-in-law add, presumably to Mrs. Lovell Mingott: \", \" and May's clear voice rejoin: \"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"I suppose it must be done,\", \"Of course it must be done,\", \"Granny knows what she wants, and we must carry out all her wishes. Shall I write the telegram for you, Auntie? If it goes at once Ellen can probably catch tomorrow morning's train.\", \"Well, it can't go at once. Jasper and the pantry-boy are both out with notes and telegrams.\", \"But here's Newland, ready to do anything. Will you take the telegram, Newland? There'll be just time before luncheon.\", \"Bonheur du Jour,\", \"What a pity,\", \"that you and Ellen will cross each other on the way!--Newland,\", \"\\nShe paused, as if for an answer, and Mrs. Welland hastily declared: \", \" As Archer left the room with the telegram, he heard his mother-in-law add, presumably to Mrs. Lovell Mingott: \", \" and May's clear voice rejoin: \"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-541-012-04-866605d3", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Journeys end in lovers meeting.\"\nStephen lay watching the Great Bear; Elfride was regarding a monotonous parallelogram of window blind. Neither slept that night.\nEarly the next morning—that is to say, four hours after their stolen interview, and just as the earliest servant was heard moving about—Stephen Smith went downstairs, portmanteau in hand. Throughout the night he had intended to see Mr. Swancourt again, but the sharp rebuff of the previous evening rendered such an interview particularly distasteful. Perhaps there was another and less honest reason. He decided to put it off. Whatever of moral timidity or obliquity may have lain in such a decision, no perception of it was strong enough to detain him. He wrote a note in his room, which stated simply that he did not feel happy in the house after Mr. Swancourt's sudden veto on what he had favoured a few hours before; but that he hoped a time would come, and that soon, when his original feelings of pleasure as Mr. Swancourt's guest might be recovered.\nHe expected to find the downstairs rooms wearing the gray and cheerless aspect that early morning gives to everything out of the sun. He found in the dining room a breakfast laid, of which somebody had just partaken.\nStephen gave the maid-servant his note of adieu. She stated that Mr. Swancourt had risen early that morning, and made an early breakfast. He was not going away that she knew of.\nStephen took a cup of coffee, left the house of his love, and turned into the lane. It was so early that the shaded places still smelt like night time, and the sunny spots had hardly felt the sun. The horizontal rays made every shallow dip in the ground to show as a well-marked hollow. Even the channel of the path was enough to throw shade, and the very stones of the road cast tapering dashes of darkness westward, as long as Jael's tent-nail.\nAt a spot not more than a hundred yards from the vicar's residence the lane leading thence crossed the high road. Stephen reached the point of intersection, stood still and listened. Nothing could be heard save the lengthy, murmuring line of the sea upon the adjacent shore. He looked at his watch, and then mounted a gate upon which he seated himself, to await the arrival of the carrier. Whilst he sat he heard wheels coming in two directions.\nThe vehicle approaching on his right he soon recognized as the carrier's. There were the accompanying sounds of the owner's voice and the smack of his whip, distinct in the still morning air, by which he encouraged his horses up the hill.\nThe other set of wheels sounded from the lane Stephen had just traversed. On closer observation, he perceived that they were moving from the precincts of the ancient manor-house adjoining the vicarage grounds. A carriage then left the entrance gates of the house, and wheeling round came fully in sight. It was a plain travelling carriage, with a small quantity of luggage, apparently a lady's. The vehicle came to the junction of the four ways half-a-minute before the carrier reached the same spot, and crossed directly in his front, proceeding by the lane on the other side.\nInside the carriage Stephen could just discern an elderly lady with a younger woman, who seemed to be her maid. The road they had taken led to Stratleigh, a small watering-place sixteen miles north.\nHe heard the manor-house gates swing again, and looking up saw another person leaving them, and walking off in the direction of the parsonage. \"Ah, how much I wish I were moving that way!\" felt he parenthetically. The gentleman was tall, and resembled Mr. Swancourt in outline and attire. He opened the vicarage gate and went in. Mr. Swancourt, then, it certainly was. Instead of remaining in bed that morning Mr. Swancourt must have taken it into his head to see his new neighbour off on a journey. He must have been greatly interested in that neighbour to do such an unusual thing.\nThe carrier's conveyance had pulled up, and Stephen now handed in his portmanteau and mounted the shafts. \"Who is that lady in the carriage?\" he inquired indifferently of Lickpan the carrier.\n\"That, sir, is Mrs. Troyton, a widder wi' a mint o' money. She's the owner of all that part of Endelstow that is not Lord Luxellian's. Only been here a short time; she came into it by law. The owner formerly was a terrible mysterious party—never lived here—hardly ever was seen here except in the month of September, as I might say.\"\nThe horses were started again, and noise rendered further discourse a matter of too great exertion. Stephen crept inside under the tilt, and was soon lost in reverie.\nThree hours and a half of straining up hills and jogging down brought them to St. Launce's, the market town and railway station nearest to Endelstow, and the place from which Stephen Smith had journeyed over the downs on the, to him, memorable winter evening at the beginning of the same year. The carrier's van was so timed as to meet a starting up-train, which Stephen entered. Two or three hours' railway travel through vertical cuttings in metamorphic rock, through oak copses rich and green, stretching over slopes and down delightful valleys, glens, and ravines, sparkling with water like many-rilled Ida, and he plunged amid the hundred and fifty thousand people composing the town of Plymouth.\nThere being some time upon his hands he left his luggage at the cloak-room, and went on foot along Bedford Street to the nearest church. Here Stephen wandered among the multifarious tombstones and looked in at the chancel window, dreaming of something that was likely to happen by the altar there in the course of the coming month. He turned away and ascended the Hoe, viewed the magnificent stretch of sea and massive promontories of land, but without particularly discerning one feature of the varied perspective. He still saw that inner prospect—the event he hoped for in yonder church. The wide Sound, the Breakwater, the light-house on far-off Eddystone, the dark steam vessels, brigs, barques, and schooners, either floating stilly, or gliding with tiniest motion, were as the dream, then; the dreamed-of event was as the reality.\nSoon Stephen went down from the Hoe, and returned to the railway station. He took his ticket, and entered the London train.\nThat day was an irksome time at Endelstow vicarage. Neither father nor daughter alluded to the departure of Stephen. Mr. Swancourt's manner towards her partook of the compunctious kindness that arises from a misgiving as to the justice of some previous act.\nEither from lack of the capacity to grasp the whole coup d'oeil, or from a natural endowment for certain kinds of stoicism, women are cooler than men in critical situations of the passive form. Probably, in Elfride's case at least, it was blindness to the greater contingencies of the future she was preparing for herself, which enabled her to ask her father in a quiet voice if he could give her a holiday soon, to ride to St. Launce's and go on to Plymouth.\nNow, she had only once before gone alone to Plymouth, and that was in consequence of some unavoidable difficulty. Being a country girl, and a good, not to say a wild, horsewoman, it had been her delight to canter, without the ghost of an attendant, over the fourteen or sixteen miles of hard road intervening between their home and the station at St. Launce's, put up the horse, and go on the remainder of the distance by train, returning in the same manner in the evening. It was then resolved that, though she had successfully accomplished this journey once, it was not to be repeated without some attendance.", "chosen": "attendance", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nattendance\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-010-00-f5d40bd8", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAt another time he devoted himself entirely to music, and in a long latticed room, with a vermilion-and-gold ceiling and walls of olive-green lacquer, he used to give curious concerts in which mad gipsies tore wild music from little zithers, or grave, yellow-shawled Tunisians plucked at the strained strings of monstrous lutes, while grinning Negroes beat monotonously upon copper drums and, crouching upon scarlet mats, slim turbaned Indians blew through long pipes of reed or brass and charmed—or feigned to charm—great hooded snakes and horrible horned adders. The harsh intervals and shrill discords of barbaric music stirred him at times when Schubert's grace, and Chopin's beautiful sorrows, and the mighty harmonies of Beethoven himself, fell unheeded on his ear. He collected together from all parts of the world the strangest instruments that could be found, either in the tombs of dead nations or among the few savage tribes that have survived contact with Western civilizations, and loved to touch and try them. He had the mysterious juruparis of the Rio Negro Indians, that women are not allowed to look at and that even youths may not see till they have been subjected to fasting and scourging, and the earthen jars of the Peruvians that have the shrill cries of birds, and flutes of human bones such as Alfonso de Ovalle heard in Chile, and the sonorous green jaspers that are found near Cuzco and give forth a note of singular sweetness. He had painted gourds filled with pebbles that rattled when they were shaken; the long clarin of the Mexicans, into which the performer does not blow, but through which he inhales the air; the harsh ture of the Amazon tribes, that is sounded by the sentinels who sit all day long in high trees, and can be heard, it is said, at a distance of three leagues; the teponaztli, that has two vibrating tongues of wood and is beaten with sticks that are smeared with an elastic gum obtained from the milky juice of plants; the yotl-bells of the Aztecs, that are hung in clusters like grapes; and a huge cylindrical drum, covered with the skins of great serpents, like the one that Bernal Diaz saw when he went with Cortes into the Mexican temple, and of whose doleful sound he has left us so vivid a description. The fantastic character of these instruments fascinated him, and he felt a curious delight in the thought that art, like Nature, has her monsters, things of bestial shape and with hideous voices. Yet, after some time, he wearied of them, and would sit in his box at the opera, either alone or with Lord Henry, listening in rapt pleasure to \"Tannhauser\" and seeing in the prelude to that great work of art a presentation of the tragedy of his own soul.\nOn one occasion he took up the study of jewels, and appeared at a costume ball as Anne de Joyeuse, Admiral of France, in a dress covered with five hundred and sixty pearls. This taste enthralled him for years, and, indeed, may be said never to have left him. He would often spend a whole day settling and resettling in their cases the various stones that he had collected, such as the olive-green chrysoberyl that turns red by lamplight, the cymophane with its wirelike line of silver, the pistachio-coloured peridot, rose-pink and wine-yellow topazes, carbuncles of fiery scarlet with tremulous, four-rayed stars, flame-red cinnamon-stones, orange and violet spinels, and amethysts with their alternate layers of ruby and sapphire. He loved the red gold of the sunstone, and the moonstone's pearly whiteness, and the broken rainbow of the milky opal. He procured from Amsterdam three emeralds of extraordinary size and richness of colour, and had a turquoise de la vieille roche that was the envy of all the connoisseurs.\nHe discovered wonderful stories, also, about jewels. In Alphonso's Clericalis Disciplina a serpent was mentioned with eyes of real jacinth, and in the romantic history of Alexander, the Conqueror of Emathia was said to have found in the vale of Jordan snakes \"with collars of real emeralds growing on their backs.\" There was a gem in the brain of the dragon, Philostratus told us, and \"by the exhibition of golden letters and a scarlet robe\" the monster could be thrown into a magical sleep and slain. According to the great alchemist, Pierre de Boniface, the diamond rendered a man invisible, and the agate of India made him eloquent. The cornelian appeased anger, and the hyacinth provoked sleep, and the amethyst drove away the fumes of wine. The garnet cast out demons, and the hydropicus deprived the moon of her colour. The selenite waxed and waned with the moon, and the meloceus, that discovers thieves, could be affected only by the blood of kids. Leonardus Camillus had seen a white stone taken from the brain of a newly killed toad, that was a certain antidote against poison. The bezoar, that was found in the heart of the Arabian deer, was a charm that could cure the plague. In the nests of Arabian birds was the aspilates, that, according to Democritus, kept the wearer from any danger by fire.\nThe King of Ceilan rode through his city with a large ruby in his hand, as the ceremony of his coronation. The gates of the palace of John the Priest were \"made of sardius, with the horn of the horned snake inwrought, so that no man might bring poison within.\" Over the gable were \"two golden apples, in which were two carbuncles,\" so that the gold might shine by day and the carbuncles by night. In Lodge's strange romance 'A Margarite of America', it was stated that in the chamber of the queen one could behold \"all the chaste ladies of the world, inchased out of silver, looking through fair mirrours of chrysolites, carbuncles, sapphires, and greene emeraults.\" Marco Polo had seen the inhabitants of Zipangu place rose-coloured pearls in the mouths of the dead. A sea-monster had been enamoured of the pearl that the diver brought to King Perozes, and had slain the thief, and mourned for seven moons over its loss. When the Huns lured the king into the great pit, he flung it away—Procopius tells the story—nor was it ever found again, though the Emperor Anastasius offered five hundred-weight of gold pieces for it. The King of Malabar had shown to a certain Venetian a rosary of three hundred and four pearls, one for every god that he worshipped.\nWhen the Duke de Valentinois, son of Alexander VI., visited Louis XII. of France, his horse was loaded with gold leaves, according to Brantome, and his cap had double rows of rubies that threw out a great light. Charles of England had ridden in stirrups hung with four hundred and twenty-one diamonds. Richard II had a coat, valued at thirty thousand marks, which was covered with balas rubies. Hall described Henry VIII., on his way to the Tower previous to his coronation, as wearing \"a jacket of raised gold, the placard embroidered with diamonds and other rich stones, and a great bauderike about his neck of large balasses.\" The favourites of James I wore ear-rings of emeralds set in gold filigrane. Edward II gave to Piers Gaveston a suit of red-gold armour studded with jacinths, a collar of gold roses set with turquoise-stones, and a skull-cap parsemé with pearls. Henry II. wore jewelled gloves reaching to the elbow, and had a hawk-glove sewn with twelve rubies and fifty-two great orients. The ducal hat of Charles the Rash, the last Duke of Burgundy of his race, was hung with pear-shaped pearls and studded with sapphires.\nHow exquisite life had once been! How gorgeous in its pomp and decoration! Even to read of the luxury of the dead was wonderful.", "chosen": "[\"Tunisians\", \"Negroes\", \"Indians\", \"Schubert\", \"Chopin\", \"Beethoven\", \"Western\", \"Rio\", \"Negro\", \"Peruvians\", \"Alfonso\", \"Ovalle\", \"Chile\", \"Cuzco\", \"Mexicans\", \"Amazon\", \"Aztecs\", \"Bernal\", \"Diaz\", \"Cortes\", \"Mexican\", \"Nature\", \"Henry\", \"Tannhauser\", \"Anne\", \"Joyeuse\", \"Admiral\", \"France\", \"Amsterdam\", \"Alphonso\", \"Clericalis\", \"Disciplina\", \"Alexander\", \"Conqueror\", \"Emathia\", \"Jordan\", \"Philostratus\", \"Pierre\", \"Boniface\", \"India\", \"Camillus\", \"Arabian\", \"Democritus\", \"King\", \"Ceilan\", \"John\", \"Priest\", \"Over\", \"Lodge\", \"Margarite\", \"America\", \"Marco\", \"Polo\", \"Zipangu\", \"Perozes\", \"Huns\", \"Emperor\", \"Anastasius\", \"Malabar\", \"Venetian\", \"Duke\", \"Valentinois\", \"Louis\", \"Brantome\", \"England\", \"Tower\", \"James\", \"Piers\", \"Gaveston\", \"Charles\", \"Rash\", \"Burgundy\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Tunisians\", \"Negroes\", \"Indians\", \"Schubert\", \"Chopin\", \"Beethoven\", \"Western\", \"Rio\", \"Negro\", \"Peruvians\", \"Alfonso\", \"Ovalle\", \"Chile\", \"Cuzco\", \"Mexicans\", \"Amazon\", \"Aztecs\", \"Bernal\", \"Diaz\", \"Cortes\", \"Mexican\", \"Nature\", \"Henry\", \"Tannhauser\", \"Anne\", \"Joyeuse\", \"Admiral\", \"France\", \"Amsterdam\", \"Alphonso\", \"Clericalis\", \"Disciplina\", \"Alexander\", \"Conqueror\", \"Emathia\", \"Jordan\", \"Philostratus\", \"Pierre\", \"Boniface\", \"India\", \"Camillus\", \"Arabian\", \"Democritus\", \"King\", \"Ceilan\", \"John\", \"Priest\", \"Over\", \"Lodge\", \"Margarite\", \"America\", \"Marco\", \"Polo\", \"Zipangu\", \"Perozes\", \"Huns\", \"Emperor\", \"Anastasius\", \"Malabar\", \"Venetian\", \"Duke\", \"Valentinois\", \"Louis\", \"Brantome\", \"England\", \"Tower\", \"James\", \"Piers\", \"Gaveston\", \"Charles\", \"Rash\", \"Burgundy\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-174-011-02-6284f970", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"To begin with, what was the source of this suspicion?\" (Ippolit Kirillovitch began.) \"The first person who cried out that Smerdyakov had committed the murder was the prisoner himself at the moment of his arrest, yet from that time to this he had not brought forward a single fact to confirm the charge, nor the faintest suggestion of a fact. The charge is confirmed by three persons only—the two brothers of the prisoner and Madame Svyetlov. The elder of these brothers expressed his suspicions only to-day, when he was undoubtedly suffering from brain fever. But we know that for the last two months he has completely shared our conviction of his brother's guilt and did not attempt to combat that idea. But of that later. The younger brother has admitted that he has not the slightest fact to support his notion of Smerdyakov's guilt, and has only been led to that conclusion from the prisoner's own words and the expression of his face. Yes, that astounding piece of evidence has been brought forward twice to-day by him. Madame Svyetlov was even more astounding. 'What the prisoner tells you, you must believe; he is not a man to tell a lie.' That is all the evidence against Smerdyakov produced by these three persons, who are all deeply concerned in the prisoner's fate. And yet the theory of Smerdyakov's guilt has been noised about, has been and is still maintained. Is it credible? Is it conceivable?\"\nHere Ippolit Kirillovitch thought it necessary to describe the personality of Smerdyakov, \"who had cut short his life in a fit of insanity.\" He depicted him as a man of weak intellect, with a smattering of education, who had been thrown off his balance by philosophical ideas above his level and certain modern theories of duty, which he learnt in practice from the reckless life of his master, who was also perhaps his father—Fyodor Pavlovitch; and, theoretically, from various strange philosophical conversations with his master's elder son, Ivan Fyodorovitch, who readily indulged in this diversion, probably feeling dull or wishing to amuse himself at the valet's expense. \"He spoke to me himself of his spiritual condition during the last few days at his father's house,\" Ippolit Kirillovitch explained; \"but others too have borne witness to it—the prisoner himself, his brother, and the servant Grigory—that is, all who knew him well.\n\"Moreover, Smerdyakov, whose health was shaken by his attacks of epilepsy, had not the courage of a chicken. 'He fell at my feet and kissed them,' the prisoner himself has told us, before he realized how damaging such a statement was to himself. 'He is an epileptic chicken,' he declared about him in his characteristic language. And the prisoner chose him for his confidant (we have his own word for it) and he frightened him into consenting at last to act as a spy for him. In that capacity he deceived his master, revealing to the prisoner the existence of the envelope with the notes in it and the signals by means of which he could get into the house. How could he help telling him, indeed? 'He would have killed me, I could see that he would have killed me,' he said at the inquiry, trembling and shaking even before us, though his tormentor was by that time arrested and could do him no harm. 'He suspected me at every instant. In fear and trembling I hastened to tell him every secret to pacify him, that he might see that I had not deceived him and let me off alive.' Those are his own words. I wrote them down and I remember them. 'When he began shouting at me, I would fall on my knees.'\n\"He was naturally very honest and enjoyed the complete confidence of his master, ever since he had restored him some money he had lost. So it may be supposed that the poor fellow suffered pangs of remorse at having deceived his master, whom he loved as his benefactor. Persons severely afflicted with epilepsy are, so the most skillful doctors tell us, always prone to continual and morbid self-reproach. They worry over their 'wickedness,' they are tormented by pangs of conscience, often entirely without cause; they exaggerate and often invent all sorts of faults and crimes. And here we have a man of that type who had really been driven to wrong-doing by terror and intimidation.\n\"He had, besides, a strong presentiment that something terrible would be the outcome of the situation that was developing before his eyes. When Ivan Fyodorovitch was leaving for Moscow, just before the catastrophe, Smerdyakov besought him to remain, though he was too timid to tell him plainly what he feared. He confined himself to hints, but his hints were not understood.\n\"It must be observed that he looked on Ivan Fyodorovitch as a protector, whose presence in the house was a guarantee that no harm would come to pass. Remember the phrase in Dmitri Karamazov's drunken letter, 'I shall kill the old man, if only Ivan goes away.' So Ivan Fyodorovitch's presence seemed to every one a guarantee of peace and order in the house.\n\"But he went away, and within an hour of his young master's departure Smerdyakov was taken with an epileptic fit. But that's perfectly intelligible. Here I must mention that Smerdyakov, oppressed by terror and despair of a sort, had felt during those last few days that one of the fits from which he had suffered before at moments of strain, might be coming upon him again. The day and hour of such an attack cannot, of course, be foreseen, but every epileptic can feel beforehand that he is likely to have one. So the doctors tell us. And so, as soon as Ivan Fyodorovitch had driven out of the yard, Smerdyakov, depressed by his lonely and unprotected position, went to the cellar. He went down the stairs wondering if he would have a fit or not, and what if it were to come upon him at once. And that very apprehension, that very wonder, brought on the spasm in his throat that always precedes such attacks, and he fell unconscious into the cellar. And in this perfectly natural occurrence people try to detect a suspicion, a hint that he was shamming an attack on purpose. But, if it were on purpose, the question arises at once, what was his motive? What was he reckoning on? What was he aiming at? I say nothing about medicine: science, I am told, may go astray: the doctors were not able to discriminate between the counterfeit and the real. That may be so, but answer me one question: what motive had he for such a counterfeit? Could he, had he been plotting the murder, have desired to attract the attention of the household by having a fit just before?\n\"You see, gentlemen of the jury, on the night of the murder, there were five persons in Fyodor Pavlovitch's—Fyodor Pavlovitch himself (but he did not kill himself, that's evident); then his servant, Grigory, but he was almost killed himself; the third person was Grigory's wife, Marfa Ignatyevna, but it would be simply shameful to imagine her murdering her master. Two persons are left—the prisoner and Smerdyakov. But, if we are to believe the prisoner's statement that he is not the murderer, then Smerdyakov must have been, for there is no other alternative, no one else can be found. That is what accounts for the artful, astounding accusation against the unhappy idiot who committed suicide yesterday. Had a shadow of suspicion rested on any one else, had there been any sixth person, I am persuaded that even the prisoner would have been ashamed to accuse Smerdyakov, and would have accused that sixth person, for to charge Smerdyakov with that murder is perfectly absurd.", "chosen": "To, The, The, But, But, The, Yes,, Madame, What, And, Is, Is, He, Moreover,, He, He, And, In, How, He, He, In, I, When, So, Persons, They, And, He, When, He, It, Remember, But, But, Here, The, So, And, He, And, And, But,, What, What, I, That, Could, You, Two, But,, That, Had", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nTo, The, The, But, But, The, Yes,, Madame, What, And, Is, Is, He, Moreover,, He, He, And, In, How, He, He, In, I, When, So, Persons, They, And, He, When, He, It, Remember, But, But, Here, The, So, And, He, And, And, But,, What, What, I, That, Could, You, Two, But,, That, Had\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-085-00-defd5316", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nMary looked so much moved, that he said after a moment, \"Let us walk a little;\" and when they were walking he added, \"To speak quite plainly, Fred will not take any course which would lessen the chance that you would consent to be his wife; but with that prospect, he will try his best at anything you approve.\"\n\"I cannot possibly say that I will ever be his wife, Mr. Farebrother: but I certainly never will be his wife if he becomes a clergyman. What you say is most generous and kind; I don't mean for a moment to correct your judgment. It is only that I have my girlish, mocking way of looking at things,\" said Mary, with a returning sparkle of playfulness in her answer which only made its modesty more charming.\n\"He wishes me to report exactly what you think,\" said Mr. Farebrother.\n\"I could not love a man who is ridiculous,\" said Mary, not choosing to go deeper. \"Fred has sense and knowledge enough to make him respectable, if he likes, in some good worldly business, but I can never imagine him preaching and exhorting, and pronouncing blessings, and praying by the sick, without feeling as if I were looking at a caricature. His being a clergyman would be only for gentility's sake, and I think there is nothing more contemptible than such imbecile gentility. I used to think that of Mr. Crowse, with his empty face and neat umbrella, and mincing little speeches. What right have such men to represent Christianity—as if it were an institution for getting up idiots genteelly—as if—\" Mary checked herself. She had been carried along as if she had been speaking to Fred instead of Mr. Farebrother.\n\"Young women are severe: they don't feel the stress of action as men do, though perhaps I ought to make you an exception there. But you don't put Fred Vincy on so low a level as that?\"\n\"No, indeed, he has plenty of sense, but I think he would not show it as a clergyman. He would be a piece of professional affectation.\"\n\"Then the answer is quite decided. As a clergyman he could have no hope?\"\nMary shook her head.\n\"But if he braved all the difficulties of getting his bread in some other way—will you give him the support of hope? May he count on winning you?\"\n\"I think Fred ought not to need telling again what I have already said to him,\" Mary answered, with a slight resentment in her manner. \"I mean that he ought not to put such questions until he has done something worthy, instead of saying that he could do it.\"\nMr. Farebrother was silent for a minute or more, and then, as they turned and paused under the shadow of a maple at the end of a grassy walk, said, \"I understand that you resist any attempt to fetter you, but either your feeling for Fred Vincy excludes your entertaining another attachment, or it does not: either he may count on your remaining single until he shall have earned your hand, or he may in any case be disappointed. Pardon me, Mary—you know I used to catechise you under that name—but when the state of a woman's affections touches the happiness of another life—of more lives than one—I think it would be the nobler course for her to be perfectly direct and open.\"\nMary in her turn was silent, wondering not at Mr. Farebrother's manner but at his tone, which had a grave restrained emotion in it. When the strange idea flashed across her that his words had reference to himself, she was incredulous, and ashamed of entertaining it. She had never thought that any man could love her except Fred, who had espoused her with the umbrella ring, when she wore socks and little strapped shoes; still less that she could be of any importance to Mr. Farebrother, the cleverest man in her narrow circle. She had only time to feel that all this was hazy and perhaps illusory; but one thing was clear and determined—her answer.\n\"Since you think it my duty, Mr. Farebrother, I will tell you that I have too strong a feeling for Fred to give him up for any one else. I should never be quite happy if I thought he was unhappy for the loss of me. It has taken such deep root in me—my gratitude to him for always loving me best, and minding so much if I hurt myself, from the time when we were very little. I cannot imagine any new feeling coming to make that weaker. I should like better than anything to see him worthy of every one's respect. But please tell him I will not promise to marry him till then: I should shame and grieve my father and mother. He is free to choose some one else.\"\n\"Then I have fulfilled my commission thoroughly,\" said Mr. Farebrother, putting out his hand to Mary, \"and I shall ride back to Middlemarch forthwith. With this prospect before him, we shall get Fred into the right niche somehow, and I hope I shall live to join your hands. God bless you!\"\n\"Oh, please stay, and let me give you some tea,\" said Mary. Her eyes filled with tears, for something indefinable, something like the resolute suppression of a pain in Mr. Farebrother's manner, made her feel suddenly miserable, as she had once felt when she saw her father's hands trembling in a moment of trouble.\n\"No, my dear, no. I must get back.\"\nIn three minutes the Vicar was on horseback again, having gone magnanimously through a duty much harder than the renunciation of whist, or even than the writing of penitential meditations.", "chosen": "43", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n43\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-052-02-35a59d43", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nBut ere be given the rather grave story of Charlemont, a reply must in civility be made to a certain voice which methinks I hear, that, in view of past chapters, and more particularly the last, where certain antics appear, exclaims: How unreal all this is! Who did ever dress or act like your cosmopolitan? And who, it might be returned, did ever dress or act like harlequin?\nStrange, that in a work of amusement, this severe fidelity to real life should be exacted by any one, who, by taking up such a work, sufficiently shows that he is not unwilling to drop real life, and turn, for a time, to something different. Yes, it is, indeed, strange that any one should clamor for the thing he is weary of; that any one, who, for any cause, finds real life dull, should yet demand of him who is to divert his attention from it, that he should be true to that dullness.\nThere is another class, and with this class we side, who sit down to a work of amusement tolerantly as they sit at a play, and with much the same expectations and feelings. They look that fancy shall evoke scenes different from those of the same old crowd round the custom-house counter, and same old dishes on the boardinghouse table, with characters unlike those of the same old acquaintances they meet in the same old way every day in the same old street. And as, in real life, the proprieties will not allow people to act out themselves with that unreserve permitted to the stage; so, in books of fiction, they look not only for more entertainment, but, at bottom, even for more reality, than real life itself can show. Thus, though they want novelty, they want nature, too; but nature unfettered, exhilarated, in effect transformed. In this way of thinking, the people in a fiction, like the people in a play, must dress as nobody exactly dresses, talk as nobody exactly talks, act as nobody exactly acts. It is with fiction as with religion: it should present another world, and yet one to which we feel the tie.\nIf, then, something is to be pardoned to well-meant endeavor, surely a little is to be allowed to that writer who, in all his scenes, does but seek to minister to what, as he understands it, is the implied wish of the more indulgent lovers of entertainment, before whom harlequin can never appear in a coat too parti-colored, or cut capers too fantastic.\nOne word more. Though every one knows how bootless it is to be in all cases vindicating one's self, never mind how convinced one may be that he is never in the wrong; yet, so precious to man is the approbation of his kind, that to rest, though but under an imaginary censure applied to but a work of imagination, is no easy thing. The mention of this weakness will explain why such readers as may think they perceive something harmonious between the boisterous hilarity of the cosmopolitan with the bristling cynic, and his restrained good-nature with the boon-companion, are now referred to that chapter where some similar apparent inconsistency in another character is, on general principles, modestly endeavored to-be apologized for.", "chosen": "If, then, something is to be pardoned to well-meant endeavor, surely a little is to be allowed to that writer who, in all his scenes, does but seek to minister to what, as he understands it, is the implied wish of the more indulgent lovers of entertainment, before whom harlequin can never appear in a coat too parti-colored, or cut capers too fantastic.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nIf, then, something is to be pardoned to well-meant endeavor, surely a little is to be allowed to that writer who, in all his scenes, does but seek to minister to what, as he understands it, is the implied wish of the more indulgent lovers of entertainment, before whom harlequin can never appear in a coat too parti-colored, or cut capers too fantastic.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21816-030-00-f4384dbb", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Yet shame I not to bear an o'erfull heart, Nor blush to turn behind my tearful eyes; 'Tis from no stranger land I now must part, 'Tis to no strangers left I yield these sighs. Welcome and home were mine within this State, Whose vales I leave—whose spires fade fast from me And cold must be mine eyes, and heart, and tête, When, dear Alabama! they turn cold on thee!\"\nThere were very few there who knew what \"tête\" meant, but the poem was very satisfactory, nevertheless.\nNext appeared a dark-complexioned, black-eyed, black-haired young lady, who paused an impressive moment, assumed a tragic expression, and began to read in a measured, solemn tone:\nA VISION\nDark and tempestuous was night. Around the throne on high not a single star quivered; but the deep intonations of the heavy thunder constantly vibrated upon the ear; whilst the terrific lightning revelled in angry mood through the cloudy chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn the power exerted over its terror by the illustrious Franklin! Even the boisterous winds unanimously came forth from their mystic homes, and blustered about as if to enhance by their aid the wildness of the scene.\nAt such a time, so dark, so dreary, for human sympathy my very spirit sighed; but instead thereof,\n'My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide— My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy,' came to my side.\nShe moved like one of those bright beings pictured in the sunny walks of fancy's Eden by the romantic and young, a queen of beauty unadorned save by her own transcendent loveliness. So soft was her step, it failed to make even a sound, and but for the magical thrill imparted by her genial touch, as other unobtrusive beauties, she would have glided away unperceived—unsought. A strange sadness rested upon her features, like icy tears upon the robe of December, as she pointed to the contending elements without, and bade me contemplate the two beings presented.\nThis nightmare occupied some ten pages of manuscript and wound up with a sermon so destructive of all hope to non-Presbyterians that it took the first prize. This composition was considered to be the very finest effort of the evening. The mayor of the village, in delivering the prize to the author of it, made a warm speech in which he said that it was by far the most \"eloquent\" thing he had ever listened to, and that Daniel Webster himself might well be proud of it.\nIt may be remarked, in passing, that the number of compositions in which the word \"beauteous\" was over-fondled, and human experience referred to as \"life's page,\" was up to the usual average.\nNow the master, mellow almost to the verge of geniality, put his chair aside, turned his back to the audience, and began to draw a map of America on the blackboard, to exercise the geography class upon. But he made a sad business of it with his unsteady hand, and a smothered titter rippled over the house. He knew what the matter was, and set himself to right it. He sponged out lines and remade them; but he only distorted them more than ever, and the tittering was more pronounced. He threw his entire attention upon his work, now, as if determined not to be put down by the mirth. He felt that all eyes were fastened upon him; he imagined he was succeeding, and yet the tittering continued; it even manifestly increased. And well it might. There was a garret above, pierced with a scuttle over his head; and down through this scuttle came a cat, suspended around the haunches by a string; she had a rag tied about her head and jaws to keep her from mewing; as she slowly descended she curved upward and clawed at the string, she swung downward and clawed at the intangible air. The tittering rose higher and higher—the cat was within six inches of the absorbed teacher's head—down, down, a little lower, and she grabbed his wig with her desperate claws, clung to it, and was snatched up into the garret in an instant with her trophy still in her possession! And how the light did blaze abroad from the master's bald pate—for the signpainter's boy had gilded it!\nThat broke up the meeting. The boys were avenged. Vacation had come.\n[*] NOTE:—The pretended \"compositions\" quoted in this chapter are taken without alteration from a volume entitled \"Prose and Poetry, by a Western Lady\"—but they are exactly and precisely after the schoolgirl pattern, and hence are much happier than any mere imitations could be.", "chosen": "[\"\\nThere were very few there who knew what \", \"eloquent\", \"beauteous\", \"life's page,\", \"compositions\", \"Prose and Poetry, by a Western Lady\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"\\nThere were very few there who knew what \", \"eloquent\", \"beauteous\", \"life's page,\", \"compositions\", \"Prose and Poetry, by a Western Lady\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-74-021-01-5e0d7de4", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Mr. Lydgate is not a poor man, aunt. He has very high connections.\"\n\"He told me himself he was poor.\"\n\"That is because he is used to people who have a high style of living.\"\n\"My dear Rosamond, you must not think of living in high style.\"\nRosamond looked down and played with her reticule. She was not a fiery young lady and had no sharp answers, but she meant to live as she pleased.\n\"Then it is really true?\" said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking very earnestly at her niece. \"You are thinking of Mr. Lydgate—there is some understanding between you, though your father doesn't know. Be open, my dear Rosamond: Mr. Lydgate has really made you an offer?\"\nPoor Rosamond's feelings were very unpleasant. She had been quite easy as to Lydgate's feeling and intention, but now when her aunt put this question she did not like being unable to say Yes. Her pride was hurt, but her habitual control of manner helped her.\n\"Pray excuse me, aunt. I would rather not speak on the subject.\"\n\"You would not give your heart to a man without a decided prospect, I trust, my dear. And think of the two excellent offers I know of that you have refused!—and one still within your reach, if you will not throw it away. I knew a very great beauty who married badly at last, by doing so. Mr. Ned Plymdale is a nice young man—some might think good-looking; and an only son; and a large business of that kind is better than a profession. Not that marrying is everything. I would have you seek first the kingdom of God. But a girl should keep her heart within her own power.\"\n\"I should never give it to Mr. Ned Plymdale, if it were. I have already refused him. If I loved, I should love at once and without change,\" said Rosamond, with a great sense of being a romantic heroine, and playing the part prettily.\n\"I see how it is, my dear,\" said Mrs. Bulstrode, in a melancholy voice, rising to go. \"You have allowed your affections to be engaged without return.\"\n\"No, indeed, aunt,\" said Rosamond, with emphasis.\n\"Then you are quite confident that Mr. Lydgate has a serious attachment to you?\"\nRosamond's cheeks by this time were persistently burning, and she felt much mortification. She chose to be silent, and her aunt went away all the more convinced.\nMr. Bulstrode in things worldly and indifferent was disposed to do what his wife bade him, and she now, without telling her reasons, desired him on the next opportunity to find out in conversation with Mr. Lydgate whether he had any intention of marrying soon. The result was a decided negative. Mr. Bulstrode, on being cross-questioned, showed that Lydgate had spoken as no man would who had any attachment that could issue in matrimony. Mrs. Bulstrode now felt that she had a serious duty before her, and she soon managed to arrange a tête-à-tête with Lydgate, in which she passed from inquiries about Fred Vincy's health, and expressions of her sincere anxiety for her brother's large family, to general remarks on the dangers which lay before young people with regard to their settlement in life. Young men were often wild and disappointing, making little return for the money spent on them, and a girl was exposed to many circumstances which might interfere with her prospects.\n\"Especially when she has great attractions, and her parents see much company,\" said Mrs. Bulstrode. \"Gentlemen pay her attention, and engross her all to themselves, for the mere pleasure of the moment, and that drives off others. I think it is a heavy responsibility, Mr. Lydgate, to interfere with the prospects of any girl.\" Here Mrs. Bulstrode fixed her eyes on him, with an unmistakable purpose of warning, if not of rebuke.\n\"Clearly,\" said Lydgate, looking at her—perhaps even staring a little in return. \"On the other hand, a man must be a great coxcomb to go about with a notion that he must not pay attention to a young lady lest she should fall in love with him, or lest others should think she must.\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Lydgate, you know well what your advantages are. You know that our young men here cannot cope with you. Where you frequent a house it may militate very much against a girl's making a desirable settlement in life, and prevent her from accepting offers even if they are made.\"\nLydgate was less flattered by his advantage over the Middlemarch Orlandos than he was annoyed by the perception of Mrs. Bulstrode's meaning. She felt that she had spoken as impressively as it was necessary to do, and that in using the superior word \"militate\" she had thrown a noble drapery over a mass of particulars which were still evident enough.\nLydgate was fuming a little, pushed his hair back with one hand, felt curiously in his waistcoat-pocket with the other, and then stooped to beckon the tiny black spaniel, which had the insight to decline his hollow caresses. It would not have been decent to go away, because he had been dining with other guests, and had just taken tea. But Mrs. Bulstrode, having no doubt that she had been understood, turned the conversation.\nSolomon's Proverbs, I think, have omitted to say, that as the sore palate findeth grit, so an uneasy consciousness heareth innuendoes. The next day Mr. Farebrother, parting from Lydgate in the street, supposed that they should meet at Vincy's in the evening. Lydgate answered curtly, no—he had work to do—he must give up going out in the evening.\n\"What! you are going to get lashed to the mast, eh, and are stopping your ears?\" said the Vicar. \"Well, if you don't mean to be won by the sirens, you are right to take precautions in time.\"\nA few days before, Lydgate would have taken no notice of these words as anything more than the Vicar's usual way of putting things. They seemed now to convey an innuendo which confirmed the impression that he had been making a fool of himself and behaving so as to be misunderstood: not, he believed, by Rosamond herself; she, he felt sure, took everything as lightly as he intended it. She had an exquisite tact and insight in relation to all points of manners; but the people she lived among were blunderers and busybodies. However, the mistake should go no farther. He resolved—and kept his resolution—that he would not go to Mr. Vincy's except on business.\nRosamond became very unhappy. The uneasiness first stirred by her aunt's questions grew and grew till at the end of ten days that she had not seen Lydgate, it grew into terror at the blank that might possibly come—into foreboding of that ready, fatal sponge which so cheaply wipes out the hopes of mortals. The world would have a new dreariness for her, as a wilderness that a magician's spells had turned for a little while into a garden. She felt that she was beginning to know the pang of disappointed love, and that no other man could be the occasion of such delightful aerial building as she had been enjoying for the last six months. Poor Rosamond lost her appetite and felt as forlorn as Ariadne—as a charming stage Ariadne left behind with all her boxes full of costumes and no hope of a coach.\nThere are many wonderful mixtures in the world which are all alike called love, and claim the privileges of a sublime rage which is an apology for everything (in literature and the drama). Happily Rosamond did not think of committing any desperate act: she plaited her fair hair as beautifully as usual, and kept herself proudly calm. Her most cheerful supposition was that her aunt Bulstrode had interfered in some way to hinder Lydgate's visits: everything was better than a spontaneous indifference in him. Any one who imagines ten days too short a time—not for falling into leanness, lightness, or other measurable effects of passion, but—for the whole spiritual circuit of alarmed conjecture and disappointment, is ignorant of what can go on in the elegant leisure of a young lady's mind.", "chosen": "mind", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nmind\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-032-01-cd24c9a3", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Then he must have driven through Volovya before me,\" thought Dmitri, but he was terribly distressed about Smerdyakov. \"What will happen now? Who'll keep watch for me? Who'll bring me word?\" he thought. He began greedily questioning the women whether they had seen anything the evening before. They quite understood what he was trying to find out, and completely reassured him. No one had been there. Ivan Fyodorovitch had been there the night; everything had been perfectly as usual. Mitya grew thoughtful. He would certainly have to keep watch to-day, but where? Here or at Samsonov's gate? He decided that he must be on the look out both here and there, and meanwhile ... meanwhile.... The difficulty was that he had to carry out the new plan that he had made on the journey back. He was sure of its success, but he must not delay acting upon it. Mitya resolved to sacrifice an hour to it: \"In an hour I shall know everything, I shall settle everything, and then, then, first of all to Samsonov's. I'll inquire whether Grushenka's there and instantly be back here again, stay till eleven, and then to Samsonov's again to bring her home.\" This was what he decided.\nHe flew home, washed, combed his hair, brushed his clothes, dressed, and went to Madame Hohlakov's. Alas! he had built his hopes on her. He had resolved to borrow three thousand from that lady. And what was more, he felt suddenly convinced that she would not refuse to lend it to him. It may be wondered why, if he felt so certain, he had not gone to her at first, one of his own sort, so to speak, instead of to Samsonov, a man he did not know, who was not of his own class, and to whom he hardly knew how to speak.\nBut the fact was that he had never known Madame Hohlakov well, and had seen nothing of her for the last month, and that he knew she could not endure him. She had detested him from the first because he was engaged to Katerina Ivanovna, while she had, for some reason, suddenly conceived the desire that Katerina Ivanovna should throw him over, and marry the \"charming, chivalrously refined Ivan, who had such excellent manners.\" Mitya's manners she detested. Mitya positively laughed at her, and had once said about her that she was just as lively and at her ease as she was uncultivated. But that morning in the cart a brilliant idea had struck him: \"If she is so anxious I should not marry Katerina Ivanovna\" (and he knew she was positively hysterical upon the subject) \"why should she refuse me now that three thousand, just to enable me to leave Katya and get away from her for ever. These spoilt fine ladies, if they set their hearts on anything, will spare no expense to satisfy their caprice. Besides, she's so rich,\" Mitya argued.\nAs for his \"plan\" it was just the same as before; it consisted of the offer of his rights to Tchermashnya—but not with a commercial object, as it had been with Samsonov, not trying to allure the lady with the possibility of making a profit of six or seven thousand—but simply as a security for the debt. As he worked out this new idea, Mitya was enchanted with it, but so it always was with him in all his undertakings, in all his sudden decisions. He gave himself up to every new idea with passionate enthusiasm. Yet, when he mounted the steps of Madame Hohlakov's house he felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. At that moment he saw fully, as a mathematical certainty, that this was his last hope, that if this broke down, nothing else was left him in the world, but to \"rob and murder some one for the three thousand.\" It was half-past seven when he rang at the bell.\nAt first fortune seemed to smile upon him. As soon as he was announced he was received with extraordinary rapidity. \"As though she were waiting for me,\" thought Mitya, and as soon as he had been led to the drawing-room, the lady of the house herself ran in, and declared at once that she was expecting him.\n\"I was expecting you! I was expecting you! Though I'd no reason to suppose you would come to see me, as you will admit yourself. Yet, I did expect you. You may marvel at my instinct, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, but I was convinced all the morning that you would come.\"\n\"That is certainly wonderful, madam,\" observed Mitya, sitting down limply, \"but I have come to you on a matter of great importance.... On a matter of supreme importance for me, that is, madam ... for me alone ... and I hasten—\"\n\"I know you've come on most important business, Dmitri Fyodorovitch; it's not a case of presentiment, no reactionary harking back to the miraculous (have you heard about Father Zossima?). This is a case of mathematics: you couldn't help coming, after all that has passed with Katerina Ivanovna; you couldn't, you couldn't, that's a mathematical certainty.\"\n\"The realism of actual life, madam, that's what it is. But allow me to explain—\"\n\"Realism indeed, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. I'm all for realism now. I've seen too much of miracles. You've heard that Father Zossima is dead?\"\n\"No, madam, it's the first time I've heard of it.\" Mitya was a little surprised. The image of Alyosha rose to his mind.\n\"Last night, and only imagine—\"\n\"Madam,\" said Mitya, \"I can imagine nothing except that I'm in a desperate position, and that if you don't help me, everything will come to grief, and I first of all. Excuse me for the triviality of the expression, but I'm in a fever—\"\n\"I know, I know that you're in a fever. You could hardly fail to be, and whatever you may say to me, I know beforehand. I have long been thinking over your destiny, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, I am watching over it and studying it.... Oh, believe me, I'm an experienced doctor of the soul, Dmitri Fyodorovitch.\"\n\"Madam, if you are an experienced doctor, I'm certainly an experienced patient,\" said Mitya, with an effort to be polite, \"and I feel that if you are watching over my destiny in this way, you will come to my help in my ruin, and so allow me, at least to explain to you the plan with which I have ventured to come to you ... and what I am hoping of you.... I have come, madam—\"\n\"Don't explain it. It's of secondary importance. But as for help, you're not the first I have helped, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. You have most likely heard of my cousin, Madame Belmesov. Her husband was ruined, 'had come to grief,' as you characteristically express it, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. I recommended him to take to horse-breeding, and now he's doing well. Have you any idea of horse-breeding, Dmitri Fyodorovitch?\"\n\"Not the faintest, madam; ah, madam, not the faintest!\" cried Mitya, in nervous impatience, positively starting from his seat. \"I simply implore you, madam, to listen to me. Only give me two minutes of free speech that I may just explain to you everything, the whole plan with which I have come. Besides, I am short of time. I'm in a fearful hurry,\" Mitya cried hysterically, feeling that she was just going to begin talking again, and hoping to cut her short. \"I have come in despair ... in the last gasp of despair, to beg you to lend me the sum of three thousand, a loan, but on safe, most safe security, madam, with the most trustworthy guarantees! Only let me explain—\"\n\"You must tell me all that afterwards, afterwards!\" Madame Hohlakov with a gesture demanded silence in her turn, \"and whatever you may tell me, I know it all beforehand; I've told you so already. You ask for a certain sum, for three thousand, but I can give you more, immeasurably more, I will save you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, but you must listen to me.\"\nMitya started from his seat again.\n\"Madam, will you really be so good!\" he cried, with strong feeling. \"Good God, you've saved me! You have saved a man from a violent death, from a bullet.... My eternal gratitude—\"", "chosen": "[\"Volovya\", \"Dmitri\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Samsonov\", \"Grushenka\", \"Madame\", \"Hohlakov\", \"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Ivan\", \"Mitya\", \"Katya\", \"Tchermashnya\", \"Father\", \"Zossima\", \"Realism\", \"Alyosha\", \"Last\", \"Don\", \"Belmesov\", \"Not\", \"Good\", \"God\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Volovya\", \"Dmitri\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Samsonov\", \"Grushenka\", \"Madame\", \"Hohlakov\", \"Katerina\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Ivan\", \"Mitya\", \"Katya\", \"Tchermashnya\", \"Father\", \"Zossima\", \"Realism\", \"Alyosha\", \"Last\", \"Don\", \"Belmesov\", \"Not\", \"Good\", \"God\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-046-01-de6f64ff", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"So, you're going on to Lower Halliford, are you?\" inquired Sikes.\n\"Yes, I am,\" replied the man, who seemed a little the worse—or better, as the case might be—for drinking; \"and not slow about it neither. My horse hasn't got a load behind him going back, as he had coming up in the mornin', and he wont be long a-doing of it. Here's luck to him! Ecod! he's a good un!\"\n\"Could you give my boy and me a lift as far as there?\" demanded Sikes, pushing the ale towards his new friend.\n\"If you're going directly, I can,\" replied the man, looking out of the pot. \"Are you going to Halliford?\"\n\"Going on to Shepperton,\" replied Sikes.\n\"I'm your man as far as I go,\" replied the other. \"Is all paid, Becky?\"\n\"Yes, the other gentleman's paid,\" replied the girl.\n\"I say!\" said the man, with tipsy gravity, \"that wont do, you know.\"\n\"Why not?\" rejoined Sikes. \"You're a-going to accommodate us, and wot's to prevent my standing treat for a pint or so, in return?\"\nThe stranger reflected upon this argument with a very profound face, and having done so, seized Sikes by the hand, and declared he was a real good fellow. To which Mr. Sikes replied, he was joking;—as if he had been sober, there would have been strong reason to suppose he was.\nAfter the exchange of a few more compliments, they bade the company good night, and went out, the girl gathering up the pots and glasses as they did so, and lounging out to the door, with her hands full, to see the party start.\nThe horse, whose health had been drunk in his absence, was standing outside, ready harnessed to the cart. Oliver and Sikes got in without any further ceremony, and the man, to whom he belonged, having lingered a minute or two \"to bear him up,\" and to defy the hostler and the world to produce his equal, mounted also. Then the hostler was told to give the horse his head, and, his head being given him, he made a very unpleasant use of it, tossing it into the air with great disdain, and running into the parlour windows over the way; after performing which feats, and supporting himself for a short time on his hind-legs, he started off at great speed, and rattled out of the town right gallantly.\nThe night was very dark. A damp mist rose from the river and the marshy ground about, and spread itself over the dreary fields. It was piercing cold, too; all was gloomy and black. Not a word was spoken, for the driver had grown sleepy, and Sikes was in no mood to lead him into conversation. Oliver sat huddled together in a corner of the cart, bewildered with alarm and apprehension, and figuring strange objects in the gaunt trees, whose branches waved grimly to and fro, as if in some fantastic joy at the desolation of the scene.\nAs they passed Sunbury church, the clock struck seven. There was a light in the ferry-house window opposite, which streamed across the road, and threw into more sombre shadow a dark yew-tree with graves beneath it. There was a dull sound of falling water not far off, and the leaves of the old tree stirred gently in the night wind. It seemed like quiet music for the repose of the dead.\nSunbury was passed through, and they came again into the lonely road. Two or three miles more, and the cart stopped. Sikes alighted, and, taking Oliver by the hand, they once again walked on.\nThey turned into no house at Shepperton, as the weary boy had expected, but still kept walking on, in mud and darkness, through gloomy lanes and over cold open wastes, until they came within sight of the lights of a town at no great distance. On looking intently forward, Oliver saw that the water was just below them, and that they were coming to the foot of a bridge.\nSikes kept straight on till they were close upon the bridge, and then turned suddenly down a bank upon the left. \"The water!\" thought Oliver, turning sick with fear. \"He has brought me to this lonely place to murder me!\"\nHe was about to throw himself on the ground, and make one struggle for his young life, when he saw that they stood before a solitary house, all ruinous and decayed. There was a window on each side of the dilapidated entrance, and one story above; but no light was visible. It was dark, dismantled, and, to all appearance, uninhabited.\nSikes, with Oliver's hand still in his, softly approached the low porch, and raised the latch. The door yielded to the pressure, and they passed in together.", "chosen": "So,, Yes,, My, Here's, Ecod!, he's, If, Are, I'm, Is, I, You're, To, Sikes, After, The, Oliver, Then, The, A, It, Not, Oliver, As, There, There, It, Sunbury, Two, Sikes, They, On, Sikes, The, He, There, It, Sikes,, The", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nSo,, Yes,, My, Here's, Ecod!, he's, If, Are, I'm, Is, I, You're, To, Sikes, After, The, Oliver, Then, The, A, It, Not, Oliver, As, There, There, It, Sunbury, Two, Sikes, They, On, Sikes, The, He, There, It, Sikes,, The\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-47530-002-01-bf0656ee", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nNewland Archer sat at the writing-table in his library in East Thirty-ninth Street.\nHe had just got back from a big official reception for the inauguration of the new galleries at the Metropolitan Museum, and the spectacle of those great spaces crowded with the spoils of the ages, where the throng of fashion circulated through a series of scientifically catalogued treasures, had suddenly pressed on a rusted spring of memory.\n\"Why, this used to be one of the old Cesnola rooms,\" he heard some one say; and instantly everything about him vanished, and he was sitting alone on a hard leather divan against a radiator, while a slight figure in a long sealskin cloak moved away down the meagrely-fitted vista of the old Museum.\nThe vision had roused a host of other associations, and he sat looking with new eyes at the library which, for over thirty years, had been the scene of his solitary musings and of all the family confabulations.\nIt was the room in which most of the real things of his life had happened. There his wife, nearly twenty-six years ago, had broken to him, with a blushing circumlocution that would have caused the young women of the new generation to smile, the news that she was to have a child; and there their eldest boy, Dallas, too delicate to be taken to church in midwinter, had been christened by their old friend the Bishop of New York, the ample magnificent irreplaceable Bishop, so long the pride and ornament of his diocese. There Dallas had first staggered across the floor shouting \"Dad,\" while May and the nurse laughed behind the door; there their second child, Mary (who was so like her mother), had announced her engagement to the dullest and most reliable of Reggie Chivers's many sons; and there Archer had kissed her through her wedding veil before they went down to the motor which was to carry them to Grace Church--for in a world where all else had reeled on its foundations the \"Grace Church wedding\" remained an unchanged institution.\nIt was in the library that he and May had always discussed the future of the children: the studies of Dallas and his young brother Bill, Mary's incurable indifference to \"accomplishments,\" and passion for sport and philanthropy, and the vague leanings toward \"art\" which had finally landed the restless and curious Dallas in the office of a rising New York architect.\nThe young men nowadays were emancipating themselves from the law and business and taking up all sorts of new things. If they were not absorbed in state politics or municipal reform, the chances were that they were going in for Central American archæology, for architecture or landscape-engineering; taking a keen and learned interest in the prerevolutionary buildings of their own country, studying and adapting Georgian types, and protesting at the meaningless use of the word \"Colonial.\" Nobody nowadays had \"Colonial\" houses except the millionaire grocers of the suburbs.\nBut above all--sometimes Archer put it above all--it was in that library that the Governor of New York, coming down from Albany one evening to dine and spend the night, had turned to his host, and said, banging his clenched fist on the table and gnashing his eye-glasses: \"Hang the professional politician! You're the kind of man the country wants, Archer. If the stable's ever to be cleaned out, men like you have got to lend a hand in the cleaning.\"\n\"Men like you--\" how Archer had glowed at the phrase! How eagerly he had risen up at the call! It was an echo of Ned Winsett's old appeal to roll his sleeves up and get down into the muck; but spoken by a man who set the example of the gesture, and whose summons to follow him was irresistible.\nArcher, as he looked back, was not sure that men like himself were what his country needed, at least in the active service to which Theodore Roosevelt had pointed; in fact, there was reason to think it did not, for after a year in the State Assembly he had not been re-elected, and had dropped back thankfully into obscure if useful municipal work, and from that again to the writing of occasional articles in one of the reforming weeklies that were trying to shake the country out of its apathy. It was little enough to look back on; but when he remembered to what the young men of his generation and his set had looked forward--the narrow groove of money-making, sport and society to which their vision had been limited--even his small contribution to the new state of things seemed to count, as each brick counts in a well-built wall. He had done little in public life; he would always be by nature a contemplative and a dilettante; but he had had high things to contemplate, great things to delight in; and one great man's friendship to be his strength and pride.\nHe had been, in short, what people were beginning to call \"a good citizen.\" In New York, for many years past, every new movement, philanthropic, municipal or artistic, had taken account of his opinion and wanted his name. People said: \"Ask Archer\" when there was a question of starting the first school for crippled children, reorganising the Museum of Art, founding the Grolier Club, inaugurating the new Library, or getting up a new society of chamber music. His days were full, and they were filled decently. He supposed it was all a man ought to ask.\nSomething he knew he had missed: the flower of life. But he thought of it now as a thing so unattainable and improbable that to have repined would have been like despairing because one had not drawn the first prize in a lottery. There were a hundred million tickets in his lottery, and there was only one prize; the chances had been too decidedly against him. When he thought of Ellen Olenska it was abstractly, serenely, as one might think of some imaginary beloved in a book or a picture: she had become the composite vision of all that he had missed. That vision, faint and tenuous as it was, had kept him from thinking of other women. He had been what was called a faithful husband; and when May had suddenly died--carried off by the infectious pneumonia through which she had nursed their youngest child--he had honestly mourned her. Their long years together had shown him that it did not so much matter if marriage was a dull duty, as long as it kept the dignity of a duty: lapsing from that, it became a mere battle of ugly appetites. Looking about him, he honoured his own past, and mourned for it. After all, there was good in the old ways.\nHis eyes, making the round of the room--done over by Dallas with English mezzotints, Chippendale cabinets, bits of chosen blue-and-white and pleasantly shaded electric lamps--came back to the old Eastlake writing-table that he had never been willing to banish, and to his first photograph of May, which still kept its place beside his inkstand.", "chosen": "32", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n32\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-541-016-00-cf1ace94", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nAs dusk draws on, he paces the Monks' Vineyard. He has walked to and fro, full half an hour by the Cathedral chimes, and it has closed in dark, before he becomes quite aware of a woman crouching on the ground near a wicket gate in a corner. The gate commands a cross bye-path, little used in the gloaming; and the figure must have been there all the time, though he has but gradually and lately made it out.\nHe strikes into that path, and walks up to the wicket. By the light of a lamp near it, he sees that the woman is of a haggard appearance, and that her weazen chin is resting on her hands, and that her eyes are staring—with an unwinking, blind sort of steadfastness—before her.\nAlways kindly, but moved to be unusually kind this evening, and having bestowed kind words on most of the children and aged people he has met, he at once bends down, and speaks to this woman.\n\"Are you ill?\"\n\"No, deary,\" she answers, without looking at him, and with no departure from her strange blind stare.\n\"Are you blind?\"\n\"No, deary.\"\n\"Are you lost, homeless, faint? What is the matter, that you stay here in the cold so long, without moving?\"\nBy slow and stiff efforts, she appears to contract her vision until it can rest upon him; and then a curious film passes over her, and she begins to shake.\nHe straightens himself, recoils a step, and looks down at her in a dread amazement; for he seems to know her.\n\"Good Heaven!\" he thinks, next moment. \"Like Jack that night!\"\nAs he looks down at her, she looks up at him, and whimpers: \"My lungs is weakly; my lungs is dreffle bad. Poor me, poor me, my cough is rattling dry!\" and coughs in confirmation horribly.\n\"Where do you come from?\"\n\"Come from London, deary.\" (Her cough still rending her.)\n\"Where are you going to?\"\n\"Back to London, deary. I came here, looking for a needle in a haystack, and I ain't found it. Look'ee, deary; give me three-and-sixpence, and don't you be afeard for me. I'll get back to London then, and trouble no one. I'm in a business.—Ah, me! It's slack, it's slack, and times is very bad!—but I can make a shift to live by it.\"\n\"Do you eat opium?\"\n\"Smokes it,\" she replies with difficulty, still racked by her cough. \"Give me three-and-sixpence, and I'll lay it out well, and get back. If you don't give me three-and-sixpence, don't give me a brass farden. And if you do give me three-and-sixpence, deary, I'll tell you something.\"\nHe counts the money from his pocket, and puts it in her hand. She instantly clutches it tight, and rises to her feet with a croaking laugh of satisfaction.\n\"Bless ye! Hark'ee, dear genl'mn. What's your Chris'en name?\"\n\"Edwin.\"\n\"Edwin, Edwin, Edwin,\" she repeats, trailing off into a drowsy repetition of the word; and then asks suddenly: \"Is the short of that name Eddy?\"\n\"It is sometimes called so,\" he replies, with the colour starting to his face.\n\"Don't sweethearts call it so?\" she asks, pondering.\n\"How should I know?\"\n\"Haven't you a sweetheart, upon your soul?\"\n\"None.\"\nShe is moving away, with another \"Bless ye, and thank'ee, deary!\" when he adds: \"You were to tell me something; you may as well do so.\"\n\"So I was, so I was. Well, then. Whisper. You be thankful that your name ain't Ned.\"\nHe looks at her quite steadily, as he asks: \"Why?\"\n\"Because it's a bad name to have just now.\"\n\"How a bad name?\"\n\"A threatened name. A dangerous name.\"\n\"The proverb says that threatened men live long,\" he tells her, lightly.\n\"Then Ned—so threatened is he, wherever he may be while I am a-talking to you, deary—should live to all eternity!\" replies the woman.\nShe has leaned forward to say it in his ear, with her forefinger shaking before his eyes, and now huddles herself together, and with another \"Bless ye, and thank'ee!\" goes away in the direction of the Travellers' Lodging House.\nThis is not an inspiriting close to a dull day. Alone, in a sequestered place, surrounded by vestiges of old time and decay, it rather has a tendency to call a shudder into being. He makes for the better-lighted streets, and resolves as he walks on to say nothing of this to-night, but to mention it to Jack (who alone calls him Ned), as an odd coincidence, to-morrow; of course only as a coincidence, and not as anything better worth remembering.\nStill, it holds to him, as many things much better worth remembering never did. He has another mile or so, to linger out before the dinner-hour; and, when he walks over the bridge and by the river, the woman's words are in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the troubled water, in the flickering lights. There is some solemn echo of them even in the Cathedral chime, which strikes a sudden surprise to his heart as he turns in under the archway of the gatehouse.\nAnd so he goes up the postern stair.\nJohn Jasper passes a more agreeable and cheerful day than either of his guests. Having no music-lessons to give in the holiday season, his time is his own, but for the Cathedral services. He is early among the shopkeepers, ordering little table luxuries that his nephew likes. His nephew will not be with him long, he tells his provision-dealers, and so must be petted and made much of. While out on his hospitable preparations, he looks in on Mr. Sapsea; and mentions that dear Ned, and that inflammable young spark of Mr. Crisparkle's, are to dine at the gatehouse to-day, and make up their difference. Mr. Sapsea is by no means friendly towards the inflammable young spark. He says that his complexion is \"Un-English.\" And when Mr. Sapsea has once declared anything to be Un-English, he considers that thing everlastingly sunk in the bottomless pit.\nJohn Jasper is truly sorry to hear Mr. Sapsea speak thus, for he knows right well that Mr. Sapsea never speaks without a meaning, and that he has a subtle trick of being right. Mr. Sapsea (by a very remarkable coincidence) is of exactly that opinion.\nMr. Jasper is in beautiful voice this day. In the pathetic supplication to have his heart inclined to keep this law, he quite astonishes his fellows by his melodious power. He has never sung difficult music with such skill and harmony, as in this day's Anthem. His nervous temperament is occasionally prone to take difficult music a little too quickly; to-day, his time is perfect.\nThese results are probably attained through a grand composure of the spirits. The mere mechanism of his throat is a little tender, for he wears, both with his singing-robe and with his ordinary dress, a large black scarf of strong close-woven silk, slung loosely round his neck. But his composure is so noticeable, that Mr. Crisparkle speaks of it as they come out from Vespers.\n\"I must thank you, Jasper, for the pleasure with which I have heard you to-day. Beautiful! Delightful! You could not have so outdone yourself, I hope, without being wonderfully well.\"\n\"I am wonderfully well.\"\n\"Nothing unequal,\" says the Minor Canon, with a smooth motion of his hand: \"nothing unsteady, nothing forced, nothing avoided; all thoroughly done in a masterly manner, with perfect self-command.\"\n\"Thank you. I hope so, if it is not too much to say.\"\n\"One would think, Jasper, you had been trying a new medicine for that occasional indisposition of yours.\"\n\"No, really? That's well observed; for I have.\"\n\"Then stick to it, my good fellow,\" says Mr. Crisparkle, clapping him on the shoulder with friendly encouragement, \"stick to it.\"\n\"I will.\"\n\"I congratulate you,\" Mr. Crisparkle pursues, as they come out of the Cathedral, \"on all accounts.\"\n\"Thank you again. I will walk round to the Corner with you, if you don't object; I have plenty of time before my company come; and I want to say a word to you, which I think you will not be displeased to hear.\"\n\"What is it?\"\n\"Well. We were speaking, the other evening, of my black humours.\"\nMr. Crisparkle's face falls, and he shakes his head deploringly.", "chosen": "You could not have so outdone yourself, I hope, without being wonderfully well.\"\n\"I am wonderfully well.\"\n\"Nothing unequal,\" says the Minor Canon, with a smooth motion of his hand: \"nothing unsteady, nothing forced, nothing avoided; all thoroughly done in a masterly manner, with perfect self-command.\"\n\"Thank you.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nYou could not have so outdone yourself, I hope, without being wonderfully well.\"\n\"I am wonderfully well.\"\n\"Nothing unequal,\" says the Minor Canon, with a smooth motion of his hand: \"nothing unsteady, nothing forced, nothing avoided; all thoroughly done in a masterly manner, with perfect self-command.\"\n\"Thank you.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-564-014-02-a1d4aa9b", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThey asked us considerable many questions; wanted to know what we covered up the raft that way for, and laid by in the daytime instead of running—was Jim a runaway nigger? Says I:\n\"Goodness sakes, would a runaway nigger run south?\"\nNo, they allowed he wouldn't. I had to account for things some way, so I says:\n\"My folks was living in Pike County, in Missouri, where I was born, and they all died off but me and pa and my brother Ike. Pa, he 'lowed he'd break up and go down and live with Uncle Ben, who's got a little one-horse place on the river, forty-four mile below Orleans. Pa was pretty poor, and had some debts; so when he'd squared up there warn't nothing left but sixteen dollars and our nigger, Jim. That warn't enough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck passage nor no other way. Well, when the river rose pa had a streak of luck one day; he ketched this piece of a raft; so we reckoned we'd go down to Orleans on it. Pa's luck didn't hold out; a steamboat run over the forrard corner of the raft one night, and we all went overboard and dove under the wheel; Jim and me come up all right, but pa was drunk, and Ike was only four years old, so they never come up no more. Well, for the next day or two we had considerable trouble, because people was always coming out in skiffs and trying to take Jim away from me, saying they believed he was a runaway nigger. We don't run daytimes no more now; nights they don't bother us.\"\nThe duke says:\n\"Leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can run in the daytime if we want to. I'll think the thing over—I'll invent a plan that'll fix it. We'll let it alone for to-day, because of course we don't want to go by that town yonder in daylight—it mightn't be healthy.\"\nTowards night it begun to darken up and look like rain; the heat lightning was squirting around low down in the sky, and the leaves was beginning to shiver—it was going to be pretty ugly, it was easy to see that. So the duke and the king went to overhauling our wigwam, to see what the beds was like. My bed was a straw tick better than Jim's, which was a corn-shuck tick; there's always cobs around about in a shuck tick, and they poke into you and hurt; and when you roll over the dry shucks sound like you was rolling over in a pile of dead leaves; it makes such a rustling that you wake up. Well, the duke allowed he would take my bed; but the king allowed he wouldn't. He says:\n\"I should a reckoned the difference in rank would a sejested to you that a corn-shuck bed warn't just fitten for me to sleep on. Your Grace'll take the shuck bed yourself.\"\nJim and me was in a sweat again for a minute, being afraid there was going to be some more trouble amongst them; so we was pretty glad when the duke says:\n\"'Tis my fate to be always ground into the mire under the iron heel of oppression. Misfortune has broken my once haughty spirit; I yield, I submit; 'tis my fate. I am alone in the world—let me suffer; I can bear it.\"\nWe got away as soon as it was good and dark. The king told us to stand well out towards the middle of the river, and not show a light till we got a long ways below the town. We come in sight of the little bunch of lights by-and-by—that was the town, you know—and slid by, about a half a mile out, all right. When we was three-quarters of a mile below we hoisted up our signal lantern; and about ten o'clock it come on to rain and blow and thunder and lighten like everything; so the king told us to both stay on watch till the weather got better; then him and the duke crawled into the wigwam and turned in for the night. It was my watch below till twelve, but I wouldn't a turned in anyway if I'd had a bed, because a body don't see such a storm as that every day in the week, not by a long sight. My souls, how the wind did scream along! And every second or two there'd come a glare that lit up the white-caps for a half a mile around, and you'd see the islands looking dusty through the rain, and the trees thrashing around in the wind; then comes a h-whack!—bum! bum! bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bum—and the thunder would go rumbling and grumbling away, and quit—and then rip comes another flash and another sockdolager. The waves most washed me off the raft sometimes, but I hadn't any clothes on, and didn't mind. We didn't have no trouble about snags; the lightning was glaring and flittering around so constant that we could see them plenty soon enough to throw her head this way or that and miss them.\nI had the middle watch, you know, but I was pretty sleepy by that time, so Jim he said he would stand the first half of it for me; he was always mighty good that way, Jim was. I crawled into the wigwam, but the king and the duke had their legs sprawled around so there warn't no show for me; so I laid outside—I didn't mind the rain, because it was warm, and the waves warn't running so high now. About two they come up again, though, and Jim was going to call me; but he changed his mind, because he reckoned they warn't high enough yet to do any harm; but he was mistaken about that, for pretty soon all of a sudden along comes a regular ripper and washed me overboard. It most killed Jim a-laughing. He was the easiest nigger to laugh that ever was, anyway.\nI took the watch, and Jim he laid down and snored away; and by-and-by the storm let up for good and all; and the first cabin-light that showed, I rousted him out and we slid the raft into hiding quarters for the day.\nThe king got out an old ratty deck of cards after breakfast, and him and the duke played seven-up a while, five cents a game. Then they got tired of it, and allowed they would \"lay out a campaign,\" as they called it. The duke went down into his carpet-bag, and fetched up a lot of little printed bills and read them out loud. One bill said, \"The celebrated Dr. Armand de Montalban, of Paris,\" would \"lecture on the Science of Phrenology\" at such and such a place, on the blank day of blank, at ten cents admission, and \"furnish charts of character at twenty-five cents apiece.\" The duke said that was him. In another bill he was the \"world-renowned Shakespearian tragedian, Garrick the Younger, of Drury Lane, London.\" In other bills he had a lot of other names and done other wonderful things, like finding water and gold with a \"divining-rod,\" \"dissipating witch spells,\" and so on. By-and-by he says:\n\"But the histrionic muse is the darling. Have you ever trod the boards, Royalty?\"\n\"No,\" says the king.\n\"You shall, then, before you're three days older, Fallen Grandeur,\" says the duke. \"The first good town we come to we'll hire a hall and do the sword fight in Richard III. and the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet. How does that strike you?\"\n\"I'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay, Bilgewater; but, you see, I don't know nothing about play-actin', and hain't ever seen much of it. I was too small when pap used to have 'em at the palace. Do you reckon you can learn me?\"\n\"Easy!\"\n\"All right. I'm jist a-freezn' for something fresh, anyway. Le's commence right away.\"\nSo the duke he told him all about who Romeo was and who Juliet was, and said he was used to being Romeo, so the king could be Juliet.\n\"But if Juliet's such a young gal, duke, my peeled head and my white whiskers is goin' to look oncommon odd on her, maybe.\"", "chosen": "maybe", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nmaybe\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-020-00-4e25f9c6", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"You'd have found me right off if you hadn't gone back to have that last reel with Denis,\" he brought out awkwardly. He could not pronounce the name without a stiffening of the muscles of his throat.\n\"Why, Ethan, how could I tell you were there?\"\n\"I suppose what folks say is true,\" he jerked out at her, instead of answering.\nShe stopped short, and he felt, in the darkness, that her face was lifted quickly to his. \"Why, what do folks say?\"\n\"It's natural enough you should be leaving us,\" he floundered on, following his thought.\n\"Is that what they say?\" she mocked back at him; then, with a sudden drop of her sweet treble: \"You mean that Zeena—ain't suited with me any more?\" she faltered.\nTheir arms had slipped apart and they stood motionless, each seeking to distinguish the other's face.\n\"I know I ain't anything like as smart as I ought to be,\" she went on, while he vainly struggled for expression. \"There's lots of things a hired girl could do that come awkward to me still—and I haven't got much strength in my arms. But if she'd only tell me I'd try. You know she hardly ever says anything, and sometimes I can see she ain't suited, and yet I don't know why.\" She turned on him with a sudden flash of indignation. \"You'd ought to tell me, Ethan Frome—you'd ought to! Unless you want me to go too—\"\nUnless he wanted her to go too! The cry was balm to his raw wound. The iron heavens seemed to melt and rain down sweetness. Again he struggled for the all-expressive word, and again, his arm in hers, found only a deep \"Come along.\"\nThey walked on in silence through the blackness of the hemlock-shaded lane, where Ethan's sawmill gloomed through the night, and out again into the comparative clearness of the fields. On the farther side of the hemlock belt the open country rolled away before them grey and lonely under the stars. Sometimes their way led them under the shade of an overhanging bank or through the thin obscurity of a clump of leafless trees. Here and there a farmhouse stood far back among the fields, mute and cold as a grave-stone. The night was so still that they heard the frozen snow crackle under their feet. The crash of a loaded branch falling far off in the woods reverberated like a musket-shot, and once a fox barked, and Mattie shrank closer to Ethan, and quickened her steps.\nAt length they sighted the group of larches at Ethan's gate, and as they drew near it the sense that the walk was over brought back his words.\n\"Then you don't want to leave us, Matt?\"\nHe had to stoop his head to catch her stifled whisper: \"Where'd I go, if I did?\"\nThe answer sent a pang through him but the tone suffused him with joy. He forgot what else he had meant to say and pressed her against him so closely that he seemed to feel her warmth in his veins.\n\"You ain't crying are you, Matt?\"\n\"No, of course I'm not,\" she quavered.\nThey turned in at the gate and passed under the shaded knoll where, enclosed in a low fence, the Frome grave-stones slanted at crazy angles through the snow. Ethan looked at them curiously. For years that quiet company had mocked his restlessness, his desire for change and freedom. \"We never got away—how should you?\" seemed to be written on every headstone; and whenever he went in or out of his gate he thought with a shiver: \"I shall just go on living here till I join them.\" But now all desire for change had vanished, and the sight of the little enclosure gave him a warm sense of continuance and stability.\n\"I guess we'll never let you go, Matt,\" he whispered, as though even the dead, lovers once, must conspire with him to keep her; and brushing by the graves, he thought: \"We'll always go on living here together, and some day she'll lie there beside me.\"\nHe let the vision possess him as they climbed the hill to the house. He was never so happy with her as when he abandoned himself to these dreams. Half-way up the slope Mattie stumbled against some unseen obstruction and clutched his sleeve to steady herself. The wave of warmth that went through him was like the prolongation of his vision. For the first time he stole his arm about her, and she did not resist. They walked on as if they were floating on a summer stream.\nZeena always went to bed as soon as she had had her supper, and the shutterless windows of the house were dark. A dead cucumber-vine dangled from the porch like the crape streamer tied to the door for a death, and the thought flashed through Ethan's brain: \"If it was there for Zeena—\" Then he had a distinct sight of his wife lying in their bedroom asleep, her mouth slightly open, her false teeth in a tumbler by the bed....\nThey walked around to the back of the house, between the rigid gooseberry bushes. It was Zeena's habit, when they came back late from the village, to leave the key of the kitchen door under the mat. Ethan stood before the door, his head heavy with dreams, his arm still about Mattie. \"Matt—\" he began, not knowing what he meant to say.\nShe slipped out of his hold without speaking, and he stooped down and felt for the key.\n\"It's not there!\" he said, straightening himself with a start.\nThey strained their eyes at each other through the icy darkness. Such a thing had never happened before.\n\"Maybe she's forgotten it,\" Mattie said in a tremulous whisper; but both of them knew that it was not like Zeena to forget.\n\"It might have fallen off into the snow,\" Mattie continued, after a pause during which they had stood intently listening.\n\"It must have been pushed off, then,\" he rejoined in the same tone. Another wild thought tore through him. What if tramps had been there—what if....\nAgain he listened, fancying he heard a distant sound in the house; then he felt in his pocket for a match, and kneeling down, passed its light slowly over the rough edges of snow about the doorstep.\nHe was still kneeling when his eyes, on a level with the lower panel of the door, caught a faint ray beneath it. Who could be stirring in that silent house? He heard a step on the stairs, and again for an instant the thought of tramps tore through him. Then the door opened and he saw his wife.\nAgainst the dark background of the kitchen she stood up tall and angular, one hand drawing a quilted counterpane to her flat breast, while the other held a lamp. The light, on a level with her chin, drew out of the darkness her puckered throat and the projecting wrist of the hand that clutched the quilt, and deepened fantastically the hollows and prominences of her high-boned face under its ring of crimping-pins. To Ethan, still in the rosy haze of his hour with Mattie, the sight came with the intense precision of the last dream before waking. He felt as if he had never before known what his wife looked like.\nShe drew aside without speaking, and Mattie and Ethan passed into the kitchen, which had the deadly chill of a vault after the dry cold of the night.\n\"Guess you forgot about us, Zeena,\" Ethan joked, stamping the snow from his boots.\n\"No. I just felt so mean I couldn't sleep.\"\nMattie came forward, unwinding her wraps, the colour of the cherry scarf in her fresh lips and cheeks. \"I'm so sorry, Zeena! Isn't there anything I can do?\"\n\"No; there's nothing.\" Zeena turned away from her. \"You might 'a' shook off that snow outside,\" she said to her husband.\nShe walked out of the kitchen ahead of them and pausing in the hall raised the lamp at arm's-length, as if to light them up the stairs.", "chosen": "[\"Denis\", \"Ethan\", \"Zeena\", \"Frome\", \"Come\", \"Mattie\", \"Matt\", \"Where\", \"Maybe\", \"Guess\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Denis\", \"Ethan\", \"Zeena\", \"Frome\", \"Come\", \"Mattie\", \"Matt\", \"Where\", \"Maybe\", \"Guess\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-4517-003-01-0e4f71a7", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nLittle had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imagined when they first came into Devonshire, that so many engagements would arise to occupy their time as shortly presented themselves, or that they should have such frequent invitations and such constant visitors as to leave them little leisure for serious employment. Yet such was the case. When Marianne was recovered, the schemes of amusement at home and abroad, which Sir John had been previously forming, were put into execution. The private balls at the park then began; and parties on the water were made and accomplished as often as a showery October would allow. In every meeting of the kind Willoughby was included; and the ease and familiarity which naturally attended these parties were exactly calculated to give increasing intimacy to his acquaintance with the Dashwoods, to afford him opportunity of witnessing the excellencies of Marianne, of marking his animated admiration of her, and of receiving, in her behaviour to himself, the most pointed assurance of her affection.\nElinor could not be surprised at their attachment. She only wished that it were less openly shown; and once or twice did venture to suggest the propriety of some self-command to Marianne. But Marianne abhorred all concealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve; and to aim at the restraint of sentiments which were not in themselves illaudable, appeared to her not merely an unnecessary effort, but a disgraceful subjection of reason to common-place and mistaken notions. Willoughby thought the same; and their behaviour at all times, was an illustration of their opinions.\nWhen he was present she had no eyes for any one else. Every thing he did, was right. Every thing he said, was clever. If their evenings at the park were concluded with cards, he cheated himself and all the rest of the party to get her a good hand. If dancing formed the amusement of the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to separate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together and scarcely spoke a word to any body else. Such conduct made them of course most exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame, and seemed hardly to provoke them.\nMrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings with a warmth which left her no inclination for checking this excessive display of them. To her it was but the natural consequence of a strong affection in a young and ardent mind.\nThis was the season of happiness to Marianne. Her heart was devoted to Willoughby, and the fond attachment to Norland, which she brought with her from Sussex, was more likely to be softened than she had thought it possible before, by the charms which his society bestowed on her present home.\nElinor's happiness was not so great. Her heart was not so much at ease, nor her satisfaction in their amusements so pure. They afforded her no companion that could make amends for what she had left behind, nor that could teach her to think of Norland with less regret than ever. Neither Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supply to her the conversation she missed; although the latter was an everlasting talker, and from the first had regarded her with a kindness which ensured her a large share of her discourse. She had already repeated her own history to Elinor three or four times; and had Elinor's memory been equal to her means of improvement, she might have known very early in their acquaintance all the particulars of Mr. Jennings's last illness, and what he said to his wife a few minutes before he died. Lady Middleton was more agreeable than her mother only in being more silent. Elinor needed little observation to perceive that her reserve was a mere calmness of manner with which sense had nothing to do. Towards her husband and mother she was the same as to them; and intimacy was therefore neither to be looked for nor desired. She had nothing to say one day that she had not said the day before. Her insipidity was invariable, for even her spirits were always the same; and though she did not oppose the parties arranged by her husband, provided every thing were conducted in style and her two eldest children attended her, she never appeared to receive more enjoyment from them than she might have experienced in sitting at home; and so little did her presence add to the pleasure of the others, by any share in their conversation, that they were sometimes only reminded of her being amongst them by her solicitude about her troublesome boys.\nIn Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, did Elinor find a person who could in any degree claim the respect of abilities, excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion. Willoughby was out of the question. Her admiration and regard, even her sisterly regard, was all his own; but he was a lover; his attentions were wholly Marianne's, and a far less agreeable man might have been more generally pleasing. Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no such encouragement to think only of Marianne, and in conversing with Elinor he found the greatest consolation for the indifference of her sister.\nElinor's compassion for him increased, as she had reason to suspect that the misery of disappointed love had already been known to him. This suspicion was given by some words which accidentally dropped from him one evening at the park, when they were sitting down together by mutual consent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed on Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint smile, \"Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second attachments.\"\n\"No,\" replied Elinor, \"her opinions are all romantic.\"\n\"Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist.\"\n\"I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting on the character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not. A few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define and to justify than they now are, by any body but herself.\"\n\"This will probably be the case,\" he replied; \"and yet there is something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions.\"\n\"I cannot agree with you there,\" said Elinor. \"There are inconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne's, which all the charms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for. Her systems have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her greatest possible advantage.\"\nAfter a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying--\n\"Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a second attachment? or is it equally criminal in every body? Are those who have been disappointed in their first choice, whether from the inconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of circumstances, to be equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?\"\n\"Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiÊ of her principles. I only know that I never yet heard her admit any instance of a second attachment's being pardonable.\"", "chosen": "Little, Dashwood, Yet, When, The, In, Elinor, She, But, Willoughby, When, Every, Every, If, If, Such, Mrs., Dashwood, To, This, Her, Elinor's, Her, They, Neither, Jennings, She, Jennings's, Lady, Elinor, Towards, She, Her, In, Willoughby, Her, Colonel, Elinor's, This, His, But, A, There, Her, or, Are, I", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nLittle, Dashwood, Yet, When, The, In, Elinor, She, But, Willoughby, When, Every, Every, If, If, Such, Mrs., Dashwood, To, This, Her, Elinor's, Her, They, Neither, Jennings, She, Jennings's, Lady, Elinor, Towards, She, Her, In, Willoughby, Her, Colonel, Elinor's, This, His, But, A, There, Her, or, Are, I\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-011-00-75dff689", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nFanny Beaufort, who had appeared in New York at eighteen, after the death of her parents, had won its heart much as Madame Olenska had won it thirty years earlier; only instead of being distrustful and afraid of her, society took her joyfully for granted. She was pretty, amusing and accomplished: what more did any one want? Nobody was narrow-minded enough to rake up against her the half-forgotten facts of her father's past and her own origin. Only the older people remembered so obscure an incident in the business life of New York as Beaufort's failure, or the fact that after his wife's death he had been quietly married to the notorious Fanny Ring, and had left the country with his new wife, and a little girl who inherited her beauty. He was subsequently heard of in Constantinople, then in Russia; and a dozen years later American travellers were handsomely entertained by him in Buenos Ayres, where he represented a large insurance agency. He and his wife died there in the odour of prosperity; and one day their orphaned daughter had appeared in New York in charge of May Archer's sister-in-law, Mrs. Jack Welland, whose husband had been appointed the girl's guardian. The fact threw her into almost cousinly relationship with Newland Archer's children, and nobody was surprised when Dallas's engagement was announced.\nNothing could more clearly give the measure of the distance that the world had travelled. People nowadays were too busy--busy with reforms and \"movements,\" with fads and fetishes and frivolities--to bother much about their neighbours. And of what account was anybody's past, in the huge kaleidoscope where all the social atoms spun around on the same plane?\nNewland Archer, looking out of his hotel window at the stately gaiety of the Paris streets, felt his heart beating with the confusion and eagerness of youth.\nIt was long since it had thus plunged and reared under his widening waistcoat, leaving him, the next minute, with an empty breast and hot temples. He wondered if it was thus that his son's conducted itself in the presence of Miss Fanny Beaufort--and decided that it was not. \"It functions as actively, no doubt, but the rhythm is different,\" he reflected, recalling the cool composure with which the young man had announced his engagement, and taken for granted that his family would approve.\n\"The difference is that these young people take it for granted that they're going to get whatever they want, and that we almost always took it for granted that we shouldn't. Only, I wonder--the thing one's so certain of in advance: can it ever make one's heart beat as wildly?\"\nIt was the day after their arrival in Paris, and the spring sunshine held Archer in his open window, above the wide silvery prospect of the Place Vendôme. One of the things he had stipulated--almost the only one--when he had agreed to come abroad with Dallas, was that, in Paris, he shouldn't be made to go to one of the newfangled \"palaces.\"\n\"Oh, all right--of course,\" Dallas good-naturedly agreed. \"I'll take you to some jolly old-fashioned place--the Bristol say--\" leaving his father speechless at hearing that the century-long home of kings and emperors was now spoken of as an old-fashioned inn, where one went for its quaint inconveniences and lingering local colour.\nArcher had pictured often enough, in the first impatient years, the scene of his return to Paris; then the personal vision had faded, and he had simply tried to see the city as the setting of Madame Olenska's life. Sitting alone at night in his library, after the household had gone to bed, he had evoked the radiant outbreak of spring down the avenues of horse-chestnuts, the flowers and statues in the public gardens, the whiff of lilacs from the flower-carts, the majestic roll of the river under the great bridges, and the life of art and study and pleasure that filled each mighty artery to bursting. Now the spectacle was before him in its glory, and as he looked out on it he felt shy, old-fashioned, inadequate: a mere grey speck of a man compared with the ruthless magnificent fellow he had dreamed of being....\nDallas's hand came down cheerily on his shoulder. \"Hullo, father: this is something like, isn't it?\" They stood for a while looking out in silence, and then the young man continued: \"By the way, I've got a message for you: the Countess Olenska expects us both at half-past five.\"\nHe said it lightly, carelessly, as he might have imparted any casual item of information, such as the hour at which their train was to leave for Florence the next evening. Archer looked at him, and thought he saw in his gay young eyes a gleam of his great-grandmother Mingott's malice.\n\"Oh, didn't I tell you?\" Dallas pursued. \"Fanny made me swear to do three things while I was in Paris: get her the score of the last Debussy songs, go to the Grand-Guignol and see Madame Olenska. You know she was awfully good to Fanny when Mr. Beaufort sent her over from Buenos Ayres to the Assomption. Fanny hadn't any friends in Paris, and Madame Olenska used to be kind to her and trot her about on holidays. I believe she was a great friend of the first Mrs. Beaufort's. And she's our cousin, of course. So I rang her up this morning, before I went out, and told her you and I were here for two days and wanted to see her.\"\nArcher continued to stare at him. \"You told her I was here?\"\n\"Of course--why not?\" Dallas's eye brows went up whimsically. Then, getting no answer, he slipped his arm through his father's with a confidential pressure.\n\"I say, father: what was she like?\"\nArcher felt his colour rise under his son's unabashed gaze. \"Come, own up: you and she were great pals, weren't you? Wasn't she most awfully lovely?\"\n\"Lovely? I don't know. She was different.\"\n\"Ah--there you have it! That's what it always comes to, doesn't it? When she comes, she's different--and one doesn't know why. It's exactly what I feel about Fanny.\"\nHis father drew back a step, releasing his arm. \"About Fanny? But, my dear fellow--I should hope so! Only I don't see--\"\n\"Dash it, Dad, don't be prehistoric! Wasn't she--once--your Fanny?\"\nDallas belonged body and soul to the new generation. He was the first-born of Newland and May Archer, yet it had never been possible to inculcate in him even the rudiments of reserve. \"What's the use of making mysteries? It only makes people want to nose 'em out,\" he always objected when enjoined to discretion. But Archer, meeting his eyes, saw the filial light under their banter.\n\"My Fanny?\"\n\"Well, the woman you'd have chucked everything for: only you didn't,\" continued his surprising son.\n\"I didn't,\" echoed Archer with a kind of solemnity.\n\"No: you date, you see, dear old boy. But mother said--\"\n\"Your mother?\"\n\"Yes: the day before she died. It was when she sent for me alone--you remember? She said she knew we were safe with you, and always would be, because once, when she asked you to, you'd given up the thing you most wanted.\"\nArcher received this strange communication in silence. His eyes remained unseeingly fixed on the thronged sunlit square below the window. At length he said in a low voice: \"She never asked me.\"\n\"No. I forgot. You never did ask each other anything, did you? And you never told each other anything. You just sat and watched each other, and guessed at what was going on underneath. A deaf-and-dumb asylum, in fact! Well, I back your generation for knowing more about each other's private thoughts than we ever have time to find out about our own.--I say, Dad,\" Dallas broke off, \"you're not angry with me? If you are, let's make it up and go and lunch at Henri's. I've got to rush out to Versailles afterward.\"\nArcher did not accompany his son to Versailles. He preferred to spend the afternoon in solitary roamings through Paris. He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate lifetime.", "chosen": "70", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n70\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-541-016-02-34b58f58", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n'Yes, before you got half through telling about the thing, I knew perfectly well who the boy was; it was Ben Coontz!'\nI came out of my collapse as one who rises from the dead. I said, with admiration--\n'Why, how in the world did you ever guess it?'\n'You told it in your sleep.'\nI said to myself, 'How splendid that is! This is a habit which must be cultivated.'\nMy brother rattled innocently on--\n'When you were talking in your sleep, you kept mumbling something about \"matches,\" which I couldn't make anything out of; but just now, when you began to tell me about the man and the calaboose and the matches, I remembered that in your sleep you mentioned Ben Coontz two or three times; so I put this and that together, you see, and right away I knew it was Ben that burnt that man up.'\nI praised his sagacity effusively. Presently he asked--\n'Are you going to give him up to the law?'\n'No,' I said; 'I believe that this will be a lesson to him. I shall keep an eye on him, of course, for that is but right; but if he stops where he is and reforms, it shall never be said that I betrayed him.'\n'How good you are!'\n'Well, I try to be. It is all a person can do in a world like this.'\nAnd now, my burden being shifted to other shoulders, my terrors soon faded away.\nThe day before we left Hannibal, a curious thing fell under my notice--the surprising spread which longitudinal time undergoes there. I learned it from one of the most unostentatious of men--the colored coachman of a friend of mine, who lives three miles from town. He was to call for me at the Park Hotel at 7.30 P.M., and drive me out. But he missed it considerably--did not arrive till ten. He excused himself by saying--\n'De time is mos' an hour en a half slower in de country en what it is in de town; you'll be in plenty time, boss. Sometimes we shoves out early for church, Sunday, en fetches up dah right plum in de middle er de sermon. Diffunce in de time. A body can't make no calculations 'bout it.'\nI had lost two hours and a half; but I had learned a fact worth four.", "chosen": "This is a habit which must be cultivated.'\nMy brother rattled innocently on--\n'When you were talking in your sleep, you kept mumbling something about \"matches,\" which I couldn't make anything out of; but just now, when you began to tell me about the man and the calaboose and the matches, I remembered that in your sleep you mentioned Ben Coontz two or three times; so I put this and that together, you see, and right away I knew it was Ben that burnt that man up.'\nI praised his sagacity effusively.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nThis is a habit which must be cultivated.'\nMy brother rattled innocently on--\n'When you were talking in your sleep, you kept mumbling something about \"matches,\" which I couldn't make anything out of; but just now, when you began to tell me about the man and the calaboose and the matches, I remembered that in your sleep you mentioned Ben Coontz two or three times; so I put this and that together, you see, and right away I knew it was Ben that burnt that man up.'\nI praised his sagacity effusively.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-245-055-01-fd2543d1", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nTo Miss Swancourt this request seemed, what in fact it was, exceptionally point-blank; though she guessed that her father had some hand in framing it, knowing, rather to her cost, of his unceremonious way of utilizing her for the benefit of dull sojourners. At the same time, as Mr. Smith's manner was too frank to provoke criticism, and his age too little to inspire fear, she was ready—not to say pleased—to accede. Selecting from the canterbury some old family ditties, that in years gone by had been played and sung by her mother, Elfride sat down to the pianoforte, and began, \"'Twas on the evening of a winter's day,\" in a pretty contralto voice.\n\"Do you like that old thing, Mr. Smith?\" she said at the end.\n\"Yes, I do much,\" said Stephen—words he would have uttered, and sincerely, to anything on earth, from glee to requiem, that she might have chosen.\n\"You shall have a little one by De Leyre, that was given me by a young French lady who was staying at Endelstow House:\n\"'Je l'ai planté, je l'ai vu naître, Ce beau rosier où les oiseaux,' &c.;\nand then I shall want to give you my own favourite for the very last, Shelley's 'When the lamp is shattered,' as set to music by my poor mother. I so much like singing to anybody who really cares to hear me.\"\nEvery woman who makes a permanent impression on a man is usually recalled to his mind's eye as she appeared in one particular scene, which seems ordained to be her special form of manifestation throughout the pages of his memory. As the patron Saint has her attitude and accessories in mediaeval illumination, so the sweetheart may be said to have hers upon the table of her true Love's fancy, without which she is rarely introduced there except by effort; and this though she may, on further acquaintance, have been observed in many other phases which one would imagine to be far more appropriate to love's young dream.\nMiss Elfride's image chose the form in which she was beheld during these minutes of singing, for her permanent attitude of visitation to Stephen's eyes during his sleeping and waking hours in after days. The profile is seen of a young woman in a pale gray silk dress with trimmings of swan's-down, and opening up from a point in front, like a waistcoat without a shirt; the cool colour contrasting admirably with the warm bloom of her neck and face. The furthermost candle on the piano comes immediately in a line with her head, and half invisible itself, forms the accidentally frizzled hair into a nebulous haze of light, surrounding her crown like an aureola. Her hands are in their place on the keys, her lips parted, and trilling forth, in a tender diminuendo, the closing words of the sad apostrophe:\n\"O Love, who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier!\"\nHer head is forward a little, and her eyes directed keenly upward to the top of the page of music confronting her. Then comes a rapid look into Stephen's face, and a still more rapid look back again to her business, her face having dropped its sadness, and acquired a certain expression of mischievous archness the while; which lingered there for some time, but was never developed into a positive smile of flirtation.\nStephen suddenly shifted his position from her right hand to her left, where there was just room enough for a small ottoman to stand between the piano and the corner of the room. Into this nook he squeezed himself, and gazed wistfully up into Elfride's face. So long and so earnestly gazed he, that her cheek deepened to a more and more crimson tint as each line was added to her song. Concluding, and pausing motionless after the last word for a minute or two, she ventured to look at him again. His features wore an expression of unutterable heaviness.\n\"You don't hear many songs, do you, Mr. Smith, to take so much notice of these of mine?\"\n\"Perhaps it was the means and vehicle of the song that I was noticing: I mean yourself,\" he answered gently.\n\"Now, Mr. Smith!\"\n\"It is perfectly true; I don't hear much singing. You mistake what I am, I fancy. Because I come as a stranger to a secluded spot, you think I must needs come from a life of bustle, and know the latest movements of the day. But I don't. My life is as quiet as yours, and more solitary; solitary as death.\"\n\"The death which comes from a plethora of life? But seriously, I can quite see that you are not the least what I thought you would be before I saw you. You are not critical, or experienced, or—much to mind. That's why I don't mind singing airs to you that I only half know.\" Finding that by this confession she had vexed him in a way she did not intend, she added naively, \"I mean, Mr. Smith, that you are better, not worse, for being only young and not very experienced. You don't think my life here so very tame and dull, I know.\"\n\"I do not, indeed,\" he said with fervour. \"It must be delightfully poetical, and sparkling, and fresh, and——\"\n\"There you go, Mr. Smith! Well, men of another kind, when I get them to be honest enough to own the truth, think just the reverse: that my life must be a dreadful bore in its normal state, though pleasant for the exceptional few days they pass here.\"\n\"I could live here always!\" he said, and with such a tone and look of unconscious revelation that Elfride was startled to find that her harmonies had fired a small Troy, in the shape of Stephen's heart. She said quickly:\n\"But you can't live here always.\"\n\"Oh no.\" And he drew himself in with the sensitiveness of a snail.\nElfride's emotions were sudden as his in kindling, but the least of woman's lesser infirmities—love of admiration—caused an inflammable disposition on his part, so exactly similar to her own, to appear as meritorious in him as modesty made her own seem culpable in her.", "chosen": "[\"'Twas on the evening of a winter's day,\", \"Do you like that old thing, Mr. Smith?\", \"Yes, I do much,\", \"You shall have a little one by De Leyre, that was given me by a young French lady who was staying at Endelstow House:\\n\", \"O Love, who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier!\", \"You don't hear many songs, do you, Mr. Smith, to take so much notice of these of mine?\", \"Perhaps it was the means and vehicle of the song that I was noticing: I mean yourself,\", \"Now, Mr. Smith!\", \" Finding that by this confession she had vexed him in a way she did not intend, she added naively, \", \"I do not, indeed,\", \"It must be delightfully poetical, and sparkling, and fresh, and\\u2014\\u2014\", \"I could live here always!\", \"But you can't live here always.\", \"Oh no.\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"'Twas on the evening of a winter's day,\", \"Do you like that old thing, Mr. Smith?\", \"Yes, I do much,\", \"You shall have a little one by De Leyre, that was given me by a young French lady who was staying at Endelstow House:\\n\", \"O Love, who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier!\", \"You don't hear many songs, do you, Mr. Smith, to take so much notice of these of mine?\", \"Perhaps it was the means and vehicle of the song that I was noticing: I mean yourself,\", \"Now, Mr. Smith!\", \" Finding that by this confession she had vexed him in a way she did not intend, she added naively, \", \"I do not, indeed,\", \"It must be delightfully poetical, and sparkling, and fresh, and\\u2014\\u2014\", \"I could live here always!\", \"But you can't live here always.\", \"Oh no.\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-224-002-01-12641fca", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nWe slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. She had four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty men, likely. She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open camp fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end. There was a power of style about her. It amounted to something being a raftsman on such a craft as that.\nWe went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got hot. The river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on both sides; you couldn't see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. We talked about Cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to it. I said likely we wouldn't, because I had heard say there warn't but about a dozen houses there, and if they didn't happen to have them lit up, how was we going to know we was passing a town? Jim said if the two big rivers joined together there, that would show. But I said maybe we might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the same old river again. That disturbed Jim—and me too. So the question was, what to do? I said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed, and tell them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and was a green hand at the business, and wanted to know how far it was to Cairo. Jim thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and waited.\nThere warn't nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town, and not pass it without seeing it. He said he'd be mighty sure to see it, because he'd be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it he'd be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom. Every little while he jumps up and says:\n\"Dah she is?\"\nBut it warn't. It was Jack-o'-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set down again, and went to watching, same as before. Jim said it made him all over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom. Well, I can tell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him, because I begun to get it through my head that he was most free—and who was to blame for it? Why, me. I couldn't get that out of my conscience, no how nor no way. It got to troubling me so I couldn't rest; I couldn't stay still in one place. It hadn't ever come home to me before, what this thing was that I was doing. But now it did; and it stayed with me, and scorched me more and more. I tried to make out to myself that I warn't to blame, because I didn't run Jim off from his rightful owner; but it warn't no use, conscience up and says, every time, \"But you knowed he was running for his freedom, and you could a paddled ashore and told somebody.\" That was so—I couldn't get around that noway. That was where it pinched. Conscience says to me, \"What had poor Miss Watson done to you that you could see her nigger go off right under your eyes and never say one single word? What did that poor old woman do to you that you could treat her so mean? Why, she tried to learn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to be good to you every way she knowed how. That's what she done.\"\nI got to feeling so mean and so miserable I most wished I was dead. I fidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and Jim was fidgeting up and down past me. We neither of us could keep still. Every time he danced around and says, \"Dah's Cairo!\" it went through me like a shot, and I thought if it was Cairo I reckoned I would die of miserableness.\nJim talked out loud all the time while I was talking to myself. He was saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free State he would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he got enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to where Miss Watson lived; and then they would both work to buy the two children, and if their master wouldn't sell them, they'd get an Ab'litionist to go and steal them.\nIt most froze me to hear such talk. He wouldn't ever dared to talk such talk in his life before. Just see what a difference it made in him the minute he judged he was about free. It was according to the old saying, \"Give a nigger an inch and he'll take an ell.\" Thinks I, this is what comes of my not thinking. Here was this nigger, which I had as good as helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would steal his children—children that belonged to a man I didn't even know; a man that hadn't ever done me no harm.\nI was sorry to hear Jim say that, it was such a lowering of him. My conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I says to it, \"Let up on me—it ain't too late yet—I'll paddle ashore at the first light and tell.\" I felt easy and happy and light as a feather right off. All my troubles was gone. I went to looking out sharp for a light, and sort of singing to myself. By-and-by one showed. Jim sings out:\n\"We's safe, Huck, we's safe! Jump up and crack yo' heels! Dat's de good ole Cairo at las', I jis knows it!\"\nI says:\n\"I'll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It mightn't be, you know.\"\nHe jumped and got the canoe ready, and put his old coat in the bottom for me to set on, and give me the paddle; and as I shoved off, he says:\n\"Pooty soon I'll be a-shout'n' for joy, en I'll say, it's all on accounts o' Huck; I's a free man, en I couldn't ever ben free ef it hadn' ben for Huck; Huck done it. Jim won't ever forgit you, Huck; you's de bes' fren' Jim's ever had; en you's de only fren' ole Jim's got now.\"\nI was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me. I went along slow then, and I warn't right down certain whether I was glad I started or whether I warn't. When I was fifty yards off, Jim says:\n\"Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on'y white genlman dat ever kep' his promise to ole Jim.\"\nWell, I just felt sick. But I says, I got to do it—I can't get out of it. Right then along comes a skiff with two men in it with guns, and they stopped and I stopped. One of them says:\n\"What's that yonder?\"\n\"A piece of a raft,\" I says.\n\"Do you belong on it?\"\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\"Any men on it?\"\n\"Only one, sir.\"\n\"Well, there's five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head of the bend. Is your man white or black?\"\nI didn't answer up prompt. I tried to, but the words wouldn't come. I tried for a second or two to brace up and out with it, but I warn't man enough—hadn't the spunk of a rabbit. I see I was weakening; so I just give up trying, and up and says:\n\"He's white.\"\n\"I reckon we'll go and see for ourselves.\"\n\"I wish you would,\" says I, \"because it's pap that's there, and maybe you'd help me tow the raft ashore where the light is. He's sick—and so is mam and Mary Ann.\"", "chosen": "Ann", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nAnn\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-016-00-44a7f234", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nSyme stirred sharply in his seat, but otherwise there was silence, and the incomprehensible went on.\n\"But you were men. You did not forget your secret honour, though the whole cosmos turned an engine of torture to tear it out of you. I knew how near you were to hell. I know how you, Thursday, crossed swords with King Satan, and how you, Wednesday, named me in the hour without hope.\"\nThere was complete silence in the starlit garden, and then the black-browed Secretary, implacable, turned in his chair towards Sunday, and said in a harsh voice—\n\"Who and what are you?\"\n\"I am the Sabbath,\" said the other without moving. \"I am the peace of God.\"\nThe Secretary started up, and stood crushing his costly robe in his hand.\n\"I know what you mean,\" he cried, \"and it is exactly that that I cannot forgive you. I know you are contentment, optimism, what do they call the thing, an ultimate reconciliation. Well, I am not reconciled. If you were the man in the dark room, why were you also Sunday, an offense to the sunlight? If you were from the first our father and our friend, why were you also our greatest enemy? We wept, we fled in terror; the iron entered into our souls—and you are the peace of God! Oh, I can forgive God His anger, though it destroyed nations; but I cannot forgive Him His peace.\"\nSunday answered not a word, but very slowly he turned his face of stone upon Syme as if asking a question.\n\"No,\" said Syme, \"I do not feel fierce like that. I am grateful to you, not only for wine and hospitality here, but for many a fine scamper and free fight. But I should like to know. My soul and heart are as happy and quiet here as this old garden, but my reason is still crying out. I should like to know.\"\nSunday looked at Ratcliffe, whose clear voice said—\n\"It seems so silly that you should have been on both sides and fought yourself.\"\nBull said—\n\"I understand nothing, but I am happy. In fact, I am going to sleep.\"\n\"I am not happy,\" said the Professor with his head in his hands, \"because I do not understand. You let me stray a little too near to hell.\"\nAnd then Gogol said, with the absolute simplicity of a child—\n\"I wish I knew why I was hurt so much.\"\nStill Sunday said nothing, but only sat with his mighty chin upon his hand, and gazed at the distance. Then at last he said—\n\"I have heard your complaints in order. And here, I think, comes another to complain, and we will hear him also.\"\nThe falling fire in the great cresset threw a last long gleam, like a bar of burning gold, across the dim grass. Against this fiery band was outlined in utter black the advancing legs of a black-clad figure. He seemed to have a fine close suit with knee-breeches such as that which was worn by the servants of the house, only that it was not blue, but of this absolute sable. He had, like the servants, a kind of sword by his side. It was only when he had come quite close to the crescent of the seven and flung up his face to look at them, that Syme saw, with thunder-struck clearness, that the face was the broad, almost ape-like face of his old friend Gregory, with its rank red hair and its insulting smile.\n\"Gregory!\" gasped Syme, half-rising from his seat. \"Why, this is the real anarchist!\"\n\"Yes,\" said Gregory, with a great and dangerous restraint, \"I am the real anarchist.\"\n\"'Now there was a day,'\" murmured Bull, who seemed really to have fallen asleep, \"'when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them.'\"\n\"You are right,\" said Gregory, and gazed all round. \"I am a destroyer. I would destroy the world if I could.\"\nA sense of a pathos far under the earth stirred up in Syme, and he spoke brokenly and without sequence.\n\"Oh, most unhappy man,\" he cried, \"try to be happy! You have red hair like your sister.\"\n\"My red hair, like red flames, shall burn up the world,\" said Gregory. \"I thought I hated everything more than common men can hate anything; but I find that I do not hate everything so much as I hate you!\"\n\"I never hated you,\" said Syme very sadly.\nThen out of this unintelligible creature the last thunders broke.\n\"You!\" he cried. \"You never hated because you never lived. I know what you are all of you, from first to last—you are the people in power! You are the police—the great fat, smiling men in blue and buttons! You are the Law, and you have never been broken. But is there a free soul alive that does not long to break you, only because you have never been broken? We in revolt talk all kind of nonsense doubtless about this crime or that crime of the Government. It is all folly! The only crime of the Government is that it governs. The unpardonable sin of the supreme power is that it is supreme. I do not curse you for being cruel. I do not curse you (though I might) for being kind. I curse you for being safe! You sit in your chairs of stone, and have never come down from them. You are the seven angels of heaven, and you have had no troubles. Oh, I could forgive you everything, you that rule all mankind, if I could feel for once that you had suffered for one hour a real agony such as I—\"\nSyme sprang to his feet, shaking from head to foot.\n\"I see everything,\" he cried, \"everything that there is. Why does each thing on the earth war against each other thing? Why does each small thing in the world have to fight against the world itself? Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe? Why does a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter. So that the real lie of Satan may be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and torture we may earn the right to say to this man, 'You lie!' No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, 'We also have suffered.'\n\"It is not true that we have never been broken. We have been broken upon the wheel. It is not true that we have never descended from these thrones. We have descended into hell. We were complaining of unforgettable miseries even at the very moment when this man entered insolently to accuse us of happiness. I repel the slander; we have not been happy. I can answer for every one of the great guards of Law whom he has accused. At least—\"\nHe had turned his eyes so as to see suddenly the great face of Sunday, which wore a strange smile.\n\"Have you,\" he cried in a dreadful voice, \"have you ever suffered?\"\nAs he gazed, the great face grew to an awful size, grew larger than the colossal mask of Memnon, which had made him scream as a child. It grew larger and larger, filling the whole sky; then everything went black. Only in the blackness before it entirely destroyed his brain he seemed to hear a distant voice saying a commonplace text that he had heard somewhere, \"Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?\"", "chosen": "[\"Thursday\", \"King\", \"Satan\", \"Wednesday\", \"Secretary\", \"Sunday\", \"Sabbath\", \"God\", \"His\", \"Him\", \"Syme\", \"Ratcliffe\", \"Professor\", \"Gogol\", \"Gregory\", \"Bull\", \"Law\", \"Government\", \"Council\", \"Days\", \"Have\", \"Memnon\", \"Can\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Thursday\", \"King\", \"Satan\", \"Wednesday\", \"Secretary\", \"Sunday\", \"Sabbath\", \"God\", \"His\", \"Him\", \"Syme\", \"Ratcliffe\", \"Professor\", \"Gogol\", \"Gregory\", \"Bull\", \"Law\", \"Government\", \"Council\", \"Days\", \"Have\", \"Memnon\", \"Can\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1695-015-01-4c6ca7ba", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nNow comes the Baling of the Case. But to comprehend it aright, you must know something of the curious internal structure of the thing operated upon.\nRegarding the Sperm Whale's head as a solid oblong, you may, on an inclined plane, sideways divide it into two quoins,* whereof the lower is the bony structure, forming the cranium and jaws, and the upper an unctuous mass wholly free from bones; its broad forward end forming the expanded vertical apparent forehead of the whale. At the middle of the forehead horizontally subdivide this upper quoin, and then you have two almost equal parts, which before were naturally divided by an internal wall of a thick tendinous substance.\n*Quoin is not a Euclidean term. It belongs to the pure nautical mathematics. I know not that it has been defined before. A quoin is a solid which differs from a wedge in having its sharp end formed by the steep inclination of one side, instead of the mutual tapering of both sides.\nThe lower subdivided part, called the junk, is one immense honeycomb of oil, formed by the crossing and recrossing, into ten thousand infiltrated cells, of tough elastic white fibres throughout its whole extent. The upper part, known as the Case, may be regarded as the great Heidelburgh Tun of the Sperm Whale. And as that famous great tierce is mystically carved in front, so the whale's vast plaited forehead forms innumerable strange devices for the emblematical adornment of his wondrous tun. Moreover, as that of Heidelburgh was always replenished with the most excellent of the wines of the Rhenish valleys, so the tun of the whale contains by far the most precious of all his oily vintages; namely, the highly-prized spermaceti, in its absolutely pure, limpid, and odoriferous state. Nor is this precious substance found unalloyed in any other part of the creature. Though in life it remains perfectly fluid, yet, upon exposure to the air, after death, it soon begins to concrete; sending forth beautiful crystalline shoots, as when the first thin delicate ice is just forming in water. A large whale's case generally yields about five hundred gallons of sperm, though from unavoidable circumstances, considerable of it is spilled, leaks, and dribbles away, or is otherwise irrevocably lost in the ticklish business of securing what you can.\nI know not with what fine and costly material the Heidelburgh Tun was coated within, but in superlative richness that coating could not possibly have compared with the silken pearl-coloured membrane, like the lining of a fine pelisse, forming the inner surface of the Sperm Whale's case.\nIt will have been seen that the Heidelburgh Tun of the Sperm Whale embraces the entire length of the entire top of the head; and since—as has been elsewhere set forth—the head embraces one third of the whole length of the creature, then setting that length down at eighty feet for a good sized whale, you have more than twenty-six feet for the depth of the tun, when it is lengthwise hoisted up and down against a ship's side.\nAs in decapitating the whale, the operator's instrument is brought close to the spot where an entrance is subsequently forced into the spermaceti magazine; he has, therefore, to be uncommonly heedful, lest a careless, untimely stroke should invade the sanctuary and wastingly let out its invaluable contents. It is this decapitated end of the head, also, which is at last elevated out of the water, and retained in that position by the enormous cutting tackles, whose hempen combinations, on one side, make quite a wilderness of ropes in that quarter.\nThus much being said, attend now, I pray you, to that marvellous and—in this particular instance—almost fatal operation whereby the Sperm Whale's great Heidelburgh Tun is tapped.", "chosen": "Now, But, Regarding, At, Quoin, It, I, A, The, The, And, Moreover,, Nor, Though, A, I, It, As, It, Thus", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nNow, But, Regarding, At, Quoin, It, I, A, The, The, And, Moreover,, Nor, Though, A, I, It, As, It, Thus\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-066-00-e63ae2e1", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Many makes it out of iron-rust and tears; but that's the common sort and women; the best authorities uses their own blood. Jim can do that; and when he wants to send any little common ordinary mysterious message to let the world know where he's captivated, he can write it on the bottom of a tin plate with a fork and throw it out of the window. The Iron Mask always done that, and it's a blame' good way, too.\"\n\"Jim ain't got no tin plates. They feed him in a pan.\"\n\"That ain't nothing; we can get him some.\"\n\"Can't nobody read his plates.\"\n\"That ain't got anything to do with it, Huck Finn. All he's got to do is to write on the plate and throw it out. You don't have to be able to read it. Why, half the time you can't read anything a prisoner writes on a tin plate, or anywhere else.\"\n\"Well, then, what's the sense in wasting the plates?\"\n\"Why, blame it all, it ain't the prisoner's plates.\"\n\"But it's somebody's plates, ain't it?\"\n\"Well, spos'n it is? What does the prisoner care whose—\"\nHe broke off there, because we heard the breakfast-horn blowing. So we cleared out for the house.\nAlong during the morning I borrowed a sheet and a white shirt off of the clothes-line; and I found an old sack and put them in it, and we went down and got the fox-fire, and put that in too. I called it borrowing, because that was what pap always called it; but Tom said it warn't borrowing, it was stealing. He said we was representing prisoners; and prisoners don't care how they get a thing so they get it, and nobody don't blame them for it, either. It ain't no crime in a prisoner to steal the thing he needs to get away with, Tom said; it's his right; and so, as long as we was representing a prisoner, we had a perfect right to steal anything on this place we had the least use for to get ourselves out of prison with. He said if we warn't prisoners it would be a very different thing, and nobody but a mean, ornery person would steal when he warn't a prisoner. So we allowed we would steal everything there was that come handy. And yet he made a mighty fuss, one day, after that, when I stole a watermelon out of the nigger-patch and eat it; and he made me go and give the niggers a dime without telling them what it was for. Tom said that what he meant was, we could steal anything we needed. Well, I says, I needed the watermelon. But he said I didn't need it to get out of prison with; there's where the difference was. He said if I'd a wanted it to hide a knife in, and smuggle it to Jim to kill the seneskal with, it would a been all right. So I let it go at that, though I couldn't see no advantage in my representing a prisoner if I got to set down and chaw over a lot of gold-leaf distinctions like that every time I see a chance to hog a watermelon.\nWell, as I was saying, we waited that morning till everybody was settled down to business, and nobody in sight around the yard; then Tom he carried the sack into the lean-to whilst I stood off a piece to keep watch. By-and-by he come out, and we went and set down on the woodpile to talk. He says:\n\"Everything's all right now except tools; and that's easy fixed.\"\n\"Tools?\" I says.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Tools for what?\"\n\"Why, to dig with. We ain't a-going to gnaw him out, are we?\"\n\"Ain't them old crippled picks and things in there good enough to dig a nigger out with?\" I says.\nHe turns on me, looking pitying enough to make a body cry, and says:\n\"Huck Finn, did you ever hear of a prisoner having picks and shovels, and all the modern conveniences in his wardrobe to dig himself out with? Now I want to ask you—if you got any reasonableness in you at all—what kind of a show would that give him to be a hero? Why, they might as well lend him the key and done with it. Picks and shovels—why, they wouldn't furnish 'em to a king.\"\n\"Well, then,\" I says, \"if we don't want the picks and shovels, what do we want?\"\n\"A couple of case-knives.\"\n\"To dig the foundations out from under that cabin with?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Confound it, it's foolish, Tom.\"\n\"It don't make no difference how foolish it is, it's the right way—and it's the regular way. And there ain't no other way, that ever I heard of, and I've read all the books that gives any information about these things. They always dig out with a case-knife—and not through dirt, mind you; generly it's through solid rock. And it takes them weeks and weeks and weeks, and for ever and ever. Why, look at one of them prisoners in the bottom dungeon of the Castle Deef, in the harbor of Marseilles, that dug himself out that way; how long was he at it, you reckon?\"\n\"I don't know.\"\n\"Well, guess.\"\n\"I don't know. A month and a half.\"\n\"Thirty-seven year—and he come out in China. That's the kind. I wish the bottom of this fortress was solid rock.\"\n\"Jim don't know nobody in China.\"\n\"What's that got to do with it? Neither did that other fellow. But you're always a-wandering off on a side issue. Why can't you stick to the main point?\"\n\"All right—I don't care where he comes out, so he comes out; and Jim don't, either, I reckon. But there's one thing, anyway—Jim's too old to be dug out with a case-knife. He won't last.\"\n\"Yes he will last, too. You don't reckon it's going to take thirty-seven years to dig out through a dirt foundation, do you?\"\n\"How long will it take, Tom?\"\n\"Well, we can't resk being as long as we ought to, because it mayn't take very long for Uncle Silas to hear from down there by New Orleans. He'll hear Jim ain't from there. Then his next move will be to advertise Jim, or something like that. So we can't resk being as long digging him out as we ought to. By rights I reckon we ought to be a couple of years; but we can't. Things being so uncertain, what I recommend is this: that we really dig right in, as quick as we can; and after that, we can let on, to ourselves, that we was at it thirty-seven years. Then we can snatch him out and rush him away the first time there's an alarm. Yes, I reckon that'll be the best way.\"\n\"Now, there's sense in that,\" I says. \"Letting on don't cost nothing; letting on ain't no trouble; and if it's any object, I don't mind letting on we was at it a hundred and fifty year. It wouldn't strain me none, after I got my hand in. So I'll mosey along now, and smouch a couple of case-knives.\"\n\"Smouch three,\" he says; \"we want one to make a saw out of.\"\n\"Tom, if it ain't unregular and irreligious to sejest it,\" I says, \"there's an old rusty saw-blade around yonder sticking under the weather-boarding behind the smoke-house.\"\nHe looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and says:\n\"It ain't no use to try to learn you nothing, Huck. Run along and smouch the knives—three of them.\" So I done it.", "chosen": "54", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n54\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-76-035-01-f0b487d8", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Dear little Alyosha, see me home! I've got a pretty little story to tell you on the way. I got up this scene for your benefit, Alyosha. See me home, dear, you'll be glad of it afterwards.\"\nAlyosha turned away, wringing his hands. Grushenka ran out of the house, laughing musically.\nKaterina Ivanovna went into a fit of hysterics. She sobbed, and was shaken with convulsions. Every one fussed round her.\n\"I warned you,\" said the elder of her aunts. \"I tried to prevent your doing this. You're too impulsive. How could you do such a thing? You don't know these creatures, and they say she's worse than any of them. You are too self-willed.\"\n\"She's a tigress!\" yelled Katerina Ivanovna. \"Why did you hold me, Alexey Fyodorovitch? I'd have beaten her—beaten her!\"\nShe could not control herself before Alyosha; perhaps she did not care to, indeed.\n\"She ought to be flogged in public on a scaffold!\"\nAlyosha withdrew towards the door.\n\"But, my God!\" cried Katerina Ivanovna, clasping her hands. \"He! He! He could be so dishonorable, so inhuman! Why, he told that creature what happened on that fatal, accursed day! 'You brought your beauty for sale, dear young lady.' She knows it! Your brother's a scoundrel, Alexey Fyodorovitch.\"\nAlyosha wanted to say something, but he couldn't find a word. His heart ached.\n\"Go away, Alexey Fyodorovitch! It's shameful, it's awful for me! To-morrow, I beg you on my knees, come to-morrow. Don't condemn me. Forgive me. I don't know what I shall do with myself now!\"\nAlyosha walked out into the street reeling. He could have wept as she did. Suddenly he was overtaken by the maid.\n\"The young lady forgot to give you this letter from Madame Hohlakov; it's been left with us since dinner-time.\"\nAlyosha took the little pink envelope mechanically and put it, almost unconsciously, into his pocket.", "chosen": "\"The young lady forgot to give you this letter from Madame Hohlakov; it's been left with us since dinner-time.\"\nAlyosha took the little pink envelope mechanically and put it, almost unconsciously, into his pocket.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n\"The young lady forgot to give you this letter from Madame Hohlakov; it's been left with us since dinner-time.\"\nAlyosha took the little pink envelope mechanically and put it, almost unconsciously, into his pocket.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-023-03-d38a3560", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAnd some oddities of Will's, more or less poetical, appeared to support Mr. Keck, the editor of the \"Trumpet,\" in asserting that Ladislaw, if the truth were known, was not only a Polish emissary but crack-brained, which accounted for the preternatural quickness and glibness of his speech when he got on to a platform—as he did whenever he had an opportunity, speaking with a facility which cast reflections on solid Englishmen generally. It was disgusting to Keck to see a strip of a fellow, with light curls round his head, get up and speechify by the hour against institutions \"which had existed when he was in his cradle.\" And in a leading article of the \"Trumpet,\" Keck characterized Ladislaw's speech at a Reform meeting as \"the violence of an energumen—a miserable effort to shroud in the brilliancy of fireworks the daring of irresponsible statements and the poverty of a knowledge which was of the cheapest and most recent description.\"\n\"That was a rattling article yesterday, Keck,\" said Dr. Sprague, with sarcastic intentions. \"But what is an energumen?\"\n\"Oh, a term that came up in the French Revolution,\" said Keck.\nThis dangerous aspect of Ladislaw was strangely contrasted with other habits which became matter of remark. He had a fondness, half artistic, half affectionate, for little children—the smaller they were on tolerably active legs, and the funnier their clothing, the better Will liked to surprise and please them. We know that in Rome he was given to ramble about among the poor people, and the taste did not quit him in Middlemarch.\nHe had somehow picked up a troop of droll children, little hatless boys with their galligaskins much worn and scant shirting to hang out, little girls who tossed their hair out of their eyes to look at him, and guardian brothers at the mature age of seven. This troop he had led out on gypsy excursions to Halsell Wood at nutting-time, and since the cold weather had set in he had taken them on a clear day to gather sticks for a bonfire in the hollow of a hillside, where he drew out a small feast of gingerbread for them, and improvised a Punch-and-Judy drama with some private home-made puppets. Here was one oddity. Another was, that in houses where he got friendly, he was given to stretch himself at full length on the rug while he talked, and was apt to be discovered in this attitude by occasional callers for whom such an irregularity was likely to confirm the notions of his dangerously mixed blood and general laxity.\nBut Will's articles and speeches naturally recommended him in families which the new strictness of party division had marked off on the side of Reform. He was invited to Mr. Bulstrode's; but here he could not lie down on the rug, and Mrs. Bulstrode felt that his mode of talking about Catholic countries, as if there were any truce with Antichrist, illustrated the usual tendency to unsoundness in intellectual men.\nAt Mr. Farebrother's, however, whom the irony of events had brought on the same side with Bulstrode in the national movement, Will became a favorite with the ladies; especially with little Miss Noble, whom it was one of his oddities to escort when he met her in the street with her little basket, giving her his arm in the eyes of the town, and insisting on going with her to pay some call where she distributed her small filchings from her own share of sweet things.\nBut the house where he visited oftenest and lay most on the rug was Lydgate's. The two men were not at all alike, but they agreed none the worse. Lydgate was abrupt but not irritable, taking little notice of megrims in healthy people; and Ladislaw did not usually throw away his susceptibilities on those who took no notice of them. With Rosamond, on the other hand, he pouted and was wayward—nay, often uncomplimentary, much to her inward surprise; nevertheless he was gradually becoming necessary to her entertainment by his companionship in her music, his varied talk, and his freedom from the grave preoccupation which, with all her husband's tenderness and indulgence, often made his manners unsatisfactory to her, and confirmed her dislike of the medical profession.\nLydgate, inclined to be sarcastic on the superstitious faith of the people in the efficacy of \"the bill,\" while nobody cared about the low state of pathology, sometimes assailed Will with troublesome questions. One evening in March, Rosamond in her cherry-colored dress with swansdown trimming about the throat sat at the tea-table; Lydgate, lately come in tired from his outdoor work, was seated sideways on an easy-chair by the fire with one leg over the elbow, his brow looking a little troubled as his eyes rambled over the columns of the \"Pioneer,\" while Rosamond, having noticed that he was perturbed, avoided looking at him, and inwardly thanked heaven that she herself had not a moody disposition. Will Ladislaw was stretched on the rug contemplating the curtain-pole abstractedly, and humming very low the notes of \"When first I saw thy face;\" while the house spaniel, also stretched out with small choice of room, looked from between his paws at the usurper of the rug with silent but strong objection.\nRosamond bringing Lydgate his cup of tea, he threw down the paper, and said to Will, who had started up and gone to the table—\n\"It's no use your puffing Brooke as a reforming landlord, Ladislaw: they only pick the more holes in his coat in the 'Trumpet.'\"\n\"No matter; those who read the 'Pioneer' don't read the 'Trumpet,'\" said Will, swallowing his tea and walking about. \"Do you suppose the public reads with a view to its own conversion? We should have a witches' brewing with a vengeance then—'Mingle, mingle, mingle, mingle, You that mingle may'—and nobody would know which side he was going to take.\"\n\"Farebrother says, he doesn't believe Brooke would get elected if the opportunity came: the very men who profess to be for him would bring another member out of the bag at the right moment.\"\n\"There's no harm in trying. It's good to have resident members.\"\n\"Why?\" said Lydgate, who was much given to use that inconvenient word in a curt tone.\n\"They represent the local stupidity better,\" said Will, laughing, and shaking his curls; \"and they are kept on their best behavior in the neighborhood. Brooke is not a bad fellow, but he has done some good things on his estate that he never would have done but for this Parliamentary bite.\"\n\"He's not fitted to be a public man,\" said Lydgate, with contemptuous decision. \"He would disappoint everybody who counted on him: I can see that at the Hospital. Only, there Bulstrode holds the reins and drives him.\"\n\"That depends on how you fix your standard of public men,\" said Will. \"He's good enough for the occasion: when the people have made up their mind as they are making it up now, they don't want a man—they only want a vote.\"\n\"That is the way with you political writers, Ladislaw—crying up a measure as if it were a universal cure, and crying up men who are a part of the very disease that wants curing.\"\n\"Why not? Men may help to cure themselves off the face of the land without knowing it,\" said Will, who could find reasons impromptu, when he had not thought of a question beforehand.\n\"That is no excuse for encouraging the superstitious exaggeration of hopes about this particular measure, helping the cry to swallow it whole and to send up voting popinjays who are good for nothing but to carry it. You go against rottenness, and there is nothing more thoroughly rotten than making people believe that society can be cured by a political hocus-pocus.\"", "chosen": "[\"Trumpet,\", \"which had existed when he was in his cradle.\", \"Trumpet,\", \"That was a rattling article yesterday, Keck,\", \"But what is an energumen?\", \"Oh, a term that came up in the French Revolution,\", \"the bill,\", \"Pioneer,\", \"When first I saw thy face;\", \"It's no use your puffing Brooke as a reforming landlord, Ladislaw: they only pick the more holes in his coat in the 'Trumpet.'\", \"No matter; those who read the 'Pioneer' don't read the 'Trumpet,'\", \"Farebrother says, he doesn't believe Brooke would get elected if the opportunity came: the very men who profess to be for him would bring another member out of the bag at the right moment.\", \"There's no harm in trying. It's good to have resident members.\", \"Why?\", \"They represent the local stupidity better,\", \"and they are kept on their best behavior in the neighborhood. Brooke is not a bad fellow, but he has done some good things on his estate that he never would have done but for this Parliamentary bite.\", \"He's not fitted to be a public man,\", \"He would disappoint everybody who counted on him: I can see that at the Hospital. Only, there Bulstrode holds the reins and drives him.\", \"That depends on how you fix your standard of public men,\", \"He's good enough for the occasion: when the people have made up their mind as they are making it up now, they don't want a man\\u2014they only want a vote.\", \"That is the way with you political writers, Ladislaw\\u2014crying up a measure as if it were a universal cure, and crying up men who are a part of the very disease that wants curing.\", \"Why not? Men may help to cure themselves off the face of the land without knowing it,\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Trumpet,\", \"which had existed when he was in his cradle.\", \"Trumpet,\", \"That was a rattling article yesterday, Keck,\", \"But what is an energumen?\", \"Oh, a term that came up in the French Revolution,\", \"the bill,\", \"Pioneer,\", \"When first I saw thy face;\", \"It's no use your puffing Brooke as a reforming landlord, Ladislaw: they only pick the more holes in his coat in the 'Trumpet.'\", \"No matter; those who read the 'Pioneer' don't read the 'Trumpet,'\", \"Farebrother says, he doesn't believe Brooke would get elected if the opportunity came: the very men who profess to be for him would bring another member out of the bag at the right moment.\", \"There's no harm in trying. It's good to have resident members.\", \"Why?\", \"They represent the local stupidity better,\", \"and they are kept on their best behavior in the neighborhood. Brooke is not a bad fellow, but he has done some good things on his estate that he never would have done but for this Parliamentary bite.\", \"He's not fitted to be a public man,\", \"He would disappoint everybody who counted on him: I can see that at the Hospital. Only, there Bulstrode holds the reins and drives him.\", \"That depends on how you fix your standard of public men,\", \"He's good enough for the occasion: when the people have made up their mind as they are making it up now, they don't want a man\\u2014they only want a vote.\", \"That is the way with you political writers, Ladislaw\\u2014crying up a measure as if it were a universal cure, and crying up men who are a part of the very disease that wants curing.\", \"Why not? Men may help to cure themselves off the face of the land without knowing it,\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-046-01-f518882c", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nMr. Torkingham trotted briskly onward to his house, a distance of about a mile, each cottage, as it revealed its half-buried position by its single light, appearing like a one-eyed night creature watching him from an ambush. Leaving his horse at the parsonage he performed the remainder of the journey on foot, crossing the park towards Welland House by a stile and path, till he struck into the drive near the north door of the mansion.\nThis drive, it may be remarked, was also the common highway to the lower village, and hence Lady Constantine's residence and park, as is occasionally the case with old-fashioned manors, possessed none of the exclusiveness found in some aristocratic settlements. The parishioners looked upon the park avenue as their natural thoroughfare, particularly for christenings, weddings, and funerals, which passed the squire's mansion with due considerations as to the scenic effect of the same from the manor windows. Hence the house of Constantine, when going out from its breakfast, had been continually crossed on the doorstep for the last two hundred years by the houses of Hodge and Giles in full cry to dinner. At present these collisions were but too infrequent, for though the villagers passed the north front door as regularly as ever, they seldom met a Constantine. Only one was there to be met, and she had no zest for outings before noon.\nThe long, low front of the Great House, as it was called by the parish, stretching from end to end of the terrace, was in darkness as the vicar slackened his pace before it, and only the distant fall of water disturbed the stillness of the manorial precincts.\nOn gaining admittance he found Lady Constantine waiting to receive him. She wore a heavy dress of velvet and lace, and being the only person in the spacious apartment she looked small and isolated. In her left hand she held a letter and a couple of at-home cards. The soft dark eyes which she raised to him as he entered--large, and melancholy by circumstance far more than by quality--were the natural indices of a warm and affectionate, perhaps slightly voluptuous temperament, languishing for want of something to do, cherish, or suffer for.\nMr. Torkingham seated himself. His boots, which had seemed elegant in the farm-house, appeared rather clumsy here, and his coat, that was a model of tailoring when he stood amid the choir, now exhibited decidedly strained relations with his limbs. Three years had passed since his induction to the living of Welland, but he had never as yet found means to establish that reciprocity with Lady Constantine which usually grows up, in the course of time, between parsonage and manor-house,--unless, indeed, either side should surprise the other by showing respectively a weakness for awkward modern ideas on landownership, or on church formulas, which had not been the case here. The present meeting, however, seemed likely to initiate such a reciprocity.\nThere was an appearance of confidence on Lady Constantine's face; she said she was so very glad that he had come, and looking down at the letter in her hand was on the point of pulling it from its envelope; but she did not. After a moment she went on more quickly: 'I wanted your advice, or rather your opinion, on a serious matter,--on a point of conscience.' Saying which she laid down the letter and looked at the cards.\nIt might have been apparent to a more penetrating eye than the vicar's that Lady Constantine, either from timidity, misgiving, or reconviction, had swerved from her intended communication, or perhaps decided to begin at the other end.\nThe parson, who had been expecting a question on some local business or intelligence, at the tenor of her words altered his face to the higher branch of his profession.\n'I hope I may find myself of service, on that or any other question,' he said gently.\n'I hope so. You may possibly be aware, Mr. Torkingham, that my husband, Sir Blount Constantine, was, not to mince matters, a mistaken--somewhat jealous man. Yet you may hardly have discerned it in the short time you knew him.'\n'I had some little knowledge of Sir Blount's character in that respect.'\n'Well, on this account my married life with him was not of the most comfortable kind.' (Lady Constantine's voice dropped to a more pathetic note.) 'I am sure I gave him no cause for suspicion; though had I known his disposition sooner I should hardly have dared to marry him. But his jealousy and doubt of me were not so strong as to divert him from a purpose of his,--a mania for African lion-hunting, which he dignified by calling it a scheme of geographical discovery; for he was inordinately anxious to make a name for himself in that field. It was the one passion that was stronger than his mistrust of me. Before going away he sat down with me in this room, and read me a lecture, which resulted in a very rash offer on my part. When I tell it to you, you will find that it provides a key to all that is unusual in my life here. He bade me consider what my position would be when he was gone; hoped that I should remember what was due to him,--that I would not so behave towards other men as to bring the name of Constantine into suspicion; and charged me to avoid levity of conduct in attending any ball, rout, or dinner to which I might be invited. I, in some contempt for his low opinion of me, volunteered, there and then, to live like a cloistered nun during his absence; to go into no society whatever,--scarce even to a neighbour's dinner-party; and demanded bitterly if that would satisfy him. He said yes, held me to my word, and gave me no loophole for retracting it. The inevitable fruits of precipitancy have resulted to me: my life has become a burden. I get such invitations as these' (holding up the cards), 'but I so invariably refuse them that they are getting very rare. . . . I ask you, can I honestly break that promise to my husband?'\nMr. Torkingham seemed embarrassed. 'If you promised Sir Blount Constantine to live in solitude till he comes back, you are, it seems to me, bound by that promise. I fear that the wish to be released from your engagement is to some extent a reason why it should be kept. But your own conscience would surely be the best guide, Lady Constantine?'\n'My conscience is quite bewildered with its responsibilities,' she continued, with a sigh. 'Yet it certainly does sometimes say to me that--that I ought to keep my word. Very well; I must go on as I am going, I suppose.'\n'If you respect a vow, I think you must respect your own,' said the parson, acquiring some further firmness. 'Had it been wrung from you by compulsion, moral or physical, it would have been open to you to break it. But as you proposed a vow when your husband only required a good intention, I think you ought to adhere to it; or what is the pride worth that led you to offer it?'\n'Very well,' she said, with resignation. 'But it was quite a work of supererogation on my part.'\n'That you proposed it in a supererogatory spirit does not lessen your obligation, having once put yourself under that obligation. St. Paul, in his Epistle to the Hebrews, says, \"An oath for confirmation is an end of all strife.\" And you will readily recall the words of Ecclesiastes, \"Pay that which thou hast vowed. Better is it that thou shouldest not vow than that thou shouldest vow and not pay.\" Why not write to Sir Blount, tell him the inconvenience of such a bond, and ask him to release you?'\n'No; never will I. The expression of such a desire would, in his mind, be a sufficient reason for disallowing it. I'll keep my word.'\nMr. Torkingham rose to leave. After she had held out her hand to him, when he had crossed the room, and was within two steps of the door, she said, 'Mr. Torkingham.' He stopped. 'What I have told you is only the least part of what I sent for you to tell you.'", "chosen": "you'", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nyou'\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-3146-003-00-62af593d", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n'Now, then, Mr. Nyttleton, will you make a selection, and I will add one or two,' Miss Aldclyffe said.\nMr. Nyttleton scanned the whole heap of letters, testimonials, and references, sorting them into two heaps. Manston's missive, after a mere glance, was thrown amongst the summarily rejected ones.\nMiss Aldclyffe read, or pretended to read after the lawyer. When he had finished, five lay in the group he had selected. 'Would you like to add to the number?' he said, turning to the lady.\n'No,' she said carelessly. 'Well, two or three additional ones rather took my fancy,' she added, searching for some in the larger collection.\nShe drew out three. One was Manston's.\n'These eight, then, shall be communicated with,' said the lawyer, taking up the eight letters and placing them by themselves.\nThey stood up. 'If I myself, Miss Aldclyffe, were only concerned personally,' he said, in an off-hand way, and holding up a letter singly, 'I should choose this man unhesitatingly. He writes honestly, is not afraid to name what he does not consider himself well acquainted with--a rare thing to find in answers to advertisements; he is well recommended, and possesses some qualities rarely found in combination. Oddly enough, he is not really a steward. He was bred a farmer, studied building affairs, served on an estate for some time, then went with an architect, and is now well qualified as architect, estate agent, and surveyor. That man is sure to have a fine head for a manor like yours.' He tapped the letter as he spoke. 'Yes, I should choose him without hesitation--speaking personally.'\n'And I think,' she said artificially, 'I should choose this one as a matter of mere personal whim, which, of course, can't be given way to when practical questions have to be considered.'\nCytherea, after looking out of the window, and then at the newspapers, had become interested in the proceedings between the clever Miss Aldclyffe and the keen old lawyer, which reminded her of a game at cards. She looked inquiringly at the two letters--one in Miss Aldclyffe's hand, the other in Mr. Nyttleton's.\n'What is the name of your man?' said Miss Aldclyffe.\n'His name--' said the lawyer, looking down the page; 'what is his name?--it is Edward Springrove.'\nMiss Aldclyffe glanced towards Cytherea, who was getting red and pale by turns. She looked imploringly at Miss Aldclyffe.\n'The name of my man,' said Miss Aldclyffe, looking at her letter in turn; 'is, I think--yes--AEneas Manston.'\n5. SEPTEMBER THE THIRD\nThe next morning but one was appointed for the interviews, which were to be at the lawyer's offices. Mr. Nyttleton and Mr. Tayling were both in town for the day, and the candidates were admitted one by one into a private room. In the window recess was seated Miss Aldclyffe, wearing her veil down.\nThe lawyer had, in his letters to the selected number, timed each candidate at an interval of ten or fifteen minutes from those preceding and following. They were shown in as they arrived, and had short conversations with Mr. Nyttleton--terse, and to the point. Miss Aldclyffe neither moved nor spoke during this proceeding; it might have been supposed that she was quite unmindful of it, had it not been for what was revealed by a keen penetration of the veil covering her countenance--the rays from two bright black eyes, directed towards the lawyer and his interlocutor.\nSpringrove came fifth; Manston seventh. When the examination of all was ended, and the last man had retired, Nyttleton, again as at the former time, blandly asked his client which of the eight she personally preferred. 'I still think the fifth we spoke to, Springrove, the man whose letter I pounced upon at first, to be by far the best qualified, in short, most suitable generally.'\n'I am sorry to say that I differ from you; I lean to my first notion still--that Mr.--Mr. Manston is most desirable in tone and bearing, and even specifically; I think he would suit me best in the long-run.'\nMr. Nyttleton looked out of the window at the whitened wall of the court.\n'Of course, madam, your opinion may be perfectly sound and reliable; a sort of instinct, I know, often leads ladies by a short cut to conclusions truer than those come to by men after laborious round-about calculations, based on long experience. I must say I shouldn't recommend him.'\n'Why, pray?'\n'Well, let us look first at his letter of answer to the advertisement. He didn't reply till the last insertion; that's one thing. His letter is bold and frank in tone, so bold and frank that the second thought after reading it is that not honesty, but unscrupulousness of conscience dictated it. It is written in an indifferent mood, as if he felt that he was humbugging us in his statement that he was the right man for such an office, that he tried hard to get it only as a matter of form which required that he should neglect no opportunity that came in his way.'\n'You may be right, Mr. Nyttleton, but I don't quite see the grounds of your reasoning.'\n'He has been, as you perceive, almost entirely used to the office duties of a city architect, the experience we don't want. You want a man whose acquaintance with rural landed properties is more practical and closer--somebody who, if he has not filled exactly such an office before, has lived a country life, knows the ins and outs of country tenancies, building, farming, and so on.'\n'He's by far the most intellectual looking of them all.'\n'Yes; he may be--your opinion, Miss Aldclyffe, is worth more than mine in that matter. And more than you say, he is a man of parts--his brain power would soon enable him to master details and fit him for the post, I don't much doubt that. But to speak clearly' (here his words started off at a jog-trot) 'I wouldn't run the risk of placing the management of an estate of mine in his hands on any account whatever. There, that's flat and plain, madam.'\n'But, definitely,' she said, with a show of impatience, 'what is your reason?'\n'He is a voluptuary with activity; which is a very bad form of man--as bad as it is rare.'\n'Oh. Thank you for your explicit statement, Mr. Nyttleton,' said Miss Aldclyffe, starting a little and flushing with displeasure.\nMr. Nyttleton nodded slightly, as a sort of neutral motion, simply signifying a receipt of the information, good or bad.\n'And I really think it is hardly worth while to trouble you further in this,' continued the lady. 'He's quite good enough for a little insignificant place like mine at Knapwater; and I know that I could not get on with one of the others for a single month. We'll try him.'\n'Certainly, Miss Aldclyffe,' said the lawyer. And Mr. Manston was written to, to the effect that he was the successful competitor.\n'Did you see how unmistakably her temper was getting the better of her, that minute you were in the room?' said Nyttleton to Tayling, when their client had left the house. Nyttleton was a man who surveyed everybody's character in a sunless and shadowless northern light. A culpable slyness, which marked him as a boy, had been moulded by Time, the Improver, into honourable circumspection.\nWe frequently find that the quality which, conjoined with the simplicity of the child, is vice, is virtue when it pervades the knowledge of the man.\n'She was as near as damn-it to boiling over when I added up her man,' continued Nyttleton. 'His handsome face is his qualification in her eyes. They have met before; I saw that.'\n'He didn't seem conscious of it,' said the junior.\n'He didn't. That was rather puzzling to me. But still, if ever a woman's face spoke out plainly that she was in love with a man, hers did that she was with him. Poor old maid, she's almost old enough to be his mother. If that Manston's a schemer he'll marry her, as sure as I am Nyttleton. Let's hope he's honest, however.'", "chosen": "[\"Aldclyffe\", \"Manston\", \"Edward\", \"Springrove\", \"Cytherea\", \"Nyttleton\", \"Knapwater\", \"Tayling\", \"Time\", \"Improver\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Aldclyffe\", \"Manston\", \"Edward\", \"Springrove\", \"Cytherea\", \"Nyttleton\", \"Knapwater\", \"Tayling\", \"Time\", \"Improver\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-3044-007-00-a1055897", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nIppolit Kirillovitch began his speech, trembling with nervousness, with cold sweat on his forehead, feeling hot and cold all over by turns. He described this himself afterwards. He regarded this speech as his chef-d'œuvre, the chef-d'œuvre of his whole life, as his swan-song. He died, it is true, nine months later of rapid consumption, so that he had the right, as it turned out, to compare himself to a swan singing his last song. He had put his whole heart and all the brain he had into that speech. And poor Ippolit Kirillovitch unexpectedly revealed that at least some feeling for the public welfare and \"the eternal question\" lay concealed in him. Where his speech really excelled was in its sincerity. He genuinely believed in the prisoner's guilt; he was accusing him not as an official duty only, and in calling for vengeance he quivered with a genuine passion \"for the security of society.\" Even the ladies in the audience, though they remained hostile to Ippolit Kirillovitch, admitted that he made an extraordinary impression on them. He began in a breaking voice, but it soon gained strength and filled the court to the end of his speech. But as soon as he had finished, he almost fainted.\n\"Gentlemen of the jury,\" began the prosecutor, \"this case has made a stir throughout Russia. But what is there to wonder at, what is there so peculiarly horrifying in it for us? We are so accustomed to such crimes! That's what's so horrible, that such dark deeds have ceased to horrify us. What ought to horrify us is that we are so accustomed to it, and not this or that isolated crime. What are the causes of our indifference, our lukewarm attitude to such deeds, to such signs of the times, ominous of an unenviable future? Is it our cynicism, is it the premature exhaustion of intellect and imagination in a society that is sinking into decay, in spite of its youth? Is it that our moral principles are shattered to their foundations, or is it, perhaps, a complete lack of such principles among us? I cannot answer such questions; nevertheless they are disturbing, and every citizen not only must, but ought to be harassed by them. Our newborn and still timid press has done good service to the public already, for without it we should never have heard of the horrors of unbridled violence and moral degradation which are continually made known by the press, not merely to those who attend the new jury courts established in the present reign, but to every one. And what do we read almost daily? Of things beside which the present case grows pale, and seems almost commonplace. But what is most important is that the majority of our national crimes of violence bear witness to a widespread evil, now so general among us that it is difficult to contend against it.\n\"One day we see a brilliant young officer of high society, at the very outset of his career, in a cowardly underhand way, without a pang of conscience, murdering an official who had once been his benefactor, and the servant girl, to steal his own I.O.U. and what ready money he could find on him; 'it will come in handy for my pleasures in the fashionable world and for my career in the future.' After murdering them, he puts pillows under the head of each of his victims; he goes away. Next, a young hero 'decorated for bravery' kills the mother of his chief and benefactor, like a highwayman, and to urge his companions to join him he asserts that 'she loves him like a son, and so will follow all his directions and take no precautions.' Granted that he is a monster, yet I dare not say in these days that he is unique. Another man will not commit the murder, but will feel and think like him, and is as dishonorable in soul. In silence, alone with his conscience, he asks himself perhaps, 'What is honor, and isn't the condemnation of bloodshed a prejudice?'\n\"Perhaps people will cry out against me that I am morbid, hysterical, that it is a monstrous slander, that I am exaggerating. Let them say so—and heavens! I should be the first to rejoice if it were so! Oh, don't believe me, think of me as morbid, but remember my words; if only a tenth, if only a twentieth part of what I say is true—even so it's awful! Look how our young people commit suicide, without asking themselves Hamlet's question what there is beyond, without a sign of such a question, as though all that relates to the soul and to what awaits us beyond the grave had long been erased in their minds and buried under the sands. Look at our vice, at our profligates. Fyodor Pavlovitch, the luckless victim in the present case, was almost an innocent babe compared with many of them. And yet we all knew him, 'he lived among us!'...\n\"Yes, one day perhaps the leading intellects of Russia and of Europe will study the psychology of Russian crime, for the subject is worth it. But this study will come later, at leisure, when all the tragic topsy-turvydom of to-day is farther behind us, so that it's possible to examine it with more insight and more impartiality than I can do. Now we are either horrified or pretend to be horrified, though we really gloat over the spectacle, and love strong and eccentric sensations which tickle our cynical, pampered idleness. Or, like little children, we brush the dreadful ghosts away and hide our heads in the pillow so as to return to our sports and merriment as soon as they have vanished. But we must one day begin life in sober earnest, we must look at ourselves as a society; it's time we tried to grasp something of our social position, or at least to make a beginning in that direction.\n\"A great writer[9] of the last epoch, comparing Russia to a swift troika galloping to an unknown goal, exclaims, 'Oh, troika, birdlike troika, who invented thee!' and adds, in proud ecstasy, that all the peoples of the world stand aside respectfully to make way for the recklessly galloping troika to pass. That may be, they may stand aside, respectfully or no, but in my poor opinion the great writer ended his book in this way either in an access of childish and naïve optimism, or simply in fear of the censorship of the day. For if the troika were drawn by his heroes, Sobakevitch, Nozdryov, Tchitchikov, it could reach no rational goal, whoever might be driving it. And those were the heroes of an older generation, ours are worse specimens still....\"\nAt this point Ippolit Kirillovitch's speech was interrupted by applause. The liberal significance of this simile was appreciated. The applause was, it's true, of brief duration, so that the President did not think it necessary to caution the public, and only looked severely in the direction of the offenders. But Ippolit Kirillovitch was encouraged; he had never been applauded before! He had been all his life unable to get a hearing, and now he suddenly had an opportunity of securing the ear of all Russia.", "chosen": "Ippolit, He, He, He, He, And, Where, He, He, But, Gentlemen, But, We, That's, What, What, Is, Is, I, Our, And, Of, But, One, and, Next,, Another, In, Let, I, Oh,, Look, Look, Fyodor, And, Yes,, But, Now, Or,, But, A, That, For, And, The, The, But, He", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nIppolit, He, He, He, He, And, Where, He, He, But, Gentlemen, But, We, That's, What, What, Is, Is, I, Our, And, Of, But, One, and, Next,, Another, In, Let, I, Oh,, Look, Look, Fyodor, And, Yes,, But, Now, Or,, But, A, That, For, And, The, The, But, He\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-083-00-7f28efe3", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nI fear we are most of us like Mrs. Poyser's bantam cock, who fancied the sun got up every morning to hear him crow. \"'Tis vanity that makes the world go round.\" I don't believe any man ever existed without vanity, and if he did he would be an extremely uncomfortable person to have anything to do with. He would, of course, be a very good man, and we should respect him very much. He would be a very admirable man--a man to be put under a glass case and shown round as a specimen--a man to be stuck upon a pedestal and copied, like a school exercise--a man to be reverenced, but not a man to be loved, not a human brother whose hand we should care to grip. Angels may be very excellent sort of folk in their way, but we, poor mortals, in our present state, would probably find them precious slow company. Even mere good people are rather depressing. It is in our faults and failings, not in our virtues, that we touch one another and find sympathy. We differ widely enough in our nobler qualities. It is in our follies that we are at one. Some of us are pious, some of us are generous. Some few of us are honest, comparatively speaking; and some, fewer still, may possibly be truthful. But in vanity and kindred weaknesses we can all join hands. Vanity is one of those touches of nature that make the whole world kin. From the Indian hunter, proud of his belt of scalps, to the European general, swelling beneath his row of stars and medals; from the Chinese, gleeful at the length of his pigtail, to the \"professional beauty,\" suffering tortures in order that her waist may resemble a peg-top; from draggle-tailed little Polly Stiggins, strutting through Seven Dials with a tattered parasol over her head, to the princess sweeping through a drawing-room with a train of four yards long; from 'Arry, winning by vulgar chaff the loud laughter of his pals, to the statesman whose ears are tickled by the cheers that greet his high-sounding periods; from the dark-skinned African, bartering his rare oils and ivory for a few glass beads to hang about his neck, to the Christian maiden selling her white body for a score of tiny stones and an empty title to tack before her name--all march, and fight, and bleed, and die beneath its tawdry flag.\nAy, ay, vanity is truly the motive-power that moves humanity, and it is flattery that greases the wheels. If you want to win affection and respect in this world, you must flatter people. Flatter high and low, and rich and poor, and silly and wise. You will get on famously. Praise this man's virtues and that man's vices. Compliment everybody upon everything, and especially upon what they haven't got. Admire guys for their beauty, fools for their wit, and boors for their breeding. Your discernment and intelligence will be extolled to the skies.\nEvery one can be got over by flattery. The belted earl--\"belted earl\" is the correct phrase, I believe. I don't know what it means, unless it be an earl that wears a belt instead of braces. Some men do. I don't like it myself. You have to keep the thing so tight for it to be of any use, and that is uncomfortable. Anyhow, whatever particular kind of an earl a belted earl may be, he is, I assert, get-overable by flattery; just as every other human being is, from a duchess to a cat's-meat man, from a plow boy to a poet--and the poet far easier than the plowboy, for butter sinks better into wheaten bread than into oaten cakes.\nAs for love, flattery is its very life-blood. Fill a person with love for themselves, and what runs over will be your share, says a certain witty and truthful Frenchman whose name I can't for the life of me remember. (Confound it! I never can remember names when I want to.) Tell a girl she is an angel, only more angelic than an angel; that she is a goddess, only more graceful, queenly, and heavenly than the average goddess; that she is more fairy-like than Titania, more beautiful than Venus, more enchanting than Parthenope; more adorable, lovely, and radiant, in short, than any other woman that ever did live, does live, or could live, and you will make a very favorable impression upon her trusting little heart. Sweet innocent! she will believe every word you say. It is so easy to deceive a woman--in this way.\nDear little souls, they hate flattery, so they tell you; and when you say, \"Ah, darling, it isn't flattery in your case, it's plain, sober truth; you really are, without exaggeration, the most beautiful, the most good, the most charming, the most divine, the most perfect human creature that ever trod this earth,\" they will smile a quiet, approving smile, and, leaning against your manly shoulder, murmur that you are a dear good fellow after all.\nBy Jove! fancy a man trying to make love on strictly truthful principles, determining never to utter a word of mere compliment or hyperbole, but to scrupulously confine himself to exact fact! Fancy his gazing rapturously into his mistress' eyes and whispering softly to her that she wasn't, on the whole, bad-looking, as girls went! Fancy his holding up her little hand and assuring her that it was of a light drab color shot with red; and telling her as he pressed her to his heart that her nose, for a turned-up one, seemed rather pretty; and that her eyes appeared to him, as far as he could judge, to be quite up to the average standard of such things!\nA nice chance he would stand against the man who would tell her that her face was like a fresh blush rose, that her hair was a wandering sunbeam imprisoned by her smiles, and her eyes like two evening stars.\nThere are various ways of flattering, and, of course, you must adapt your style to your subject. Some people like it laid on with a trowel, and this requires very little art. With sensible persons, however, it needs to be done very delicately, and more by suggestion than actual words. A good many like it wrapped up in the form of an insult, as--\"Oh, you are a perfect fool, you are. You would give your last sixpence to the first hungry-looking beggar you met;\" while others will swallow it only when administered through the medium of a third person, so that if C wishes to get at an A of this sort, he must confide to A's particular friend B that he thinks A a splendid fellow, and beg him, B, not to mention it, especially to A. Be careful that B is a reliable man, though, otherwise he won't.\nThose fine, sturdy John Bulls who \"hate flattery, sir,\" \"Never let anybody get over me by flattery,\" etc., etc., are very simply managed. Flatter them enough upon their absence of vanity, and you can do what you like with them.\nAfter all, vanity is as much a virtue as a vice. It is easy to recite copy-book maxims against its sinfulness, but it is a passion that can move us to good as well as to evil. Ambition is only vanity ennobled. We want to win praise and admiration--or fame as we prefer to name it--and so we write great books, and paint grand pictures, and sing sweet songs; and toil with willing hands in study, loom, and laboratory.\nWe wish to become rich men, not in order to enjoy ease and comfort--all that any one man can taste of those may be purchased anywhere for 200 pounds per annum--but that our houses may be bigger and more gaudily furnished than our neighbors'; that our horses and servants may be more numerous; that we may dress our wives and daughters in absurd but expensive clothes; and that we may give costly dinners of which we ourselves individually do not eat a shilling's worth. And to do this we aid the world's work with clear and busy brain, spreading commerce among its peoples, carrying civilization to its remotest corners.", "chosen": "57", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n57\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-849-005-01-9acf1489", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"He set in order many proverbs.\"\nIt is London in October—two months further on in the story.\nBede's Inn has this peculiarity, that it faces, receives from, and discharges into a bustling thoroughfare speaking only of wealth and respectability, whilst its postern abuts on as crowded and poverty-stricken a network of alleys as are to be found anywhere in the metropolis. The moral consequences are, first, that those who occupy chambers in the Inn may see a great deal of shirtless humanity's habits and enjoyments without doing more than look down from a back window; and second they may hear wholesome though unpleasant social reminders through the medium of a harsh voice, an unequal footstep, the echo of a blow or a fall, which originates in the person of some drunkard or wife-beater, as he crosses and interferes with the quiet of the square. Characters of this kind frequently pass through the Inn from a little foxhole of an alley at the back, but they never loiter there.\nIt is hardly necessary to state that all the sights and movements proper to the Inn are most orderly. On the fine October evening on which we follow Stephen Smith to this place, a placid porter is sitting on a stool under a sycamore-tree in the midst, with a little cane in his hand. We notice the thick coat of soot upon the branches, hanging underneath them in flakes, as in a chimney. The blackness of these boughs does not at present improve the tree—nearly forsaken by its leaves as it is—but in the spring their green fresh beauty is made doubly beautiful by the contrast. Within the railings is a flower-garden of respectable dahlias and chrysanthemums, where a man is sweeping the leaves from the grass.\nStephen selects a doorway, and ascends an old though wide wooden staircase, with moulded balusters and handrail, which in a country manor-house would be considered a noteworthy specimen of Renaissance workmanship. He reaches a door on the first floor, over which is painted, in black letters, \"Mr. Henry Knight\"—\"Barrister-at-law\" being understood but not expressed. The wall is thick, and there is a door at its outer and inner face. The outer one happens to be ajar: Stephen goes to the other, and taps.\n\"Come in!\" from distant penetralia.\nFirst was a small anteroom, divided from the inner apartment by a wainscoted archway two or three yards wide. Across this archway hung a pair of dark-green curtains, making a mystery of all within the arch except the spasmodic scratching of a quill pen. Here was grouped a chaotic assemblage of articles—mainly old framed prints and paintings—leaning edgewise against the wall, like roofing slates in a builder's yard. All the books visible here were folios too big to be stolen—some lying on a heavy oak table in one corner, some on the floor among the pictures, the whole intermingled with old coats, hats, umbrellas, and walking-sticks.\nStephen pushed aside the curtain, and before him sat a man writing away as if his life depended upon it—which it did.\nA man of thirty in a speckled coat, with dark brown hair, curly beard, and crisp moustache: the latter running into the beard on each side of the mouth, and, as usual, hiding the real expression of that organ under a chronic aspect of impassivity.\n\"Ah, my dear fellow, I knew 'twas you,\" said Knight, looking up with a smile, and holding out his hand.\nKnight's mouth and eyes came to view now. Both features were good, and had the peculiarity of appearing younger and fresher than the brow and face they belonged to, which were getting sicklied o'er by the unmistakable pale cast. The mouth had not quite relinquished rotundity of curve for the firm angularities of middle life; and the eyes, though keen, permeated rather than penetrated: what they had lost of their boy-time brightness by a dozen years of hard reading lending a quietness to their gaze which suited them well.\nA lady would have said there was a smell of tobacco in the room: a man that there was not.\nKnight did not rise. He looked at a timepiece on the mantelshelf, then turned again to his letters, pointing to a chair.\n\"Well, I am glad you have come. I only returned to town yesterday; now, don't speak, Stephen, for ten minutes; I have just that time to the late post. At the eleventh minute, I'm your man.\"\nStephen sat down as if this kind of reception was by no means new, and away went Knight's pen, beating up and down like a ship in a storm.\nCicero called the library the soul of the house; here the house was all soul. Portions of the floor, and half the wall-space, were taken up by book-shelves ordinary and extraordinary; the remaining parts, together with brackets, side-tables, &c., being occupied by casts, statuettes, medallions, and plaques of various descriptions, picked up by the owner in his wanderings through France and Italy.\nOne stream only of evening sunlight came into the room from a window quite in the corner, overlooking a court. An aquarium stood in the window. It was a dull parallelopipedon enough for living creatures at most hours of the day; but for a few minutes in the evening, as now, an errant, kindly ray lighted up and warmed the little world therein, when the many-coloured zoophytes opened and put forth their arms, the weeds acquired a rich transparency, the shells gleamed of a more golden yellow, and the timid community expressed gladness more plainly than in words.\nWithin the prescribed ten minutes Knight flung down his pen, rang for the boy to take the letters to the post, and at the closing of the door exclaimed, \"There; thank God, that's done. Now, Stephen, pull your chair round, and tell me what you have been doing all this time. Have you kept up your Greek?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"How's that?\"\n\"I haven't enough spare time.\"\n\"That's nonsense.\"\n\"Well, I have done a great many things, if not that. And I have done one extraordinary thing.\"\nKnight turned full upon Stephen. \"Ah-ha! Now, then, let me look into your face, put two and two together, and make a shrewd guess.\"\nStephen changed to a redder colour.\n\"Why, Smith,\" said Knight, after holding him rigidly by the shoulders, and keenly scrutinising his countenance for a minute in silence, \"you have fallen in love.\"\n\"Well—the fact is——\"\n\"Now, out with it.\" But seeing that Stephen looked rather distressed, he changed to a kindly tone. \"Now Smith, my lad, you know me well enough by this time, or you ought to; and you know very well that if you choose to give me a detailed account of the phenomenon within you, I shall listen; if you don't, I am the last man in the world to care to hear it.\"\n\"I'll tell this much: I HAVE fallen in love, and I want to be MARRIED.\"\nKnight looked ominous as this passed Stephen's lips.\n\"Don't judge me before you have heard more,\" cried Stephen anxiously, seeing the change in his friend's countenance.\n\"I don't judge. Does your mother know about it?\"\n\"Nothing definite.\"\n\"Father?\"\n\"No. But I'll tell you. The young person——\"\n\"Come, that's dreadfully ungallant. But perhaps I understand the frame of mind a little, so go on. Your sweetheart——\"\n\"She is rather higher in the world than I am.\"\n\"As it should be.\"\n\"And her father won't hear of it, as I now stand.\"\n\"Not an uncommon case.\"\n\"And now comes what I want your advice upon. Something has happened at her house which makes it out of the question for us to ask her father again now. So we are keeping silent. In the meantime an architect in India has just written to Mr. Hewby to ask whether he can find for him a young assistant willing to go over to Bombay to prepare drawings for work formerly done by the engineers. The salary he offers is 350 rupees a month, or about 35 Pounds. Hewby has mentioned it to me, and I have been to Dr. Wray, who says I shall acclimatise without much illness. Now, would you go?\"\n\"You mean to say, because it is a possible road to the young lady.\"", "chosen": "The moral consequences are, first, that those who occupy chambers in the Inn may see a great deal of shirtless humanity's habits and enjoyments without doing more than look down from a back window; and second they may hear wholesome though unpleasant social reminders through the medium of a harsh voice, an unequal footstep, the echo of a blow or a fall, which originates in the person of some drunkard or wife-beater, as he crosses and interferes with the quiet of the square.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nThe moral consequences are, first, that those who occupy chambers in the Inn may see a great deal of shirtless humanity's habits and enjoyments without doing more than look down from a back window; and second they may hear wholesome though unpleasant social reminders through the medium of a harsh voice, an unequal footstep, the echo of a blow or a fall, which originates in the person of some drunkard or wife-beater, as he crosses and interferes with the quiet of the square.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-012-00-2fb872c9", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAfter he had leaned out into the darkness for a few minutes he heard her say: \"Newland! Do shut the window. You'll catch your death.\"\nHe pulled the sash down and turned back. \"Catch my death!\" he echoed; and he felt like adding: \"But I've caught it already. I am dead--I've been dead for months and months.\"\nAnd suddenly the play of the word flashed up a wild suggestion. What if it were she who was dead! If she were going to die--to die soon--and leave him free! The sensation of standing there, in that warm familiar room, and looking at her, and wishing her dead, was so strange, so fascinating and overmastering, that its enormity did not immediately strike him. He simply felt that chance had given him a new possibility to which his sick soul might cling. Yes, May might die--people did: young people, healthy people like herself: she might die, and set him suddenly free.\nShe glanced up, and he saw by her widening eyes that there must be something strange in his own.\n\"Newland! Are you ill?\"\nHe shook his head and turned toward his arm-chair. She bent over her work-frame, and as he passed he laid his hand on her hair. \"Poor May!\" he said.\n\"Poor? Why poor?\" she echoed with a strained laugh.\n\"Because I shall never be able to open a window without worrying you,\" he rejoined, laughing also.\nFor a moment she was silent; then she said very low, her head bowed over her work: \"I shall never worry if you're happy.\"\n\"Ah, my dear; and I shall never be happy unless I can open the windows!\"\n\"In this weather?\" she remonstrated; and with a sigh he buried his head in his book.\nSix or seven days passed. Archer heard nothing from Madame Olenska, and became aware that her name would not be mentioned in his presence by any member of the family. He did not try to see her; to do so while she was at old Catherine's guarded bedside would have been almost impossible. In the uncertainty of the situation he let himself drift, conscious, somewhere below the surface of his thoughts, of a resolve which had come to him when he had leaned out from his library window into the icy night. The strength of that resolve made it easy to wait and make no sign.\nThen one day May told him that Mrs. Manson Mingott had asked to see him. There was nothing surprising in the request, for the old lady was steadily recovering, and she had always openly declared that she preferred Archer to any of her other grandsons-in-law. May gave the message with evident pleasure: she was proud of old Catherine's appreciation of her husband.\nThere was a moment's pause, and then Archer felt it incumbent on him to say: \"All right. Shall we go together this afternoon?\"\nHis wife's face brightened, but she instantly answered: \"Oh, you'd much better go alone. It bores Granny to see the same people too often.\"\nArcher's heart was beating violently when he rang old Mrs. Mingott's bell. He had wanted above all things to go alone, for he felt sure the visit would give him the chance of saying a word in private to the Countess Olenska. He had determined to wait till the chance presented itself naturally; and here it was, and here he was on the doorstep. Behind the door, behind the curtains of the yellow damask room next to the hall, she was surely awaiting him; in another moment he should see her, and be able to speak to her before she led him to the sick-room.\nHe wanted only to put one question: after that his course would be clear. What he wished to ask was simply the date of her return to Washington; and that question she could hardly refuse to answer.\nBut in the yellow sitting-room it was the mulatto maid who waited. Her white teeth shining like a keyboard, she pushed back the sliding doors and ushered him into old Catherine's presence.\nThe old woman sat in a vast throne-like arm-chair near her bed. Beside her was a mahogany stand bearing a cast bronze lamp with an engraved globe, over which a green paper shade had been balanced. There was not a book or a newspaper in reach, nor any evidence of feminine employment: conversation had always been Mrs. Mingott's sole pursuit, and she would have scorned to feign an interest in fancywork.\nArcher saw no trace of the slight distortion left by her stroke. She merely looked paler, with darker shadows in the folds and recesses of her obesity; and, in the fluted mob-cap tied by a starched bow between her first two chins, and the muslin kerchief crossed over her billowing purple dressing-gown, she seemed like some shrewd and kindly ancestress of her own who might have yielded too freely to the pleasures of the table.\nShe held out one of the little hands that nestled in a hollow of her huge lap like pet animals, and called to the maid: \"Don't let in any one else. If my daughters call, say I'm asleep.\"\nThe maid disappeared, and the old lady turned to her grandson.\n\"My dear, am I perfectly hideous?\" she asked gaily, launching out one hand in search of the folds of muslin on her inaccessible bosom. \"My daughters tell me it doesn't matter at my age--as if hideousness didn't matter all the more the harder it gets to conceal!\"\n\"My dear, you're handsomer than ever!\" Archer rejoined in the same tone; and she threw back her head and laughed.\n\"Ah, but not as handsome as Ellen!\" she jerked out, twinkling at him maliciously; and before he could answer she added: \"Was she so awfully handsome the day you drove her up from the ferry?\"\nHe laughed, and she continued: \"Was it because you told her so that she had to put you out on the way? In my youth young men didn't desert pretty women unless they were made to!\" She gave another chuckle, and interrupted it to say almost querulously: \"It's a pity she didn't marry you; I always told her so. It would have spared me all this worry. But who ever thought of sparing their grandmother worry?\"\nArcher wondered if her illness had blurred her faculties; but suddenly she broke out: \"Well, it's settled, anyhow: she's going to stay with me, whatever the rest of the family say! She hadn't been here five minutes before I'd have gone down on my knees to keep her--if only, for the last twenty years, I'd been able to see where the floor was!\"\nArcher listened in silence, and she went on: \"They'd talked me over, as no doubt you know: persuaded me, Lovell, and Letterblair, and Augusta Welland, and all the rest of them, that I must hold out and cut off her allowance, till she was made to see that it was her duty to go back to Olenski. They thought they'd convinced me when the secretary, or whatever he was, came out with the last proposals: handsome proposals I confess they were. After all, marriage is marriage, and money's money--both useful things in their way ... and I didn't know what to answer--\" She broke off and drew a long breath, as if speaking had become an effort. \"But the minute I laid eyes on her, I said: 'You sweet bird, you! Shut you up in that cage again? Never!' And now it's settled that she's to stay here and nurse her Granny as long as there's a Granny to nurse. It's not a gay prospect, but she doesn't mind; and of course I've told Letterblair that she's to be given her proper allowance.\"", "chosen": "[\"Newland! Do shut the window. You'll catch your death.\", \"Catch my death!\", \"But I've caught it already. I am dead--I've been dead for months and months.\", \"Newland! Are you ill?\", \"Poor May!\", \"Poor? Why poor?\", \"Because I shall never be able to open a window without worrying you,\", \"I shall never worry if you're happy.\", \"Ah, my dear; and I shall never be happy unless I can open the windows!\", \"In this weather?\", \"All right. Shall we go together this afternoon?\", \"Oh, you'd much better go alone. It bores Granny to see the same people too often.\", \"Don't let in any one else. If my daughters call, say I'm asleep.\", \"My dear, am I perfectly hideous?\", \"My daughters tell me it doesn't matter at my age--as if hideousness didn't matter all the more the harder it gets to conceal!\", \"My dear, you're handsomer than ever!\", \"Ah, but not as handsome as Ellen!\", \"Was she so awfully handsome the day you drove her up from the ferry?\", \"Was it because you told her so that she had to put you out on the way? In my youth young men didn't desert pretty women unless they were made to!\", \"It's a pity she didn't marry you; I always told her so. It would have spared me all this worry. But who ever thought of sparing their grandmother worry?\", \"\\nArcher listened in silence, and she went on: \", \" She broke off and drew a long breath, as if speaking had become an effort. \"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Newland! Do shut the window. You'll catch your death.\", \"Catch my death!\", \"But I've caught it already. I am dead--I've been dead for months and months.\", \"Newland! Are you ill?\", \"Poor May!\", \"Poor? Why poor?\", \"Because I shall never be able to open a window without worrying you,\", \"I shall never worry if you're happy.\", \"Ah, my dear; and I shall never be happy unless I can open the windows!\", \"In this weather?\", \"All right. Shall we go together this afternoon?\", \"Oh, you'd much better go alone. It bores Granny to see the same people too often.\", \"Don't let in any one else. If my daughters call, say I'm asleep.\", \"My dear, am I perfectly hideous?\", \"My daughters tell me it doesn't matter at my age--as if hideousness didn't matter all the more the harder it gets to conceal!\", \"My dear, you're handsomer than ever!\", \"Ah, but not as handsome as Ellen!\", \"Was she so awfully handsome the day you drove her up from the ferry?\", \"Was it because you told her so that she had to put you out on the way? In my youth young men didn't desert pretty women unless they were made to!\", \"It's a pity she didn't marry you; I always told her so. It would have spared me all this worry. But who ever thought of sparing their grandmother worry?\", \"\\nArcher listened in silence, and she went on: \", \" She broke off and drew a long breath, as if speaking had become an effort. \"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-541-013-04-31239042", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nYou've been in love, of course! If not you've got it to come. Love is like the measles; we all have to go through it. Also like the measles, we take it only once. One never need be afraid of catching it a second time. The man who has had it can go into the most dangerous places and play the most foolhardy tricks with perfect safety. He can picnic in shady woods, ramble through leafy aisles, and linger on mossy seats to watch the sunset. He fears a quiet country-house no more than he would his own club. He can join a family party to go down the Rhine. He can, to see the last of a friend, venture into the very jaws of the marriage ceremony itself. He can keep his head through the whirl of a ravishing waltz, and rest afterward in a dark conservatory, catching nothing more lasting than a cold. He can brave a moonlight walk adown sweet-scented lanes or a twilight pull among the somber rushes. He can get over a stile without danger, scramble through a tangled hedge without being caught, come down a slippery path without falling. He can look into sunny eyes and not be dazzled. He listens to the siren voices, yet sails on with unveered helm. He clasps white hands in his, but no electric \"Lulu\"-like force holds him bound in their dainty pressure.\nNo, we never sicken with love twice. Cupid spends no second arrow on the same heart. Love's handmaids are our life-long friends. Respect, and admiration, and affection, our doors may always be left open for, but their great celestial master, in his royal progress, pays but one visit and departs. We like, we cherish, we are very, very fond of--but we never love again. A man's heart is a firework that once in its time flashes heavenward. Meteor-like, it blazes for a moment and lights with its glory the whole world beneath. Then the night of our sordid commonplace life closes in around it, and the burned-out case, falling back to earth, lies useless and uncared for, slowly smoldering into ashes. Once, breaking loose from our prison bonds, we dare, as mighty old Prometheus dared, to scale the Olympian mount and snatch from Phoebus' chariot the fire of the gods. Happy those who, hastening down again ere it dies out, can kindle their earthly altars at its flame. Love is too pure a light to burn long among the noisome gases that we breathe, but before it is choked out we may use it as a torch to ignite the cozy fire of affection.\nAnd, after all, that warming glow is more suited to our cold little back parlor of a world than is the burning spirit love. Love should be the vestal fire of some mighty temple--some vast dim fane whose organ music is the rolling of the spheres. Affection will burn cheerily when the white flame of love is flickered out. Affection is a fire that can be fed from day to day and be piled up ever higher as the wintry years draw nigh. Old men and women can sit by it with their thin hands clasped, the little children can nestle down in front, the friend and neighbor has his welcome corner by its side, and even shaggy Fido and sleek Titty can toast their noses at the bars.\nLet us heap the coals of kindness upon that fire. Throw on your pleasant words, your gentle pressures of the hand, your thoughtful and unselfish deeds. Fan it with good-humor, patience, and forbearance. You can let the wind blow and the rain fall unheeded then, for your hearth will be warm and bright, and the faces round it will make sunshine in spite of the clouds without.\nI am afraid, dear Edwin and Angelina, you expect too much from love. You think there is enough of your little hearts to feed this fierce, devouring passion for all your long lives. Ah, young folk! don't rely too much upon that unsteady flicker. It will dwindle and dwindle as the months roll on, and there is no replenishing the fuel. You will watch it die out in anger and disappointment. To each it will seem that it is the other who is growing colder. Edwin sees with bitterness that Angelina no longer runs to the gate to meet him, all smiles and blushes; and when he has a cough now she doesn't begin to cry and, putting her arms round his neck, say that she cannot live without him. The most she will probably do is to suggest a lozenge, and even that in a tone implying that it is the noise more than anything else she is anxious to get rid of.\nPoor little Angelina, too, sheds silent tears, for Edwin has given up carrying her old handkerchief in the inside pocket of his waistcoat.\nBoth are astonished at the falling off in the other one, but neither sees their own change. If they did they would not suffer as they do. They would look for the cause in the right quarter--in the littleness of poor human nature--join hands over their common failing, and start building their house anew on a more earthly and enduring foundation. But we are so blind to our own shortcomings, so wide awake to those of others. Everything that happens to us is always the other person's fault. Angelina would have gone on loving Edwin forever and ever and ever if only Edwin had not grown so strange and different. Edwin would have adored Angelina through eternity if Angelina had only remained the same as when he first adored her.\nIt is a cheerless hour for you both when the lamp of love has gone out and the fire of affection is not yet lit, and you have to grope about in the cold, raw dawn of life to kindle it. God grant it catches light before the day is too far spent. Many sit shivering by the dead coals till night come.\nBut, there, of what use is it to preach? Who that feels the rush of young love through his veins can think it will ever flow feeble and slow! To the boy of twenty it seems impossible that he will not love as wildly at sixty as he does then. He cannot call to mind any middle-aged or elderly gentleman of his acquaintance who is known to exhibit symptoms of frantic attachment, but that does not interfere in his belief in himself. His love will never fall, whoever else's may. Nobody ever loved as he loves, and so, of course, the rest of the world's experience can be no guide in his case. Alas! alas! ere thirty he has joined the ranks of the sneerers. It is not his fault. Our passions, both the good and bad, cease with our blushes. We do not hate, nor grieve, nor joy, nor despair in our thirties like we did in our teens. Disappointment does not suggest suicide, and we quaff success without intoxication.\nWe take all things in a minor key as we grow older. There are few majestic passages in the later acts of life's opera. Ambition takes a less ambitious aim. Honor becomes more reasonable and conveniently adapts itself to circumstances. And love--love dies. \"Irreverence for the dreams of youth\" soon creeps like a killing frost upon our hearts. The tender shoots and the expanding flowers are nipped and withered, and of a vine that yearned to stretch its tendrils round the world there is left but a sapless stump.\nMy fair friends will deem all this rank heresy, I know. So far from a man's not loving after he has passed boyhood, it is not till there is a good deal of gray in his hair that they think his protestations at all worthy of attention. Young ladies take their notions of our sex from the novels written by their own, and compared with the monstrosities that masquerade for men in the pages of that nightmare literature, Pythagoras' plucked bird and Frankenstein's demon were fair average specimens of humanity.", "chosen": "humanity", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nhumanity\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-849-002-00-5c6cdf76", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nTom urged—Huck held back. At last Tom rose slowly and softly, and started alone. But the first step he made wrung such a hideous creak from the crazy floor that he sank down almost dead with fright. He never made a second attempt. The boys lay there counting the dragging moments till it seemed to them that time must be done and eternity growing gray; and then they were grateful to note that at last the sun was setting.\nNow one snore ceased. Injun Joe sat up, stared around—smiled grimly upon his comrade, whose head was drooping upon his knees—stirred him up with his foot and said:\n\"Here! You're a watchman, ain't you! All right, though—nothing's happened.\"\n\"My! have I been asleep?\"\n\"Oh, partly, partly. Nearly time for us to be moving, pard. What'll we do with what little swag we've got left?\"\n\"I don't know—leave it here as we've always done, I reckon. No use to take it away till we start south. Six hundred and fifty in silver's something to carry.\"\n\"Well—all right—it won't matter to come here once more.\"\n\"No—but I'd say come in the night as we used to do—it's better.\"\n\"Yes: but look here; it may be a good while before I get the right chance at that job; accidents might happen; 'tain't in such a very good place; we'll just regularly bury it—and bury it deep.\"\n\"Good idea,\" said the comrade, who walked across the room, knelt down, raised one of the rearward hearth-stones and took out a bag that jingled pleasantly. He subtracted from it twenty or thirty dollars for himself and as much for Injun Joe, and passed the bag to the latter, who was on his knees in the corner, now, digging with his bowie-knife.\nThe boys forgot all their fears, all their miseries in an instant. With gloating eyes they watched every movement. Luck!—the splendor of it was beyond all imagination! Six hundred dollars was money enough to make half a dozen boys rich! Here was treasure-hunting under the happiest auspices—there would not be any bothersome uncertainty as to where to dig. They nudged each other every moment—eloquent nudges and easily understood, for they simply meant—\"Oh, but ain't you glad now we're here!\"\nJoe's knife struck upon something.\n\"Hello!\" said he.\n\"What is it?\" said his comrade.\n\"Half-rotten plank—no, it's a box, I believe. Here—bear a hand and we'll see what it's here for. Never mind, I've broke a hole.\"\nHe reached his hand in and drew it out—\n\"Man, it's money!\"\nThe two men examined the handful of coins. They were gold. The boys above were as excited as themselves, and as delighted.\nJoe's comrade said:\n\"We'll make quick work of this. There's an old rusty pick over amongst the weeds in the corner the other side of the fireplace—I saw it a minute ago.\"\nHe ran and brought the boys' pick and shovel. Injun Joe took the pick, looked it over critically, shook his head, muttered something to himself, and then began to use it. The box was soon unearthed. It was not very large; it was iron bound and had been very strong before the slow years had injured it. The men contemplated the treasure awhile in blissful silence.\n\"Pard, there's thousands of dollars here,\" said Injun Joe.\n\"'Twas always said that Murrel's gang used to be around here one summer,\" the stranger observed.\n\"I know it,\" said Injun Joe; \"and this looks like it, I should say.\"\n\"Now you won't need to do that job.\"\nThe halfbreed frowned. Said he:\n\"You don't know me. Least you don't know all about that thing. 'Tain't robbery altogether—it's revenge!\" and a wicked light flamed in his eyes. \"I'll need your help in it. When it's finished—then Texas. Go home to your Nance and your kids, and stand by till you hear from me.\"\n\"Well—if you say so; what'll we do with this—bury it again?\"\n\"Yes. [Ravishing delight overhead.] No! by the great Sachem, no! [Profound distress overhead.] I'd nearly forgot. That pick had fresh earth on it! [The boys were sick with terror in a moment.] What business has a pick and a shovel here? What business with fresh earth on them? Who brought them here—and where are they gone? Have you heard anybody?—seen anybody? What! bury it again and leave them to come and see the ground disturbed? Not exactly—not exactly. We'll take it to my den.\"\n\"Why, of course! Might have thought of that before. You mean Number One?\"\n\"No—Number Two—under the cross. The other place is bad—too common.\"\n\"All right. It's nearly dark enough to start.\"\nInjun Joe got up and went about from window to window cautiously peeping out. Presently he said:\n\"Who could have brought those tools here? Do you reckon they can be upstairs?\"\nThe boys' breath forsook them. Injun Joe put his hand on his knife, halted a moment, undecided, and then turned toward the stairway. The boys thought of the closet, but their strength was gone. The steps came creaking up the stairs—the intolerable distress of the situation woke the stricken resolution of the lads—they were about to spring for the closet, when there was a crash of rotten timbers and Injun Joe landed on the ground amid the debris of the ruined stairway. He gathered himself up cursing, and his comrade said:\n\"Now what's the use of all that? If it's anybody, and they're up there, let them stay there—who cares? If they want to jump down, now, and get into trouble, who objects? It will be dark in fifteen minutes—and then let them follow us if they want to. I'm willing. In my opinion, whoever hove those things in here caught a sight of us and took us for ghosts or devils or something. I'll bet they're running yet.\"\nJoe grumbled awhile; then he agreed with his friend that what daylight was left ought to be economized in getting things ready for leaving. Shortly afterward they slipped out of the house in the deepening twilight, and moved toward the river with their precious box.\nTom and Huck rose up, weak but vastly relieved, and stared after them through the chinks between the logs of the house. Follow? Not they. They were content to reach ground again without broken necks, and take the townward track over the hill. They did not talk much. They were too much absorbed in hating themselves—hating the ill luck that made them take the spade and the pick there. But for that, Injun Joe never would have suspected. He would have hidden the silver with the gold to wait there till his \"revenge\" was satisfied, and then he would have had the misfortune to find that money turn up missing. Bitter, bitter luck that the tools were ever brought there!\nThey resolved to keep a lookout for that Spaniard when he should come to town spying out for chances to do his revengeful job, and follow him to \"Number Two,\" wherever that might be. Then a ghastly thought occurred to Tom.\n\"Revenge? What if he means us, Huck!\"\n\"Oh, don't!\" said Huck, nearly fainting.\nThey talked it all over, and as they entered town they agreed to believe that he might possibly mean somebody else—at least that he might at least mean nobody but Tom, since only Tom had testified.\nVery, very small comfort it was to Tom to be alone in danger! Company would be a palpable improvement, he thought.", "chosen": "[\"Tom\", \"Joe\", \"Here\", \"Good\", \"Injun\", \"Hello\", \"Half\", \"Man\", \"Pard\", \"Murrel\", \"Texas\", \"Nance\", \"Sachem\", \"Number\", \"One\", \"Two\", \"All\", \"Huck\", \"Spaniard\", \"Revenge\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Tom\", \"Joe\", \"Here\", \"Good\", \"Injun\", \"Hello\", \"Half\", \"Man\", \"Pard\", \"Murrel\", \"Texas\", \"Nance\", \"Sachem\", \"Number\", \"One\", \"Two\", \"All\", \"Huck\", \"Spaniard\", \"Revenge\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-74-025-01-6d71f024", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nWhat a hero Tom was become, now! He did not go skipping and prancing, but moved with a dignified swagger as became a pirate who felt that the public eye was on him. And indeed it was; he tried not to seem to see the looks or hear the remarks as he passed along, but they were food and drink to him. Smaller boys than himself flocked at his heels, as proud to be seen with him, and tolerated by him, as if he had been the drummer at the head of a procession or the elephant leading a menagerie into town. Boys of his own size pretended not to know he had been away at all; but they were consuming with envy, nevertheless. They would have given anything to have that swarthy sun-tanned skin of his, and his glittering notoriety; and Tom would not have parted with either for a circus.\nAt school the children made so much of him and of Joe, and delivered such eloquent admiration from their eyes, that the two heroes were not long in becoming insufferably \"stuck-up.\" They began to tell their adventures to hungry listeners—but they only began; it was not a thing likely to have an end, with imaginations like theirs to furnish material. And finally, when they got out their pipes and went serenely puffing around, the very summit of glory was reached.\nTom decided that he could be independent of Becky Thatcher now. Glory was sufficient. He would live for glory. Now that he was distinguished, maybe she would be wanting to \"make up.\" Well, let her—she should see that he could be as indifferent as some other people. Presently she arrived. Tom pretended not to see her. He moved away and joined a group of boys and girls and began to talk. Soon he observed that she was tripping gayly back and forth with flushed face and dancing eyes, pretending to be busy chasing schoolmates, and screaming with laughter when she made a capture; but he noticed that she always made her captures in his vicinity, and that she seemed to cast a conscious eye in his direction at such times, too. It gratified all the vicious vanity that was in him; and so, instead of winning him, it only \"set him up\" the more and made him the more diligent to avoid betraying that he knew she was about. Presently she gave over skylarking, and moved irresolutely about, sighing once or twice and glancing furtively and wistfully toward Tom. Then she observed that now Tom was talking more particularly to Amy Lawrence than to any one else. She felt a sharp pang and grew disturbed and uneasy at once. She tried to go away, but her feet were treacherous, and carried her to the group instead. She said to a girl almost at Tom's elbow—with sham vivacity:\n\"Why, Mary Austin! you bad girl, why didn't you come to Sunday-school?\"\n\"I did come—didn't you see me?\"\n\"Why, no! Did you? Where did you sit?\"\n\"I was in Miss Peters' class, where I always go. I saw you.\"\n\"Did you? Why, it's funny I didn't see you. I wanted to tell you about the picnic.\"\n\"Oh, that's jolly. Who's going to give it?\"\n\"My ma's going to let me have one.\"\n\"Oh, goody; I hope she'll let me come.\"\n\"Well, she will. The picnic's for me. She'll let anybody come that I want, and I want you.\"\n\"That's ever so nice. When is it going to be?\"\n\"By and by. Maybe about vacation.\"\n\"Oh, won't it be fun! You going to have all the girls and boys?\"\n\"Yes, every one that's friends to me—or wants to be\"; and she glanced ever so furtively at Tom, but he talked right along to Amy Lawrence about the terrible storm on the island, and how the lightning tore the great sycamore tree \"all to flinders\" while he was \"standing within three feet of it.\"\n\"Oh, may I come?\" said Grace Miller.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"And me?\" said Sally Rogers.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"And me, too?\" said Susy Harper. \"And Joe?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nAnd so on, with clapping of joyful hands till all the group had begged for invitations but Tom and Amy. Then Tom turned coolly away, still talking, and took Amy with him. Becky's lips trembled and the tears came to her eyes; she hid these signs with a forced gayety and went on chattering, but the life had gone out of the picnic, now, and out of everything else; she got away as soon as she could and hid herself and had what her sex call \"a good cry.\" Then she sat moody, with wounded pride, till the bell rang. She roused up, now, with a vindictive cast in her eye, and gave her plaited tails a shake and said she knew what she'd do.\nAt recess Tom continued his flirtation with Amy with jubilant self-satisfaction. And he kept drifting about to find Becky and lacerate her with the performance. At last he spied her, but there was a sudden falling of his mercury. She was sitting cosily on a little bench behind the schoolhouse looking at a picture-book with Alfred Temple—and so absorbed were they, and their heads so close together over the book, that they did not seem to be conscious of anything in the world besides. Jealousy ran red-hot through Tom's veins. He began to hate himself for throwing away the chance Becky had offered for a reconciliation. He called himself a fool, and all the hard names he could think of. He wanted to cry with vexation. Amy chatted happily along, as they walked, for her heart was singing, but Tom's tongue had lost its function. He did not hear what Amy was saying, and whenever she paused expectantly he could only stammer an awkward assent, which was as often misplaced as otherwise. He kept drifting to the rear of the schoolhouse, again and again, to sear his eyeballs with the hateful spectacle there. He could not help it. And it maddened him to see, as he thought he saw, that Becky Thatcher never once suspected that he was even in the land of the living. But she did see, nevertheless; and she knew she was winning her fight, too, and was glad to see him suffer as she had suffered.\nAmy's happy prattle became intolerable. Tom hinted at things he had to attend to; things that must be done; and time was fleeting. But in vain—the girl chirped on. Tom thought, \"Oh, hang her, ain't I ever going to get rid of her?\" At last he must be attending to those things—and she said artlessly that she would be \"around\" when school let out. And he hastened away, hating her for it.\n\"Any other boy!\" Tom thought, grating his teeth. \"Any boy in the whole town but that Saint Louis smarty that thinks he dresses so fine and is aristocracy! Oh, all right, I licked you the first day you ever saw this town, mister, and I'll lick you again! You just wait till I catch you out! I'll just take and—\"\nAnd he went through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy—pummelling the air, and kicking and gouging. \"Oh, you do, do you? You holler 'nough, do you? Now, then, let that learn you!\" And so the imaginary flogging was finished to his satisfaction.\nTom fled home at noon. His conscience could not endure any more of Amy's grateful happiness, and his jealousy could bear no more of the other distress. Becky resumed her picture inspections with Alfred, but as the minutes dragged along and no Tom came to suffer, her triumph began to cloud and she lost interest; gravity and absentmindedness followed, and then melancholy; two or three times she pricked up her ear at a footstep, but it was a false hope; no Tom came. At last she grew entirely miserable and wished she hadn't carried it so far. When poor Alfred, seeing that he was losing her, he did not know how, kept exclaiming: \"Oh, here's a jolly one! look at this!\" she lost patience at last, and said, \"Oh, don't bother me! I don't care for them!\" and burst into tears, and got up and walked away.\nAlfred dropped alongside and was going to try to comfort her, but she said:", "chosen": "What, He, And, Smaller, Boys, They, At, And, Tom, Glory, He, Now, Presently, Tom, He, Soon, It, Presently, Then, She, She, She, you, Did, Where, I, Why,, I, Who's, The, She'll, When, Maybe, You, Yes.\", Yes.\", And, Then, Becky's, She, At, And, At, She, Jealousy, He, He, He, Amy, He, He, He, And, But, Amy's, Tom, But, Tom, And, Any, Any, Oh,, You, I'll, Oh,, You, Now,, Tom, His, Becky, At, When, look, I, Alfred", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nWhat, He, And, Smaller, Boys, They, At, And, Tom, Glory, He, Now, Presently, Tom, He, Soon, It, Presently, Then, She, She, She, you, Did, Where, I, Why,, I, Who's, The, She'll, When, Maybe, You, Yes.\", Yes.\", And, Then, Becky's, She, At, And, At, She, Jealousy, He, He, He, Amy, He, He, He, And, But, Amy's, Tom, But, Tom, And, Any, Any, Oh,, You, I'll, Oh,, You, Now,, Tom, His, Becky, At, When, look, I, Alfred\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-74-018-01-9f83fd16", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nAfter that, having acquired a taste for the water, I did a good deal of rafting in various suburban brickfields—an exercise providing more interest and excitement than might be imagined, especially when you are in the middle of the pond and the proprietor of the materials of which the raft is constructed suddenly appears on the bank, with a big stick in his hand.\nYour first sensation on seeing this gentleman is that, somehow or other, you don't feel equal to company and conversation, and that, if you could do so without appearing rude, you would rather avoid meeting him; and your object is, therefore, to get off on the opposite side of the pond to which he is, and to go home quietly and quickly, pretending not to see him. He, on the contrary is yearning to take you by the hand, and talk to you.\nIt appears that he knows your father, and is intimately acquainted with yourself, but this does not draw you towards him. He says he'll teach you to take his boards and make a raft of them; but, seeing that you know how to do this pretty well already, the offer, though doubtless kindly meant, seems a superfluous one on his part, and you are reluctant to put him to any trouble by accepting it.\nHis anxiety to meet you, however, is proof against all your coolness, and the energetic manner in which he dodges up and down the pond so as to be on the spot to greet you when you land is really quite flattering.\nIf he be of a stout and short-winded build, you can easily avoid his advances; but, when he is of the youthful and long-legged type, a meeting is inevitable. The interview is, however, extremely brief, most of the conversation being on his part, your remarks being mostly of an exclamatory and mono-syllabic order, and as soon as you can tear yourself away you do so.\nI devoted some three months to rafting, and, being then as proficient as there was any need to be at that branch of the art, I determined to go in for rowing proper, and joined one of the Lea boating clubs.\nBeing out in a boat on the river Lea, especially on Saturday afternoons, soon makes you smart at handling a craft, and spry at escaping being run down by roughs or swamped by barges; and it also affords plenty of opportunity for acquiring the most prompt and graceful method of lying down flat at the bottom of the boat so as to avoid being chucked out into the river by passing tow-lines.\nBut it does not give you style. It was not till I came to the Thames that I got style. My style of rowing is very much admired now. People say it is so quaint.\nGeorge never went near the water until he was sixteen. Then he and eight other gentlemen of about the same age went down in a body to Kew one Saturday, with the idea of hiring a boat there, and pulling to Richmond and back; one of their number, a shock-headed youth, named Joskins, who had once or twice taken out a boat on the Serpentine, told them it was jolly fun, boating!\nThe tide was running out pretty rapidly when they reached the landing-stage, and there was a stiff breeze blowing across the river, but this did not trouble them at all, and they proceeded to select their boat.\nThere was an eight-oared racing outrigger drawn up on the stage; that was the one that took their fancy. They said they'd have that one, please. The boatman was away, and only his boy was in charge. The boy tried to damp their ardour for the outrigger, and showed them two or three very comfortable-looking boats of the family-party build, but those would not do at all; the outrigger was the boat they thought they would look best in.\nSo the boy launched it, and they took off their coats and prepared to take their seats. The boy suggested that George, who, even in those days, was always the heavy man of any party, should be number four. George said he should be happy to be number four, and promptly stepped into bow's place, and sat down with his back to the stern. They got him into his proper position at last, and then the others followed.\nA particularly nervous boy was appointed cox, and the steering principle explained to him by Joskins. Joskins himself took stroke. He told the others that it was simple enough; all they had to do was to follow him.\nThey said they were ready, and the boy on the landing stage took a boat-hook and shoved him off.\nWhat then followed George is unable to describe in detail. He has a confused recollection of having, immediately on starting, received a violent blow in the small of the back from the butt-end of number five's scull, at the same time that his own seat seemed to disappear from under him by magic, and leave him sitting on the boards. He also noticed, as a curious circumstance, that number two was at the same instant lying on his back at the bottom of the boat, with his legs in the air, apparently in a fit.\nThey passed under Kew Bridge, broadside, at the rate of eight miles an hour. Joskins being the only one who was rowing. George, on recovering his seat, tried to help him, but, on dipping his oar into the water, it immediately, to his intense surprise, disappeared under the boat, and nearly took him with it.\nAnd then \"cox\" threw both rudder lines over-board, and burst into tears.\nHow they got back George never knew, but it took them just forty minutes. A dense crowd watched the entertainment from Kew Bridge with much interest, and everybody shouted out to them different directions. Three times they managed to get the boat back through the arch, and three times they were carried under it again, and every time \"cox\" looked up and saw the bridge above him he broke out into renewed sobs.\nGeorge said he little thought that afternoon that he should ever come to really like boating.\nHarris is more accustomed to sea rowing than to river work, and says that, as an exercise, he prefers it. I don't. I remember taking a small boat out at Eastbourne last summer: I used to do a good deal of sea rowing years ago, and I thought I should be all right; but I found I had forgotten the art entirely. When one scull was deep down underneath the water, the other would be flourishing wildly about in the air. To get a grip of the water with both at the same time I had to stand up. The parade was crowded with nobility and gentry, and I had to pull past them in this ridiculous fashion. I landed half-way down the beach, and secured the services of an old boatman to take me back.\nI like to watch an old boatman rowing, especially one who has been hired by the hour. There is something so beautifully calm and restful about his method. It is so free from that fretful haste, that vehement striving, that is every day becoming more and more the bane of nineteenth-century life. He is not for ever straining himself to pass all the other boats. If another boat overtakes him and passes him it does not annoy him; as a matter of fact, they all do overtake him and pass him—all those that are going his way. This would trouble and irritate some people; the sublime equanimity of the hired boatman under the ordeal affords us a beautiful lesson against ambition and uppishness.\nPlain practical rowing of the get-the-boat-along order is not a very difficult art to acquire, but it takes a good deal of practice before a man feels comfortable, when rowing past girls. It is the \"time\" that worries a youngster. \"It's jolly funny,\" he says, as for the twentieth time within five minutes he disentangles his sculls from yours; \"I can get on all right when I'm by myself!\"", "chosen": "56", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n56\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-308-015-01-7e4c6519", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care But for another gives its ease And builds a heaven in hell's despair. . . . . . . . Love seeketh only self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a hell in heaven's despite.\" —W. BLAKE: Songs of Experience.\nFred Vincy wanted to arrive at Stone Court when Mary could not expect him, and when his uncle was not downstairs: in that case she might be sitting alone in the wainscoted parlor. He left his horse in the yard to avoid making a noise on the gravel in front, and entered the parlor without other notice than the noise of the door-handle. Mary was in her usual corner, laughing over Mrs. Piozzi's recollections of Johnson, and looked up with the fun still in her face. It gradually faded as she saw Fred approach her without speaking, and stand before her with his elbow on the mantel-piece, looking ill. She too was silent, only raising her eyes to him inquiringly.\n\"Mary,\" he began, \"I am a good-for-nothing blackguard.\"\n\"I should think one of those epithets would do at a time,\" said Mary, trying to smile, but feeling alarmed.\n\"I know you will never think well of me any more. You will think me a liar. You will think me dishonest. You will think I didn't care for you, or your father and mother. You always do make the worst of me, I know.\"\n\"I cannot deny that I shall think all that of you, Fred, if you give me good reasons. But please to tell me at once what you have done. I would rather know the painful truth than imagine it.\"\n\"I owed money—a hundred and sixty pounds. I asked your father to put his name to a bill. I thought it would not signify to him. I made sure of paying the money myself, and I have tried as hard as I could. And now, I have been so unlucky—a horse has turned out badly—I can only pay fifty pounds. And I can't ask my father for the money: he would not give me a farthing. And my uncle gave me a hundred a little while ago. So what can I do? And now your father has no ready money to spare, and your mother will have to pay away her ninety-two pounds that she has saved, and she says your savings must go too. You see what a—\"\n\"Oh, poor mother, poor father!\" said Mary, her eyes filling with tears, and a little sob rising which she tried to repress. She looked straight before her and took no notice of Fred, all the consequences at home becoming present to her. He too remained silent for some moments, feeling more miserable than ever. \"I wouldn't have hurt you for the world, Mary,\" he said at last. \"You can never forgive me.\"\n\"What does it matter whether I forgive you?\" said Mary, passionately. \"Would that make it any better for my mother to lose the money she has been earning by lessons for four years, that she might send Alfred to Mr. Hanmer's? Should you think all that pleasant enough if I forgave you?\"\n\"Say what you like, Mary. I deserve it all.\"\n\"I don't want to say anything,\" said Mary, more quietly, \"and my anger is of no use.\" She dried her eyes, threw aside her book, rose and fetched her sewing.\nFred followed her with his eyes, hoping that they would meet hers, and in that way find access for his imploring penitence. But no! Mary could easily avoid looking upward.\n\"I do care about your mother's money going,\" he said, when she was seated again and sewing quickly. \"I wanted to ask you, Mary—don't you think that Mr. Featherstone—if you were to tell him—tell him, I mean, about apprenticing Alfred—would advance the money?\"\n\"My family is not fond of begging, Fred. We would rather work for our money. Besides, you say that Mr. Featherstone has lately given you a hundred pounds. He rarely makes presents; he has never made presents to us. I am sure my father will not ask him for anything; and even if I chose to beg of him, it would be of no use.\"\n\"I am so miserable, Mary—if you knew how miserable I am, you would be sorry for me.\"\n\"There are other things to be more sorry for than that. But selfish people always think their own discomfort of more importance than anything else in the world. I see enough of that every day.\"\n\"It is hardly fair to call me selfish. If you knew what things other young men do, you would think me a good way off the worst.\"\n\"I know that people who spend a great deal of money on themselves without knowing how they shall pay, must be selfish. They are always thinking of what they can get for themselves, and not of what other people may lose.\"\n\"Any man may be unfortunate, Mary, and find himself unable to pay when he meant it. There is not a better man in the world than your father, and yet he got into trouble.\"\n\"How dare you make any comparison between my father and you, Fred?\" said Mary, in a deep tone of indignation. \"He never got into trouble by thinking of his own idle pleasures, but because he was always thinking of the work he was doing for other people. And he has fared hard, and worked hard to make good everybody's loss.\"\n\"And you think that I shall never try to make good anything, Mary. It is not generous to believe the worst of a man. When you have got any power over him, I think you might try and use it to make him better; but that is what you never do. However, I'm going,\" Fred ended, languidly. \"I shall never speak to you about anything again. I'm very sorry for all the trouble I've caused—that's all.\"\nMary had dropped her work out of her hand and looked up. There is often something maternal even in a girlish love, and Mary's hard experience had wrought her nature to an impressibility very different from that hard slight thing which we call girlishness. At Fred's last words she felt an instantaneous pang, something like what a mother feels at the imagined sobs or cries of her naughty truant child, which may lose itself and get harm. And when, looking up, her eyes met his dull despairing glance, her pity for him surmounted her anger and all her other anxieties.\n\"Oh, Fred, how ill you look! Sit down a moment. Don't go yet. Let me tell uncle that you are here. He has been wondering that he has not seen you for a whole week.\" Mary spoke hurriedly, saying the words that came first without knowing very well what they were, but saying them in a half-soothing half-beseeching tone, and rising as if to go away to Mr. Featherstone. Of course Fred felt as if the clouds had parted and a gleam had come: he moved and stood in her way.\n\"Say one word, Mary, and I will do anything. Say you will not think the worst of me—will not give me up altogether.\"\n\"As if it were any pleasure to me to think ill of you,\" said Mary, in a mournful tone. \"As if it were not very painful to me to see you an idle frivolous creature. How can you bear to be so contemptible, when others are working and striving, and there are so many things to be done—how can you bear to be fit for nothing in the world that is useful? And with so much good in your disposition, Fred,—you might be worth a great deal.\"\n\"I will try to be anything you like, Mary, if you will say that you love me.\"", "chosen": "I am sure my father will not ask him for anything; and even if I chose to beg of him, it would be of no use.\"\n\"I am so miserable, Mary—if you knew how miserable I am, you would be sorry for me.\"\n\"There are other things to be more sorry for than that.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nI am sure my father will not ask him for anything; and even if I chose to beg of him, it would be of no use.\"\n\"I am so miserable, Mary—if you knew how miserable I am, you would be sorry for me.\"\n\"There are other things to be more sorry for than that.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-026-00-df70013c", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nAlyosha was well aware that the story of the terrible case had spread all over Russia. And, good heavens! what wild rumors about his brother, about the Karamazovs, and about himself he had read in the course of those two months, among other equally credible items! One paper had even stated that he had gone into a monastery and become a monk, in horror at his brother's crime. Another contradicted this, and stated that he and his elder, Father Zossima, had broken into the monastery chest and \"made tracks from the monastery.\" The present paragraph in the paper Gossip was under the heading, \"The Karamazov Case at Skotoprigonyevsk.\" (That, alas! was the name of our little town. I had hitherto kept it concealed.) It was brief, and Madame Hohlakov was not directly mentioned in it. No names appeared, in fact. It was merely stated that the criminal, whose approaching trial was making such a sensation—retired army captain, an idle swaggerer, and reactionary bully—was continually involved in amorous intrigues, and particularly popular with certain ladies \"who were pining in solitude.\" One such lady, a pining widow, who tried to seem young though she had a grown-up daughter, was so fascinated by him that only two hours before the crime she offered him three thousand roubles, on condition that he would elope with her to the gold mines. But the criminal, counting on escaping punishment, had preferred to murder his father to get the three thousand rather than go off to Siberia with the middle-aged charms of his pining lady. This playful paragraph finished, of course, with an outburst of generous indignation at the wickedness of parricide and at the lately abolished institution of serfdom. Reading it with curiosity, Alyosha folded up the paper and handed it back to Madame Hohlakov.\n\"Well, that must be me,\" she hurried on again. \"Of course I am meant. Scarcely more than an hour before, I suggested gold mines to him, and here they talk of 'middle-aged charms' as though that were my motive! He writes that out of spite! God Almighty forgive him for the middle-aged charms, as I forgive him! You know it's— Do you know who it is? It's your friend Rakitin.\"\n\"Perhaps,\" said Alyosha, \"though I've heard nothing about it.\"\n\"It's he, it's he! No 'perhaps' about it. You know I turned him out of the house.... You know all that story, don't you?\"\n\"I know that you asked him not to visit you for the future, but why it was, I haven't heard ... from you, at least.\"\n\"Ah, then you've heard it from him! He abuses me, I suppose, abuses me dreadfully?\"\n\"Yes, he does; but then he abuses every one. But why you've given him up I haven't heard from him either. I meet him very seldom now, indeed. We are not friends.\"\n\"Well, then, I'll tell you all about it. There's no help for it, I'll confess, for there is one point in which I was perhaps to blame. Only a little, little point, so little that perhaps it doesn't count. You see, my dear boy\"—Madame Hohlakov suddenly looked arch and a charming, though enigmatic, smile played about her lips—\"you see, I suspect ... You must forgive me, Alyosha. I am like a mother to you.... No, no; quite the contrary. I speak to you now as though you were my father—mother's quite out of place. Well, it's as though I were confessing to Father Zossima, that's just it. I called you a monk just now. Well, that poor young man, your friend, Rakitin (Mercy on us! I can't be angry with him. I feel cross, but not very), that frivolous young man, would you believe it, seems to have taken it into his head to fall in love with me. I only noticed it later. At first—a month ago—he only began to come oftener to see me, almost every day; though, of course, we were acquainted before. I knew nothing about it ... and suddenly it dawned upon me, and I began to notice things with surprise. You know, two months ago, that modest, charming, excellent young man, Pyotr Ilyitch Perhotin, who's in the service here, began to be a regular visitor at the house. You met him here ever so many times yourself. And he is an excellent, earnest young man, isn't he? He comes once every three days, not every day (though I should be glad to see him every day), and always so well dressed. Altogether, I love young people, Alyosha, talented, modest, like you, and he has almost the mind of a statesman, he talks so charmingly, and I shall certainly, certainly try and get promotion for him. He is a future diplomat. On that awful day he almost saved me from death by coming in the night. And your friend Rakitin comes in such boots, and always stretches them out on the carpet.... He began hinting at his feelings, in fact, and one day, as he was going, he squeezed my hand terribly hard. My foot began to swell directly after he pressed my hand like that. He had met Pyotr Ilyitch here before, and would you believe it, he is always gibing at him, growling at him, for some reason. I simply looked at the way they went on together and laughed inwardly. So I was sitting here alone—no, I was laid up then. Well, I was lying here alone and suddenly Rakitin comes in, and only fancy! brought me some verses of his own composition—a short poem, on my bad foot: that is, he described my foot in a poem. Wait a minute—how did it go?\nA captivating little foot.", "chosen": "foot", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nfoot\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-069-01-4b00ad72", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nMrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months; not from any disinclination to move when the sight of every well known spot ceased to raise the violent emotion which it produced for a while; for when her spirits began to revive, and her mind became capable of some other exertion than that of heightening its affliction by melancholy remembrances, she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her inquiries for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland; for to remove far from that beloved spot was impossible. But she could hear of no situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and ease, and suited the prudence of her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment rejected several houses as too large for their income, which her mother would have approved.\nMrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the solemn promise on the part of his son in their favour, which gave comfort to his last earthly reflections. She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no more than he had doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her daughters' sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was persuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000L would support her in affluence. For their brother's sake, too, for the sake of his own heart, she rejoiced; and she reproached herself for being unjust to his merit before, in believing him incapable of generosity. His attentive behaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her that their welfare was dear to him, and, for a long time, she firmly relied on the liberality of his intentions.\nThe contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance, felt for her daughter-in-law, was very much increased by the farther knowledge of her character, which half a year's residence in her family afforded; and perhaps in spite of every consideration of politeness or maternal affection on the side of the former, the two ladies might have found it impossible to have lived together so long, had not a particular circumstance occurred to give still greater eligibility, according to the opinions of Mrs. Dashwood, to her daughters' continuance at Norland.\nThis circumstance was a growing attachment between her eldest girl and the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentlemanlike and pleasing young man, who was introduced to their acquaintance soon after his sister's establishment at Norland, and who had since spent the greatest part of his time there.\nSome mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son of a man who had died very rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence, for, except a trifling sum, the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his mother. But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either consideration. It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable, that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality. It was contrary to every doctrine of her's that difference of fortune should keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition; and that Elinor's merit should not be acknowledged by every one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible.\nEdward Ferrars was not recommended to their good opinion by any peculiar graces of person or address. He was not handsome, and his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing. He was too diffident to do justice to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome, his behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart. His understanding was good, and his education had given it solid improvement. But he was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition to answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed to see him distinguished as--they hardly knew what. They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in some manner or other. His mother wished to interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to see him connected with some of the great men of the day. Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her ambition to see him driving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches. All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and the quiet of private life. Fortunately he had a younger brother who was more promising.\nEdward had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged much of Mrs. Dashwood's attention; for she was, at that time, in such affliction as rendered her careless of surrounding objects. She saw only that he was quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it. He did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind by ill-timed conversation. She was first called to observe and approve him farther, by a reflection which Elinor chanced one day to make on the difference between him and his sister. It was a contrast which recommended him most forcibly to her mother.\n\"It is enough,\" said she; \"to say that he is unlike Fanny is enough. It implies everything amiable. I love him already.\"\n\"I think you will like him,\" said Elinor, \"when you know more of him.\"\n\"Like him!\" replied her mother with a smile. \"I feel no sentiment of approbation inferior to love.\"\n\"You may esteem him.\"\n\"I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love.\"\nMrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him. Her manners were attaching, and soon banished his reserve. She speedily comprehended all his merits; the persuasion of his regard for Elinor perhaps assisted her penetration; but she really felt assured of his worth: and even that quietness of manner, which militated against all her established ideas of what a young man's address ought to be, was no longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm and his temper affectionate.\nNo sooner did she perceive any symptom of love in his behaviour to Elinor, than she considered their serious attachment as certain, and looked forward to their marriage as rapidly approaching.\n\"In a few months, my dear Marianne,\" said she, \"Elinor will, in all probability be settled for life. We shall miss her; but she will be happy.\"\n\"Oh! Mamma, how shall we do without her?\"\n\"My love, it will be scarcely a separation. We shall live within a few miles of each other, and shall meet every day of our lives. You will gain a brother--a real, affectionate brother. I have the highest opinion in the world of Edward's heart. But you look grave, Marianne; do you disapprove your sister's choice?\"\n\"Perhaps,\" said Marianne, \"I may consider it with some surprise. Edward is very amiable, and I love him tenderly. But yet--he is not the kind of young man; there is something wanting--his figure is not striking; it has none of that grace which I should expect in the man who could seriously attach my sister. His eyes want all that spirit, that fire, which at once announce virtue and intelligence. And besides all this, I am afraid, Mamma, he has no real taste. Music seems scarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor's drawings very much, it is not the admiration of a person who can understand their worth. It is evident, in spite of his frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover, not as a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be united. I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide with my own. He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both. Oh! mama, how spiritless, how tame was Edward's manner in reading to us last night! I felt for my sister most severely. Yet she bore it with so much composure, she seemed scarcely to notice it. I could hardly keep my seat. To hear those beautiful lines which have frequently almost driven me wild, pronounced with such impenetrable calmness, such dreadful indifference!\"\n\"He would certainly have done more justice to simple and elegant prose. I thought so at the time; but you would give him Cowper.\"", "chosen": "Mrs., Dashwood, But, Mrs., Dashwood, She, For, His, The, Dashwood,, This, John, Some, But, Dashwood, It, It, Edward, He, He, His, But, They, His, Mrs., John, But, All, Fortunately, Edward, Dashwood's, She, He, She, It, It, It, I, I, Dashwood, Her, She, No, In, We, Mamma,, We, You, I, But, Edward, But, His, And, Music, It, He, To, I, He, Oh!, mama,, I, Yet, I, To, I", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nMrs., Dashwood, But, Mrs., Dashwood, She, For, His, The, Dashwood,, This, John, Some, But, Dashwood, It, It, Edward, He, He, His, But, They, His, Mrs., John, But, All, Fortunately, Edward, Dashwood's, She, He, She, It, It, It, I, I, Dashwood, Her, She, No, In, We, Mamma,, We, You, I, But, Edward, But, His, And, Music, It, He, To, I, He, Oh!, mama,, I, Yet, I, To, I\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-003-00-f510aabb", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Rosa, even when my dear boy was affianced to you, I loved you madly; even when I thought his happiness in having you for his wife was certain, I loved you madly; even when I strove to make him more ardently devoted to you, I loved you madly; even when he gave me the picture of your lovely face so carelessly traduced by him, which I feigned to hang always in my sight for his sake, but worshipped in torment for years, I loved you madly; in the distasteful work of the day, in the wakeful misery of the night, girded by sordid realities, or wandering through Paradises and Hells of visions into which I rushed, carrying your image in my arms, I loved you madly.\"\nIf anything could make his words more hideous to her than they are in themselves, it would be the contrast between the violence of his look and delivery, and the composure of his assumed attitude.\n\"I endured it all in silence. So long as you were his, or so long as I supposed you to be his, I hid my secret loyally. Did I not?\"\nThis lie, so gross, while the mere words in which it is told are so true, is more than Rosa can endure. She answers with kindling indignation: \"You were as false throughout, sir, as you are now. You were false to him, daily and hourly. You know that you made my life unhappy by your pursuit of me. You know that you made me afraid to open his generous eyes, and that you forced me, for his own trusting, good, good sake, to keep the truth from him, that you were a bad, bad man!\"\nHis preservation of his easy attitude rendering his working features and his convulsive hands absolutely diabolical, he returns, with a fierce extreme of admiration:\n\"How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don't ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting scorn; it will be enough for me.\"\nImpatient tears rise to the eyes of the trembling little beauty, and her face flames; but as she again rises to leave him in indignation, and seek protection within the house, he stretches out his hand towards the porch, as though he invited her to enter it.\n\"I told you, you rare charmer, you sweet witch, that you must stay and hear me, or do more harm than can ever be undone. You asked me what harm. Stay, and I will tell you. Go, and I will do it!\"\nAgain Rosa quails before his threatening face, though innocent of its meaning, and she remains. Her panting breathing comes and goes as if it would choke her; but with a repressive hand upon her bosom, she remains.\n\"I have made my confession that my love is mad. It is so mad, that had the ties between me and my dear lost boy been one silken thread less strong, I might have swept even him from your side, when you favoured him.\"\nA film comes over the eyes she raises for an instant, as though he had turned her faint.\n\"Even him,\" he repeats. \"Yes, even him! Rosa, you see me and you hear me. Judge for yourself whether any other admirer shall love you and live, whose life is in my hand.\"\n\"What do you mean, sir?\"\n\"I mean to show you how mad my love is. It was hawked through the late inquiries by Mr. Crisparkle, that young Landless had confessed to him that he was a rival of my lost boy. That is an inexpiable offence in my eyes. The same Mr. Crisparkle knows under my hand that I have devoted myself to the murderer's discovery and destruction, be he whom he might, and that I determined to discuss the mystery with no one until I should hold the clue in which to entangle the murderer as in a net. I have since worked patiently to wind and wind it round him; and it is slowly winding as I speak.\"\n\"Your belief, if you believe in the criminality of Mr. Landless, is not Mr. Crisparkle's belief, and he is a good man,\" Rosa retorts.\n\"My belief is my own; and I reserve it, worshipped of my soul! Circumstances may accumulate so strongly even against an innocent man, that directed, sharpened, and pointed, they may slay him. One wanting link discovered by perseverance against a guilty man, proves his guilt, however slight its evidence before, and he dies. Young Landless stands in deadly peril either way.\"\n\"If you really suppose,\" Rosa pleads with him, turning paler, \"that I favour Mr. Landless, or that Mr. Landless has ever in any way addressed himself to me, you are wrong.\"\nHe puts that from him with a slighting action of his hand and a curled lip.\n\"I was going to show you how madly I love you. More madly now than ever, for I am willing to renounce the second object that has arisen in my life to divide it with you; and henceforth to have no object in existence but you only. Miss Landless has become your bosom friend. You care for her peace of mind?\"\n\"I love her dearly.\"\n\"You care for her good name?\"\n\"I have said, sir, I love her dearly.\"\n\"I am unconsciously,\" he observes with a smile, as he folds his hands upon the sun-dial and leans his chin upon them, so that his talk would seem from the windows (faces occasionally come and go there) to be of the airiest and playfullest—\"I am unconsciously giving offence by questioning again. I will simply make statements, therefore, and not put questions. You do care for your bosom friend's good name, and you do care for her peace of mind. Then remove the shadow of the gallows from her, dear one!\"\n\"You dare propose to me to—\"\n\"Darling, I dare propose to you. Stop there. If it be bad to idolise you, I am the worst of men; if it be good, I am the best. My love for you is above all other love, and my truth to you is above all other truth. Let me have hope and favour, and I am a forsworn man for your sake.\"\nRosa puts her hands to her temples, and, pushing back her hair, looks wildly and abhorrently at him, as though she were trying to piece together what it is his deep purpose to present to her only in fragments.\n\"Reckon up nothing at this moment, angel, but the sacrifices that I lay at those dear feet, which I could fall down among the vilest ashes and kiss, and put upon my head as a poor savage might. There is my fidelity to my dear boy after death. Tread upon it!\"\nWith an action of his hands, as though he cast down something precious.\n\"There is the inexpiable offence against my adoration of you. Spurn it!\"\nWith a similar action.\n\"There are my labours in the cause of a just vengeance for six toiling months. Crush them!\"\nWith another repetition of the action.\n\"There is my past and my present wasted life. There is the desolation of my heart and my soul. There is my peace; there is my despair. Stamp them into the dust; so that you take me, were it even mortally hating me!\"\nThe frightful vehemence of the man, now reaching its full height, so additionally terrifies her as to break the spell that has held her to the spot. She swiftly moves towards the porch; but in an instant he is at her side, and speaking in her ear.\n\"Rosa, I am self-repressed again. I am walking calmly beside you to the house. I shall wait for some encouragement and hope. I shall not strike too soon. Give me a sign that you attend to me.\"\nShe slightly and constrainedly moves her hand.\n\"Not a word of this to any one, or it will bring down the blow, as certainly as night follows day. Another sign that you attend to me.\"\nShe moves her hand once more.", "chosen": "65", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n65\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-564-019-01-cc49659f", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nAbout half-past ten the cracked bell of the small church began to ring, and presently the people began to gather for the morning sermon. The Sunday-school children distributed themselves about the house and occupied pews with their parents, so as to be under supervision. Aunt Polly came, and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her—Tom being placed next the aisle, in order that he might be as far away from the open window and the seductive outside summer scenes as possible. The crowd filed up the aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who had seen better days; the mayor and his wife—for they had a mayor there, among other unnecessaries; the justice of the peace; the widow Douglas, fair, smart, and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and well-to-do, her hill mansion the only palace in the town, and the most hospitable and much the most lavish in the matter of festivities that St. Petersburg could boast; the bent and venerable Major and Mrs. Ward; lawyer Riverson, the new notable from a distance; next the belle of the village, followed by a troop of lawn-clad and ribbon-decked young heart-breakers; then all the young clerks in town in a body—for they had stood in the vestibule sucking their cane-heads, a circling wall of oiled and simpering admirers, till the last girl had run their gantlet; and last of all came the Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful care of his mother as if she were cut glass. He always brought his mother to church, and was the pride of all the matrons. The boys all hated him, he was so good. And besides, he had been \"thrown up to them\" so much. His white handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket behind, as usual on Sundays—accidentally. Tom had no handkerchief, and he looked upon boys who had as snobs.\nThe congregation being fully assembled, now, the bell rang once more, to warn laggards and stragglers, and then a solemn hush fell upon the church which was only broken by the tittering and whispering of the choir in the gallery. The choir always tittered and whispered all through service. There was once a church choir that was not ill-bred, but I have forgotten where it was, now. It was a great many years ago, and I can scarcely remember anything about it, but I think it was in some foreign country.\nThe minister gave out the hymn, and read it through with a relish, in a peculiar style which was much admired in that part of the country. His voice began on a medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached a certain point, where it bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost word and then plunged down as if from a spring-board:\nShall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow'ry beds of ease,\nWhilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' blood -y seas?\nHe was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church \"sociables\" he was always called upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies would lift up their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps, and \"wall\" their eyes, and shake their heads, as much as to say, \"Words cannot express it; it is too beautiful, TOO beautiful for this mortal earth.\"\nAfter the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into a bulletin-board, and read off \"notices\" of meetings and societies and things till it seemed that the list would stretch out to the crack of doom—a queer custom which is still kept up in America, even in cities, away here in this age of abundant newspapers. Often, the less there is to justify a traditional custom, the harder it is to get rid of it.\nAnd now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went into details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the President; for the officers of the Government; for poor sailors, tossed by stormy seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under the heel of European monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the light and the good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to hear withal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with a supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace and favor, and be as seed sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of good. Amen.\nThere was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat down. The boy whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer, he only endured it—if he even did that much. He was restive all through it; he kept tally of the details of the prayer, unconsciously—for he was not listening, but he knew the ground of old, and the clergyman's regular route over it—and when a little trifle of new matter was interlarded, his ear detected it and his whole nature resented it; he considered additions unfair, and scoundrelly. In the midst of the prayer a fly had lit on the back of the pew in front of him and tortured his spirit by calmly rubbing its hands together, embracing its head with its arms, and polishing it so vigorously that it seemed to almost part company with the body, and the slender thread of a neck was exposed to view; scraping its wings with its hind legs and smoothing them to its body as if they had been coat-tails; going through its whole toilet as tranquilly as if it knew it was perfectly safe. As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's hands itched to grab for it they did not dare—he believed his soul would be instantly destroyed if he did such a thing while the prayer was going on. But with the closing sentence his hand began to curve and steal forward; and the instant the \"Amen\" was out the fly was a prisoner of war. His aunt detected the act and made him let it go.\nThe minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through an argument that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod—and yet it was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and brimstone and thinned the predestined elect down to a company so small as to be hardly worth the saving. Tom counted the pages of the sermon; after church he always knew how many pages there had been, but he seldom knew anything else about the discourse. However, this time he was really interested for a little while. The minister made a grand and moving picture of the assembling together of the world's hosts at the millennium when the lion and the lamb should lie down together and a little child should lead them. But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of the great spectacle were lost upon the boy; he only thought of the conspicuousness of the principal character before the on-looking nations; his face lit with the thought, and he said to himself that he wished he could be that child, if it was a tame lion.", "chosen": "A good, generous prayer it was, and went into details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the President; for the officers of the Government; for poor sailors, tossed by stormy seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under the heel of European monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the light and the good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to hear withal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with a supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace and favor, and be as seed sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of good.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nA good, generous prayer it was, and went into details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the President; for the officers of the Government; for poor sailors, tossed by stormy seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under the heel of European monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the light and the good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to hear withal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with a supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace and favor, and be as seed sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of good.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-74-005-00-cb116616", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nSiberia. On the banks of a broad solitary river stands a town, one of the administrative centres of Russia; in the town there is a fortress, in the fortress there is a prison. In the prison the second-class convict Rodion Raskolnikov has been confined for nine months. Almost a year and a half has passed since his crime.\nThere had been little difficulty about his trial. The criminal adhered exactly, firmly, and clearly to his statement. He did not confuse nor misrepresent the facts, nor soften them in his own interest, nor omit the smallest detail. He explained every incident of the murder, the secret of the pledge (the piece of wood with a strip of metal) which was found in the murdered woman's hand. He described minutely how he had taken her keys, what they were like, as well as the chest and its contents; he explained the mystery of Lizaveta's murder; described how Koch and, after him, the student knocked, and repeated all they had said to one another; how he afterwards had run downstairs and heard Nikolay and Dmitri shouting; how he had hidden in the empty flat and afterwards gone home. He ended by indicating the stone in the yard off the Voznesensky Prospect under which the purse and the trinkets were found. The whole thing, in fact, was perfectly clear. The lawyers and the judges were very much struck, among other things, by the fact that he had hidden the trinkets and the purse under a stone, without making use of them, and that, what was more, he did not now remember what the trinkets were like, or even how many there were. The fact that he had never opened the purse and did not even know how much was in it seemed incredible. There turned out to be in the purse three hundred and seventeen roubles and sixty copecks. From being so long under the stone, some of the most valuable notes lying uppermost had suffered from the damp. They were a long while trying to discover why the accused man should tell a lie about this, when about everything else he had made a truthful and straightforward confession. Finally some of the lawyers more versed in psychology admitted that it was possible he had really not looked into the purse, and so didn't know what was in it when he hid it under the stone. But they immediately drew the deduction that the crime could only have been committed through temporary mental derangement, through homicidal mania, without object or the pursuit of gain. This fell in with the most recent fashionable theory of temporary insanity, so often applied in our days in criminal cases. Moreover Raskolnikov's hypochondriacal condition was proved by many witnesses, by Dr. Zossimov, his former fellow students, his landlady and her servant. All this pointed strongly to the conclusion that Raskolnikov was not quite like an ordinary murderer and robber, but that there was another element in the case.\nTo the intense annoyance of those who maintained this opinion, the criminal scarcely attempted to defend himself. To the decisive question as to what motive impelled him to the murder and the robbery, he answered very clearly with the coarsest frankness that the cause was his miserable position, his poverty and helplessness, and his desire to provide for his first steps in life by the help of the three thousand roubles he had reckoned on finding. He had been led to the murder through his shallow and cowardly nature, exasperated moreover by privation and failure. To the question what led him to confess, he answered that it was his heartfelt repentance. All this was almost coarse....\nThe sentence however was more merciful than could have been expected, perhaps partly because the criminal had not tried to justify himself, but had rather shown a desire to exaggerate his guilt. All the strange and peculiar circumstances of the crime were taken into consideration. There could be no doubt of the abnormal and poverty-stricken condition of the criminal at the time. The fact that he had made no use of what he had stolen was put down partly to the effect of remorse, partly to his abnormal mental condition at the time of the crime. Incidentally the murder of Lizaveta served indeed to confirm the last hypothesis: a man commits two murders and forgets that the door is open! Finally, the confession, at the very moment when the case was hopelessly muddled by the false evidence given by Nikolay through melancholy and fanaticism, and when, moreover, there were no proofs against the real criminal, no suspicions even (Porfiry Petrovitch fully kept his word)--all this did much to soften the sentence. Other circumstances, too, in the prisoner's favour came out quite unexpectedly. Razumihin somehow discovered and proved that while Raskolnikov was at the university he had helped a poor consumptive fellow student and had spent his last penny on supporting him for six months, and when this student died, leaving a decrepit old father whom he had maintained almost from his thirteenth year, Raskolnikov had got the old man into a hospital and paid for his funeral when he died. Raskolnikov's landlady bore witness, too, that when they had lived in another house at Five Corners, Raskolnikov had rescued two little children from a house on fire and was burnt in doing so. This was investigated and fairly well confirmed by many witnesses. These facts made an impression in his favour.\nAnd in the end the criminal was, in consideration of extenuating circumstances, condemned to penal servitude in the second class for a term of eight years only.\nAt the very beginning of the trial Raskolnikov's mother fell ill. Dounia and Razumihin found it possible to get her out of Petersburg during the trial. Razumihin chose a town on the railway not far from Petersburg, so as to be able to follow every step of the trial and at the same time to see Avdotya Romanovna as often as possible. Pulcheria Alexandrovna's illness was a strange nervous one and was accompanied by a partial derangement of her intellect.\nWhen Dounia returned from her last interview with her brother, she had found her mother already ill, in feverish delirium. That evening Razumihin and she agreed what answers they must make to her mother's questions about Raskolnikov and made up a complete story for her mother's benefit of his having to go away to a distant part of Russia on a business commission, which would bring him in the end money and reputation.\nBut they were struck by the fact that Pulcheria Alexandrovna never asked them anything on the subject, neither then nor thereafter. On the contrary, she had her own version of her son's sudden departure; she told them with tears how he had come to say good-bye to her, hinting that she alone knew many mysterious and important facts, and that Rodya had many very powerful enemies, so that it was necessary for him to be in hiding. As for his future career, she had no doubt that it would be brilliant when certain sinister influences could be removed. She assured Razumihin that her son would be one day a great statesman, that his article and brilliant literary talent proved it. This article she was continually reading, she even read it aloud, almost took it to bed with her, but scarcely asked where Rodya was, though the subject was obviously avoided by the others, which might have been enough to awaken her suspicions.\nThey began to be frightened at last at Pulcheria Alexandrovna's strange silence on certain subjects. She did not, for instance, complain of getting no letters from him, though in previous years she had only lived on the hope of letters from her beloved Rodya. This was the cause of great uneasiness to Dounia; the idea occurred to her that her mother suspected that there was something terrible in her son's fate and was afraid to ask, for fear of hearing something still more awful. In any case, Dounia saw clearly that her mother was not in full possession of her faculties.", "chosen": "faculties", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nfaculties\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2554-010-00-ea41ca16", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"I mean: how shall I explain? I--it's always so. Each time you happen to me all over again.\"\n\"Oh, yes: I know! I know!\"\n\"Does it--do I too: to you?\" he insisted.\nShe nodded, looking out of the window.\n\"Ellen--Ellen--Ellen!\"\nShe made no answer, and he sat in silence, watching her profile grow indistinct against the snow-streaked dusk beyond the window. What had she been doing in all those four long months, he wondered? How little they knew of each other, after all! The precious moments were slipping away, but he had forgotten everything that he had meant to say to her and could only helplessly brood on the mystery of their remoteness and their proximity, which seemed to be symbolised by the fact of their sitting so close to each other, and yet being unable to see each other's faces.\n\"What a pretty carriage! Is it May's?\" she asked, suddenly turning her face from the window.\n\"It was May who sent you to fetch me, then? How kind of her!\"\nHe made no answer for a moment; then he said explosively: \"Your husband's secretary came to see me the day after we met in Boston.\"\nIn his brief letter to her he had made no allusion to M. Rivière's visit, and his intention had been to bury the incident in his bosom. But her reminder that they were in his wife's carriage provoked him to an impulse of retaliation. He would see if she liked his reference to Rivière any better than he liked hers to May! As on certain other occasions when he had expected to shake her out of her usual composure, she betrayed no sign of surprise: and at once he concluded: \"He writes to her, then.\"\n\"M. Rivière went to see you?\"\n\"Yes: didn't you know?\"\n\"No,\" she answered simply.\n\"And you're not surprised?\"\nShe hesitated. \"Why should I be? He told me in Boston that he knew you; that he'd met you in England I think.\"\n\"Ellen--I must ask you one thing.\"\n\"I wanted to ask it after I saw him, but I couldn't put it in a letter. It was Rivière who helped you to get away--when you left your husband?\"\nHis heart was beating suffocatingly. Would she meet this question with the same composure?\n\"Yes: I owe him a great debt,\" she answered, without the least tremor in her quiet voice.\nHer tone was so natural, so almost indifferent, that Archer's turmoil subsided. Once more she had managed, by her sheer simplicity, to make him feel stupidly conventional just when he thought he was flinging convention to the winds.\n\"I think you're the most honest woman I ever met!\" he exclaimed.\n\"Oh, no--but probably one of the least fussy,\" she answered, a smile in her voice.\n\"Call it what you like: you look at things as they are.\"\n\"Ah--I've had to. I've had to look at the Gorgon.\"\n\"Well--it hasn't blinded you! You've seen that she's just an old bogey like all the others.\"\n\"She doesn't blind one; but she dries up one's tears.\"\nThe answer checked the pleading on Archer's lips: it seemed to come from depths of experience beyond his reach. The slow advance of the ferry-boat had ceased, and her bows bumped against the piles of the slip with a violence that made the brougham stagger, and flung Archer and Madame Olenska against each other. The young man, trembling, felt the pressure of her shoulder, and passed his arm about her.\n\"If you're not blind, then, you must see that this can't last.\"\n\"What can't?\"\n\"Our being together--and not together.\"\n\"No. You ought not to have come today,\" she said in an altered voice; and suddenly she turned, flung her arms about him and pressed her lips to his. At the same moment the carriage began to move, and a gas-lamp at the head of the slip flashed its light into the window. She drew away, and they sat silent and motionless while the brougham struggled through the congestion of carriages about the ferry-landing. As they gained the street Archer began to speak hurriedly.\n\"Don't be afraid of me: you needn't squeeze yourself back into your corner like that. A stolen kiss isn't what I want. Look: I'm not even trying to touch the sleeve of your jacket. Don't suppose that I don't understand your reasons for not wanting to let this feeling between us dwindle into an ordinary hole-and-corner love-affair. I couldn't have spoken like this yesterday, because when we've been apart, and I'm looking forward to seeing you, every thought is burnt up in a great flame. But then you come; and you're so much more than I remembered, and what I want of you is so much more than an hour or two every now and then, with wastes of thirsty waiting between, that I can sit perfectly still beside you, like this, with that other vision in my mind, just quietly trusting to it to come true.\"\nFor a moment she made no reply; then she asked, hardly above a whisper: \"What do you mean by trusting to it to come true?\"\n\"Why--you know it will, don't you?\"\n\"Your vision of you and me together?\" She burst into a sudden hard laugh. \"You choose your place well to put it to me!\"\n\"Do you mean because we're in my wife's brougham? Shall we get out and walk, then? I don't suppose you mind a little snow?\"\nShe laughed again, more gently. \"No; I shan't get out and walk, because my business is to get to Granny's as quickly as I can. And you'll sit beside me, and we'll look, not at visions, but at realities.\"\n\"I don't know what you mean by realities. The only reality to me is this.\"\nShe met the words with a long silence, during which the carriage rolled down an obscure side-street and then turned into the searching illumination of Fifth Avenue.\n\"Is it your idea, then, that I should live with you as your mistress--since I can't be your wife?\" she asked.\nThe crudeness of the question startled him: the word was one that women of his class fought shy of, even when their talk flitted closest about the topic. He noticed that Madame Olenska pronounced it as if it had a recognised place in her vocabulary, and he wondered if it had been used familiarly in her presence in the horrible life she had fled from. Her question pulled him up with a jerk, and he floundered.\n\"I want--I want somehow to get away with you into a world where words like that--categories like that--won't exist. Where we shall be simply two human beings who love each other, who are the whole of life to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter.\"\nShe drew a deep sigh that ended in another laugh. \"Oh, my dear--where is that country? Have you ever been there?\" she asked; and as he remained sullenly dumb she went on: \"I know so many who've tried to find it; and, believe me, they all got out by mistake at wayside stations: at places like Boulogne, or Pisa, or Monte Carlo--and it wasn't at all different from the old world they'd left, but only rather smaller and dingier and more promiscuous.\"\nHe had never heard her speak in such a tone, and he remembered the phrase she had used a little while before.\n\"Yes, the Gorgon has dried your tears,\" he said.\n\"Well, she opened my eyes too; it's a delusion to say that she blinds people. What she does is just the contrary--she fastens their eyelids open, so that they're never again in the blessed darkness. Isn't there a Chinese torture like that? There ought to be. Ah, believe me, it's a miserable little country!\"\nThe carriage had crossed Forty-second Street: May's sturdy brougham-horse was carrying them northward as if he had been a Kentucky trotter. Archer choked with the sense of wasted minutes and vain words.\n\"Then what, exactly, is your plan for us?\" he asked.", "chosen": "[\"Does\", \"Ellen\", \"May\", \"Your\", \"Boston\", \"Rivi\", \"England\", \"Archer\", \"Call\", \"Gorgon\", \"Madame\", \"Olenska\", \"Our\", \"Don\", \"Granny\", \"Fifth\", \"Avenue\", \"Boulogne\", \"Pisa\", \"Monte\", \"Carlo\", \"Chinese\", \"Forty\", \"Street\", \"Kentucky\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Does\", \"Ellen\", \"May\", \"Your\", \"Boston\", \"Rivi\", \"England\", \"Archer\", \"Call\", \"Gorgon\", \"Madame\", \"Olenska\", \"Our\", \"Don\", \"Granny\", \"Fifth\", \"Avenue\", \"Boulogne\", \"Pisa\", \"Monte\", \"Carlo\", \"Chinese\", \"Forty\", \"Street\", \"Kentucky\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-541-013-02-d7583369", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n'Yes. What a small matter it seems now, after our astronomical stupendousness! and yet on my way to you it so far transcended the ordinary matters of my life as the subject you have led me up to transcends this. But,' with a little laugh, 'I will endeavour to sink down to such ephemeral trivialities as human tragedy, and explain, since I have come. The point is, I want a helper: no woman ever wanted one more. For days I have wanted a trusty friend who could go on a secret errand for me. It is necessary that my messenger should be educated, should be intelligent, should be silent as the grave. Do you give me your solemn promise as to the last point, if I confide in you?'\n'Most emphatically, Lady Constantine.'\n'Your right hand upon the compact.'\nHe gave his hand, and raised hers to his lips. In addition to his respect for her as the lady of the manor, there was the admiration of twenty years for twenty-eight or nine in such relations.\n'I trust you,' she said. 'Now, beyond the above conditions, it was specially necessary that my agent should have known Sir Blount Constantine well by sight when he was at home. For the errand is concerning my husband; I am much disturbed at what I have heard about him.'\n'I am indeed sorry to know it.'\n'There are only two people in the parish who fulfil all the conditions,--Mr. Torkingham, and yourself. I sent for Mr. Torkingham, and he came. I could not tell him. I felt at the last moment that he wouldn't do. I have come to you because I think you will do. This is it: my husband has led me and all the world to believe that he is in Africa, hunting lions. I have had a mysterious letter informing me that he has been seen in London, in very peculiar circumstances. The truth of this I want ascertained. Will you go on the journey?'\n'Personally, I would go to the end of the world for you, Lady Constantine; but--'\n'No buts!'\n'How can I leave?'\n'Why not?'\n'I am preparing a work on variable stars. There is one of these which I have exceptionally observed for several months, and on this my great theory is mainly based. It has been hitherto called irregular; but I have detected a periodicity in its so-called irregularities which, if proved, would add some very valuable facts to those known on this subject, one of the most interesting, perplexing, and suggestive in the whole field of astronomy. Now, to clinch my theory, there should be a sudden variation this week,--or at latest next week,--and I have to watch every night not to let it pass. You see my reason for declining, Lady Constantine.'\n'Young men are always so selfish!' she said.\n'It might ruin the whole of my year's labour if I leave now!' returned the youth, greatly hurt. 'Could you not wait a fortnight longer?'\n'No,--no. Don't think that I have asked you, pray. I have no wish to inconvenience you.'\n'Lady Constantine, don't be angry with me! Will you do this,--watch the star for me while I am gone? If you are prepared to do it effectually, I will go.'\n'Will it be much trouble?'\n'It will be some trouble. You would have to come here every clear evening about nine. If the sky were not clear, then you would have to come at four in the morning, should the clouds have dispersed.'\n'Could not the telescope be brought to my house?'\nSwithin shook his head.\n'Perhaps you did not observe its real size,--that it was fixed to a framework? I could not afford to buy an equatorial, and I have been obliged to rig up an apparatus of my own devising, so as to make it in some measure answer the purpose of an equatorial. It could be moved, but I would rather not touch it.'\n'Well, I'll go to the telescope,' she went on, with an emphasis that was not wholly playful. 'You are the most ungallant youth I ever met with; but I suppose I must set that down to science. Yes, I'll go to the tower at nine every night.'\n'And alone? I should prefer to keep my pursuits there unknown.'\n'And alone,' she answered, quite overborne by his inflexibility.\n'You will not miss the morning observation, if it should be necessary?'\n'I have given my word.'\n'And I give mine. I suppose I ought not to have been so exacting!' He spoke with that sudden emotional sense of his own insignificance which made these alternations of mood possible. 'I will go anywhere--do anything for you--this moment--to-morrow or at any time. But you must return with me to the tower, and let me show you the observing process.'\nThey retraced their steps, the tender hoar-frost taking the imprint of their feet, while two stars in the Twins looked down upon their two persons through the trees, as if those two persons could bear some sort of comparison with them. On the tower the instructions were given. When all was over, and he was again conducting her to the Great House she said--\n'When can you start?'\n'Now,' said Swithin.\n'So much the better. You shall go up by the night mail.'", "chosen": "Yes., What, and, But,', The, For, It, Do, In, I, Now,, For, Torkingham,, I, Torkingham,, I, I, I, This, I, The, Will, There, It, Now,, You, It, Could, Don't, I, Will, If, You, If, Perhaps, I, It, You, Yes,, I, You, I, I, But, On, When, So, You", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nYes., What, and, But,', The, For, It, Do, In, I, Now,, For, Torkingham,, I, Torkingham,, I, I, I, This, I, The, Will, There, It, Now,, You, It, Could, Don't, I, Will, If, You, If, Perhaps, I, It, You, Yes,, I, You, I, I, But, On, When, So, You\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-3146-004-02-98e504e5", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Yea, happy shall he be that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.\"\nSixteen hours had passed. Knight was entering the ladies' boudoir at The Crags, upon his return from attending the inquest touching the death of Mrs. Jethway. Elfride was not in the apartment.\nMrs. Swancourt made a few inquiries concerning the verdict and collateral circumstances. Then she said—\n\"The postman came this morning the minute after you left the house. There was only one letter for you, and I have it here.\"\nShe took a letter from the lid of her workbox, and handed it to him. Knight took the missive abstractedly, but struck by its appearance murmured a few words and left the room.\nThe letter was fastened with a black seal, and the handwriting in which it was addressed had lain under his eyes, long and prominently, only the evening before.\nKnight was greatly agitated, and looked about for a spot where he might be secure from interruption. It was the season of heavy dews, which lay on the herbage in shady places all the day long; nevertheless, he entered a small patch of neglected grass-plat enclosed by the shrubbery, and there perused the letter, which he had opened on his way thither.\nThe handwriting, the seal, the paper, the introductory words, all had told on the instant that the letter had come to him from the hands of the widow Jethway, now dead and cold. He had instantly understood that the unfinished notes which caught his eye yesternight were intended for nobody but himself. He had remembered some of the words of Elfride in her sleep on the steamer, that somebody was not to tell him of something, or it would be her ruin—a circumstance hitherto deemed so trivial and meaningless that he had well-nigh forgotten it. All these things infused into him an emotion intense in power and supremely distressing in quality. The paper in his hand quivered as he read:\n\"THE VALLEY, ENDELSTOW.\n\"SIR,—A woman who has not much in the world to lose by any censure this act may bring upon her, wishes to give you some hints concerning a lady you love. If you will deign to accept a warning before it is too late, you will notice what your correspondent has to say.\n\"You are deceived. Can such a woman as this be worthy?\n\"One who encouraged an honest youth to love her, then slighted him, so that he died.\n\"One who next took a man of no birth as a lover, who was forbidden the house by her father.\n\"One who secretly left her home to be married to that man, met him, and went with him to London.\n\"One who, for some reason or other, returned again unmarried.\n\"One who, in her after-correspondence with him, went so far as to address him as her husband.\n\"One who wrote the enclosed letter to ask me, who better than anybody else knows the story, to keep the scandal a secret.\n\"I hope soon to be beyond the reach of either blame or praise. But before removing me God has put it in my power to avenge the death of my son.\n\"GERTRUDE JETHWAY.\"\nThe letter enclosed was the note in pencil that Elfride had written in Mrs. Jethway's cottage:\n\"DEAR MRS. JETHWAY,—I have been to visit you. I wanted much to see you, but I cannot wait any longer. I came to beg you not to execute the threats you have repeated to me. Do not, I beseech you, Mrs. Jethway, let any one know I ran away from home! It would ruin me with him, and break my heart. I will do anything for you, if you will be kind to me. In the name of our common womanhood, do not, I implore you, make a scandal of me.—Yours,\n\"E. SWANCOURT.\nKnight turned his head wearily towards the house. The ground rose rapidly on nearing the shrubbery in which he stood, raising it almost to a level with the first floor of The Crags. Elfride's dressing-room lay in the salient angle in this direction, and it was lighted by two windows in such a position that, from Knight's standing-place, his sight passed through both windows, and raked the room. Elfride was there; she was pausing between the two windows, looking at her figure in the cheval-glass. She regarded herself long and attentively in front; turned, flung back her head, and observed the reflection over her shoulder.\nNobody can predicate as to her object or fancy; she may have done the deed in the very abstraction of deep sadness. She may have been moaning from the bottom of her heart, \"How unhappy am I!\" But the impression produced on Knight was not a good one. He dropped his eyes moodily. The dead woman's letter had a virtue in the accident of its juncture far beyond any it intrinsically exhibited. Circumstance lent to evil words a ring of pitiless justice echoing from the grave. Knight could not endure their possession. He tore the letter into fragments.\nHe heard a brushing among the bushes behind, and turning his head he saw Elfride following him. The fair girl looked in his face with a wistful smile of hope, too forcedly hopeful to displace the firmly established dread beneath it. His severe words of the previous night still sat heavy upon her.\n\"I saw you from my window, Harry,\" she said timidly.\n\"The dew will make your feet wet,\" he observed, as one deaf.\n\"I don't mind it.\"\n\"There is danger in getting wet feet.\"\n\"Yes...Harry, what is the matter?\"\n\"Oh, nothing. Shall I resume the serious conversation I had with you last night? No, perhaps not; perhaps I had better not.\"\n\"Oh, I cannot tell! How wretched it all is! Ah, I wish you were your own dear self again, and had kissed me when I came up! Why didn't you ask me for one? why don't you now?\"\n\"Too free in manner by half,\" he heard murmur the voice within him.\n\"It was that hateful conversation last night,\" she went on. \"Oh, those words! Last night was a black night for me.\"\n\"Kiss!—I hate that word! Don't talk of kissing, for God's sake! I should think you might with advantage have shown tact enough to keep back that word 'kiss,' considering those you have accepted.\"\nShe became very pale, and a rigid and desolate charactery took possession of her face. That face was so delicate and tender in appearance now, that one could fancy the pressure of a finger upon it would cause a livid spot.\nKnight walked on, and Elfride with him, silent and unopposing. He opened a gate, and they entered a path across a stubble-field.\n\"Perhaps I intrude upon you?\" she said as he closed the gate. \"Shall I go away?\"\n\"No. Listen to me, Elfride.\" Knight's voice was low and unequal. \"I have been honest with you: will you be so with me? If any—strange—connection has existed between yourself and a predecessor of mine, tell it now. It is better that I know it now, even though the knowledge should part us, than that I should discover it in time to come. And suspicions have been awakened in me. I think I will not say how, because I despise the means. A discovery of any mystery of your past would embitter our lives.\"\nKnight waited with a slow manner of calmness. His eyes were sad and imperative. They went farther along the path.\n\"Will you forgive me if I tell you all?\" she exclaimed entreatingly.\n\"I can't promise; so much depends upon what you have to tell.\"\nElfride could not endure the silence which followed.\n\"Are you not going to love me?\" she burst out. \"Harry, Harry, love me, and speak as usual! Do; I beseech you, Harry!\"\n\"Are you going to act fairly by me?\" said Knight, with rising anger; \"or are you not? What have I done to you that I should be put off like this? Be caught like a bird in a springe; everything intended to be hidden from me! Why is it, Elfride? That's what I ask you.\"\nIn their agitation they had left the path, and were wandering among the wet and obstructive stubble, without knowing or heeding it.\n\"What have I done?\" she faltered.", "chosen": "93", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n93\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-224-033-00-cc800143", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"You stated just now in your evidence that you spent three hundred roubles at Plotnikovs'. You gave Perhotin ten, your driver twenty, here you lost two hundred, then....\"\nNikolay Parfenovitch reckoned it all up. Mitya helped him readily. They recollected every farthing and included it in the reckoning. Nikolay Parfenovitch hurriedly added up the total.\n\"With this eight hundred you must have had about fifteen hundred at first?\"\n\"I suppose so,\" snapped Mitya.\n\"How is it they all assert there was much more?\"\n\"Let them assert it.\"\n\"But you asserted it yourself.\"\n\"Yes, I did, too.\"\n\"We will compare all this with the evidence of other persons not yet examined. Don't be anxious about your money. It will be properly taken care of and be at your disposal at the conclusion of ... what is beginning ... if it appears, or, so to speak, is proved that you have undisputed right to it. Well, and now....\"\nNikolay Parfenovitch suddenly got up, and informed Mitya firmly that it was his duty and obligation to conduct a minute and thorough search \"of your clothes and everything else....\"\n\"By all means, gentlemen. I'll turn out all my pockets, if you like.\"\nAnd he did, in fact, begin turning out his pockets.\n\"It will be necessary to take off your clothes, too.\"\n\"What! Undress? Ugh! Damn it! Won't you search me as I am! Can't you?\"\n\"It's utterly impossible, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. You must take off your clothes.\"\n\"As you like,\" Mitya submitted gloomily; \"only, please, not here, but behind the curtains. Who will search them?\"\n\"Behind the curtains, of course.\"\nNikolay Parfenovitch bent his head in assent. His small face wore an expression of peculiar solemnity.", "chosen": "\"How is it they all assert there was much more?\"\n\"Let them assert it.\"\n\"But you asserted it yourself.\"\n\"Yes, I did, too.\"\n\"We will compare all this with the evidence of other persons not yet examined.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n\"How is it they all assert there was much more?\"\n\"Let them assert it.\"\n\"But you asserted it yourself.\"\n\"Yes, I did, too.\"\n\"We will compare all this with the evidence of other persons not yet examined.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-056-03-7dff0aea", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nEre quitting, for the nonce, the Sperm Whale's head, I would have you, as a sensible physiologist, simply—particularly remark its front aspect, in all its compacted collectedness. I would have you investigate it now with the sole view of forming to yourself some unexaggerated, intelligent estimate of whatever battering-ram power may be lodged there. Here is a vital point; for you must either satisfactorily settle this matter with yourself, or for ever remain an infidel as to one of the most appalling, but not the less true events, perhaps anywhere to be found in all recorded history.\nYou observe that in the ordinary swimming position of the Sperm Whale, the front of his head presents an almost wholly vertical plane to the water; you observe that the lower part of that front slopes considerably backwards, so as to furnish more of a retreat for the long socket which receives the boom-like lower jaw; you observe that the mouth is entirely under the head, much in the same way, indeed, as though your own mouth were entirely under your chin. Moreover you observe that the whale has no external nose; and that what nose he has—his spout hole—is on the top of his head; you observe that his eyes and ears are at the sides of his head, nearly one third of his entire length from the front. Wherefore, you must now have perceived that the front of the Sperm Whale's head is a dead, blind wall, without a single organ or tender prominence of any sort whatsoever. Furthermore, you are now to consider that only in the extreme, lower, backward sloping part of the front of the head, is there the slightest vestige of bone; and not till you get near twenty feet from the forehead do you come to the full cranial development. So that this whole enormous boneless mass is as one wad. Finally, though, as will soon be revealed, its contents partly comprise the most delicate oil; yet, you are now to be apprised of the nature of the substance which so impregnably invests all that apparent effeminacy. In some previous place I have described to you how the blubber wraps the body of the whale, as the rind wraps an orange. Just so with the head; but with this difference: about the head this envelope, though not so thick, is of a boneless toughness, inestimable by any man who has not handled it. The severest pointed harpoon, the sharpest lance darted by the strongest human arm, impotently rebounds from it. It is as though the forehead of the Sperm Whale were paved with horses' hoofs. I do not think that any sensation lurks in it.\nBethink yourself also of another thing. When two large, loaded Indiamen chance to crowd and crush towards each other in the docks, what do the sailors do? They do not suspend between them, at the point of coming contact, any merely hard substance, like iron or wood. No, they hold there a large, round wad of tow and cork, enveloped in the thickest and toughest of ox-hide. That bravely and uninjured takes the jam which would have snapped all their oaken handspikes and iron crow-bars. By itself this sufficiently illustrates the obvious fact I drive at. But supplementary to this, it has hypothetically occurred to me, that as ordinary fish possess what is called a swimming bladder in them, capable, at will, of distension or contraction; and as the Sperm Whale, as far as I know, has no such provision in him; considering, too, the otherwise inexplicable manner in which he now depresses his head altogether beneath the surface, and anon swims with it high elevated out of the water; considering the unobstructed elasticity of its envelope; considering the unique interior of his head; it has hypothetically occurred to me, I say, that those mystical lung-celled honeycombs there may possibly have some hitherto unknown and unsuspected connexion with the outer air, so as to be susceptible to atmospheric distension and contraction. If this be so, fancy the irresistibleness of that might, to which the most impalpable and destructive of all elements contributes.\nNow, mark. Unerringly impelling this dead, impregnable, uninjurable wall, and this most buoyant thing within; there swims behind it all a mass of tremendous life, only to be adequately estimated as piled wood is—by the cord; and all obedient to one volition, as the smallest insect. So that when I shall hereafter detail to you all the specialities and concentrations of potency everywhere lurking in this expansive monster; when I shall show you some of his more inconsiderable braining feats; I trust you will have renounced all ignorant incredulity, and be ready to abide by this; that though the Sperm Whale stove a passage through the Isthmus of Darien, and mixed the Atlantic with the Pacific, you would not elevate one hair of your eye-brow. For unless you own the whale, you are but a provincial and sentimentalist in Truth. But clear Truth is a thing for salamander giants only to encounter; how small the chances for the provincials then? What befell the weakling youth lifting the dread goddess's veil at Lais?", "chosen": "Lais", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nLais\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-065-00-94110b6d", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"What? He offered you money for me?\" cried Grushenka, hysterically. \"Is it true, Mitya? How dare you? Am I for sale?\"\n\"Panie, panie!\" yelled Mitya, \"she's pure and shining, and I have never been her lover! That's a lie....\"\n\"How dare you defend me to him?\" shrieked Grushenka. \"It wasn't virtue kept me pure, and it wasn't that I was afraid of Kuzma, but that I might hold up my head when I met him, and tell him he's a scoundrel. And he did actually refuse the money?\"\n\"He took it! He took it!\" cried Mitya; \"only he wanted to get the whole three thousand at once, and I could only give him seven hundred straight off.\"\n\"I see: he heard I had money, and came here to marry me!\"\n\"Pani Agrippina!\" cried the little Pole. \"I'm—a knight, I'm—a nobleman, and not a lajdak. I came here to make you my wife and I find you a different woman, perverse and shameless.\"\n\"Oh, go back where you came from! I'll tell them to turn you out and you'll be turned out,\" cried Grushenka, furious. \"I've been a fool, a fool, to have been miserable these five years! And it wasn't for his sake, it was my anger made me miserable. And this isn't he at all! Was he like this? It might be his father! Where did you get your wig from? He was a falcon, but this is a gander. He used to laugh and sing to me.... And I've been crying for five years, damned fool, abject, shameless I was!\"\nShe sank back in her low chair and hid her face in her hands. At that instant the chorus of Mokroe began singing in the room on the left—a rollicking dance song.\n\"A regular Sodom!\" Vrublevsky roared suddenly. \"Landlord, send the shameless hussies away!\"\nThe landlord, who had been for some time past inquisitively peeping in at the door, hearing shouts and guessing that his guests were quarreling, at once entered the room.\n\"What are you shouting for? D'you want to split your throat?\" he said, addressing Vrublevsky, with surprising rudeness.\n\"Animal!\" bellowed Pan Vrublevsky.\n\"Animal? And what sort of cards were you playing with just now? I gave you a pack and you hid it. You played with marked cards! I could send you to Siberia for playing with false cards, d'you know that, for it's just the same as false banknotes....\"\nAnd going up to the sofa he thrust his fingers between the sofa back and the cushion, and pulled out an unopened pack of cards.\n\"Here's my pack unopened!\"\nHe held it up and showed it to all in the room. \"From where I stood I saw him slip my pack away, and put his in place of it—you're a cheat and not a gentleman!\"\n\"And I twice saw the pan change a card!\" cried Kalganov.\n\"How shameful! How shameful!\" exclaimed Grushenka, clasping her hands, and blushing for genuine shame. \"Good Lord, he's come to that!\"\n\"I thought so, too!\" said Mitya. But before he had uttered the words, Vrublevsky, with a confused and infuriated face, shook his fist at Grushenka, shouting:\n\"You low harlot!\"\nMitya flew at him at once, clutched him in both hands, lifted him in the air, and in one instant had carried him into the room on the right, from which they had just come.\n\"I've laid him on the floor, there,\" he announced, returning at once, gasping with excitement. \"He's struggling, the scoundrel! But he won't come back, no fear of that!...\"\nHe closed one half of the folding doors, and holding the other ajar called out to the little Pole:\n\"Most illustrious, will you be pleased to retire as well?\"\n\"My dear Dmitri Fyodorovitch,\" said Trifon Borissovitch, \"make them give you back the money you lost. It's as good as stolen from you.\"\n\"I don't want my fifty roubles back,\" Kalganov declared suddenly.\n\"I don't want my two hundred, either,\" cried Mitya, \"I wouldn't take it for anything! Let him keep it as a consolation.\"\n\"Bravo, Mitya! You're a trump, Mitya!\" cried Grushenka, and there was a note of fierce anger in the exclamation.\nThe little pan, crimson with fury but still mindful of his dignity, was making for the door, but he stopped short and said suddenly, addressing Grushenka:\n\"Pani, if you want to come with me, come. If not, good-by.\"\nAnd swelling with indignation and importance he went to the door. This was a man of character: he had so good an opinion of himself that after all that had passed, he still expected that she would marry him. Mitya slammed the door after him.\n\"Lock it,\" said Kalganov. But the key clicked on the other side, they had locked it from within.\n\"That's capital!\" exclaimed Grushenka relentlessly. \"Serve them right!\"", "chosen": "[\"Grushenka\", \"Mitya\", \"Panie\", \"Kuzma\", \"Pani\", \"Agrippina\", \"Pole\", \"Mokroe\", \"Sodom\", \"Vrublevsky\", \"Landlord\", \"Animal\", \"Pan\", \"Siberia\", \"Here\", \"From\", \"Kalganov\", \"Good\", \"Most\", \"Dmitri\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Trifon\", \"Borissovitch\", \"Bravo\", \"Lock\", \"Serve\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Grushenka\", \"Mitya\", \"Panie\", \"Kuzma\", \"Pani\", \"Agrippina\", \"Pole\", \"Mokroe\", \"Sodom\", \"Vrublevsky\", \"Landlord\", \"Animal\", \"Pan\", \"Siberia\", \"Here\", \"From\", \"Kalganov\", \"Good\", \"Most\", \"Dmitri\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Trifon\", \"Borissovitch\", \"Bravo\", \"Lock\", \"Serve\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-050-04-52bdab98", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nYears ago, when I used to wander of an evening from the fireside to the pleasant land of fairy-tales, I met a doughty knight and true. Many dangers had he overcome, in many lands had been; and all men knew him for a brave and well-tried knight, and one that knew not fear; except, maybe, upon such seasons when even a brave man might feel afraid and yet not be ashamed. Now, as this knight one day was pricking wearily along a toilsome road, his heart misgave him and was sore within him because of the trouble of the way. Rocks, dark and of a monstrous size, hung high above his head, and like enough it seemed unto the knight that they should fall and he lie low beneath them. Chasms there were on either side, and darksome caves wherein fierce robbers lived, and dragons, very terrible, whose jaws dripped blood. And upon the road there hung a darkness as of night. So it came over that good knight that he would no more press forward, but seek another road, less grievously beset with difficulty unto his gentle steed. But when in haste he turned and looked behind, much marveled our brave knight, for lo! of all the way that he had ridden there was naught for eye to see; but at his horse's heels there yawned a mighty gulf, whereof no man might ever spy the bottom, so deep was that same gulf. Then when Sir Ghelent saw that of going back there was none, he prayed to good Saint Cuthbert, and setting spurs into his steed rode forward bravely and most joyously. And naught harmed him.\nThere is no returning on the road of life. The frail bridge of time on which we tread sinks back into eternity at every step we take. The past is gone from us forever. It is gathered in and garnered. It belongs to us no more. No single word can ever be unspoken; no single step retraced. Therefore it beseems us as true knights to prick on bravely, not idly weep because we cannot now recall.\nA new life begins for us with every second. Let us go forward joyously to meet it. We must press on whether we will or no, and we shall walk better with our eyes before us than with them ever cast behind.\nA friend came to me the other day and urged me very eloquently to learn some wonderful system by which you never forgot anything. I don't know why he was so eager on the subject, unless it be that I occasionally borrow an umbrella and have a knack of coming out, in the middle of a game of whist, with a mild \"Lor! I've been thinking all along that clubs were trumps.\" I declined the suggestion, however, in spite of the advantages he so attractively set forth. I have no wish to remember everything. There are many things in most men's lives that had better be forgotten. There is that time, many years ago, when we did not act quite as honorably, quite as uprightly, as we perhaps should have done--that unfortunate deviation from the path of strict probity we once committed, and in which, more unfortunate still, we were found out--that act of folly, of meanness, of wrong. Ah, well! we paid the penalty, suffered the maddening hours of vain remorse, the hot agony of shame, the scorn, perhaps, of those we loved. Let us forget. Oh, Father Time, lift with your kindly hands those bitter memories from off our overburdened hearts, for griefs are ever coming to us with the coming hours, and our little strength is only as the day.\nNot that the past should be buried. The music of life would be mute if the chords of memory were snapped asunder. It is but the poisonous weeds, not the flowers, that we should root out from the garden of Mnemosyne. Do you remember Dickens' \"Haunted Man\"--how he prayed for forgetfulness, and how, when his prayer was answered, he prayed for memory once more? We do not want all the ghosts laid. It is only the haggard, cruel-eyed specters that we flee from. Let the gentle, kindly phantoms haunt us as they will; we are not afraid of them.\nAh me! the world grows very full of ghosts as we grow older. We need not seek in dismal church-yards nor sleep in moated granges to see the shadowy faces and hear the rustling of their garments in the night. Every house, every room, every creaking chair has its own particular ghost. They haunt the empty chambers of our lives, they throng around us like dead leaves whirled in the autumn wind. Some are living, some are dead. We know not. We clasped their hands once, loved them, quarreled with them, laughed with them, told them our thoughts and hopes and aims, as they told us theirs, till it seemed our very hearts had joined in a grip that would defy the puny power of Death. They are gone now; lost to us forever. Their eyes will never look into ours again and their voices we shall never hear. Only their ghosts come to us and talk with us. We see them, dim and shadowy, through our tears. We stretch our yearning hands to them, but they are air.\nGhosts! They are with us night and day. They walk beside us in the busy street under the glare of the sun. They sit by us in the twilight at home. We see their little faces looking from the windows of the old school-house. We meet them in the woods and lanes where we shouted and played as boys. Hark! cannot you hear their low laughter from behind the blackberry-bushes and their distant whoops along the grassy glades? Down here, through the quiet fields and by the wood, where the evening shadows are lurking, winds the path where we used to watch for her at sunset. Look, she is there now, in the dainty white frock we knew so well, with the big bonnet dangling from her little hands and the sunny brown hair all tangled. Five thousand miles away! Dead for all we know! What of that? She is beside us now, and we can look into her laughing eyes and hear her voice. She will vanish at the stile by the wood and we shall be alone; and the shadows will creep out across the fields and the night wind will sweep past moaning. Ghosts! they are always with us and always will be while the sad old world keeps echoing to the sob of long good-bys, while the cruel ships sail away across the great seas, and the cold green earth lies heavy on the hearts of those we loved.\nBut, oh, ghosts, the world would be sadder still without you. Come to us and speak to us, oh you ghosts of our old loves! Ghosts of playmates, and of sweethearts, and old friends, of all you laughing boys and girls, oh, come to us and be with us, for the world is very lonely, and new friends and faces are not like the old, and we cannot love them, nay, nor laugh with them as we have loved and laughed with you. And when we walked together, oh, ghosts of our youth, the world was very gay and bright; but now it has grown old and we are growing weary, and only you can bring the brightness and the freshness back to us.\nMemory is a rare ghost-raiser. Like a haunted house, its walls are ever echoing to unseen feet. Through the broken casements we watch the flitting shadows of the dead, and the saddest shadows of them all are the shadows of our own dead selves.\nOh, those young bright faces, so full of truth and honor, of pure, good thoughts, of noble longings, how reproachfully they look upon us with their deep, clear eyes!\nI fear they have good cause for their sorrow, poor lads. Lies and cunning and disbelief have crept into our hearts since those preshaving days--and we meant to be so great and good.\nIt is well we cannot see into the future. There are few boys of fourteen who would not feel ashamed of themselves at forty.", "chosen": "Years, Many, Now,, Rocks,, Chasms, And, So, But, of, Then, And, There, The, The, It, It, No, Therefore, A, Let, We, A, I, I've, I, There, There, Ah,, we, Let, Oh,, Not, The, It, Do, We, It, Let, Ah, the, We, Every, They, Some, We, We, They, Their, Only, We, We, Ghosts!, They, They, They, We, We, Hark!, cannot, Down, Look,, Five, Dead, What, She, She, Ghosts!, they, But,, Come, Ghosts, And, Memory, Like, Through, Oh,, I, Lies, It, There", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nYears, Many, Now,, Rocks,, Chasms, And, So, But, of, Then, And, There, The, The, It, It, No, Therefore, A, Let, We, A, I, I've, I, There, There, Ah,, we, Let, Oh,, Not, The, It, Do, We, It, Let, Ah, the, We, Every, They, Some, We, We, They, Their, Only, We, We, Ghosts!, They, They, They, We, We, Hark!, cannot, Down, Look,, Five, Dead, What, She, She, Ghosts!, they, But,, Come, Ghosts, And, Memory, Like, Through, Oh,, I, Lies, It, There\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-849-014-01-0c5c4413", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe order of interment could be distinctly traced by observing the appearance of the coffins as they lay piled around. On those which had been standing there but a generation or two the trappings still remained. Those of an earlier period showed bare wood, with a few tattered rags dangling therefrom. Earlier still, the wood lay in fragments on the floor of the niche, and the coffin consisted of naked lead alone; whilst in the case of the very oldest, even the lead was bulging and cracking in pieces, revealing to the curious eye a heap of dust within. The shields upon many were quite loose, and removable by the hand, their lustreless surfaces still indistinctly exhibiting the name and title of the deceased.\nOverhead the groins and concavities of the arches curved in all directions, dropping low towards the walls, where the height was no more than sufficient to enable a person to stand upright.\nThe body of George the fourteenth baron, together with two or three others, all of more recent date than the great bulk of coffins piled there, had, for want of room, been placed at the end of the vault on tressels, and not in niches like the others. These it was necessary to remove, to form behind them the chamber in which they were ultimately to be deposited. Stephen, finding the place and proceedings in keeping with the sombre colours of his mind, waited there still.\n\"Simeon, I suppose you can mind poor Lady Elfride, and how she ran away with the actor?\" said John Smith, after awhile. \"I think it fell upon the time my father was sexton here. Let us see—where is she?\"\n\"Here somewhere,\" returned Simeon, looking round him.\n\"Why, I've got my arms round the very gentlewoman at this moment.\" He lowered the end of the coffin he was holding, wiped his face, and throwing a morsel of rotten wood upon another as an indicator, continued: \"That's her husband there. They was as fair a couple as you should see anywhere round about; and a good-hearted pair likewise. Ay, I can mind it, though I was but a chiel at the time. She fell in love with this young man of hers, and their banns were asked in some church in London; and the old lord her father actually heard 'em asked the three times, and didn't notice her name, being gabbled on wi' a host of others. When she had married she told her father, and 'a fleed into a monstrous rage, and said she shouldn' hae a farthing. Lady Elfride said she didn't think of wishing it; if he'd forgie her 'twas all she asked, and as for a living, she was content to play plays with her husband. This frightened the old lord, and 'a gie'd 'em a house to live in, and a great garden, and a little field or two, and a carriage, and a good few guineas. Well, the poor thing died at her first gossiping, and her husband—who was as tender-hearted a man as ever eat meat, and would have died for her—went wild in his mind, and broke his heart (so 'twas said). Anyhow, they were buried the same day—father and mother—but the baby lived. Ay, my lord's family made much of that man then, and put him here with his wife, and there in the corner the man is now. The Sunday after there was a funeral sermon: the text was, 'Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken;' and when 'twas preaching the men drew their hands across their eyes several times, and every woman cried out loud.\"\n\"And what became of the baby?\" said Stephen, who had frequently heard portions of the story.\n\"She was brought up by her grandmother, and a pretty maid she were. And she must needs run away with the curate—Parson Swancourt that is now. Then her grandmother died, and the title and everything went away to another branch of the family altogether. Parson Swancourt wasted a good deal of his wife's money, and she left him Miss Elfride. That trick of running away seems to be handed down in families, like craziness or gout. And they two women be alike as peas.\"\n\"Which two?\"\n\"Lady Elfride and young Miss that's alive now. The same hair and eyes: but Miss Elfride's mother was darker a good deal.\"\n\"Life's a strangle bubble, ye see,\" said William Worm musingly. \"For if the Lord's anointment had descended upon women instead of men, Miss Elfride would be Lord Luxellian—Lady, I mane. But as it is, the blood is run out, and she's nothing to the Luxellian family by law, whatever she may be by gospel.\"\n\"I used to fancy,\" said Simeon, \"when I seed Miss Elfride hugging the little ladyships, that there was a likeness; but I suppose 'twas only my dream, for years must have altered the old family shape.\"\n\"And now we'll move these two, and home-along,\" interposed John Smith, reviving, as became a master, the spirit of labour, which had showed unmistakable signs of being nearly vanquished by the spirit of chat, \"The flagon of ale we don't want we'll let bide here till to-morrow; none of the poor souls will touch it 'a b'lieve.\"\nSo the evening's work was concluded, and the party drew from the abode of the quiet dead, closing the old iron door, and shooting the lock loudly into the huge copper staple—an incongruous act of imprisonment towards those who had no dreams of escape.", "chosen": "32", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n32\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-224-025-01-dc159727", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"What more is there to tell! I lay there and I thought I heard the master shout. And before that Grigory Vassilyevitch had suddenly got up and came out, and he suddenly gave a scream, and then all was silence and darkness. I lay there waiting, my heart beating; I couldn't bear it. I got up at last, went out. I saw the window open on the left into the garden, and I stepped to the left to listen whether he was sitting there alive, and I heard the master moving about, sighing, so I knew he was alive. 'Ech!' I thought. I went to the window and shouted to the master, 'It's I.' And he shouted to me, 'He's been, he's been; he's run away.' He meant Dmitri Fyodorovitch had been. 'He's killed Grigory!' 'Where?' I whispered. 'There, in the corner,' he pointed. He was whispering, too. 'Wait a bit,' I said. I went to the corner of the garden to look, and there I came upon Grigory Vassilyevitch lying by the wall, covered with blood, senseless. So it's true that Dmitri Fyodorovitch has been here, was the thought that came into my head, and I determined on the spot to make an end of it, as Grigory Vassilyevitch, even if he were alive, would see nothing of it, as he lay there senseless. The only risk was that Marfa Ignatyevna might wake up. I felt that at the moment, but the longing to get it done came over me, till I could scarcely breathe. I went back to the window to the master and said, 'She's here, she's come; Agrafena Alexandrovna has come, wants to be let in.' And he started like a baby. 'Where is she?' he fairly gasped, but couldn't believe it. 'She's standing there,' said I. 'Open.' He looked out of the window at me, half believing and half distrustful, but afraid to open. 'Why, he is afraid of me now,' I thought. And it was funny. I bethought me to knock on the window-frame those taps we'd agreed upon as a signal that Grushenka had come, in his presence, before his eyes. He didn't seem to believe my word, but as soon as he heard the taps, he ran at once to open the door. He opened it. I would have gone in, but he stood in the way to prevent me passing. 'Where is she? Where is she?' He looked at me, all of a tremble. 'Well,' thought I, 'if he's so frightened of me as all that, it's a bad look out!' And my legs went weak with fright that he wouldn't let me in or would call out, or Marfa Ignatyevna would run up, or something else might happen. I don't remember now, but I must have stood pale, facing him. I whispered to him, 'Why, she's there, there, under the window; how is it you don't see her?' I said. 'Bring her then, bring her.' 'She's afraid,' said I; 'she was frightened at the noise, she's hidden in the bushes; go and call to her yourself from the study.' He ran to the window, put the candle in the window. 'Grushenka,' he cried, 'Grushenka, are you here?' Though he cried that, he didn't want to lean out of the window, he didn't want to move away from me, for he was panic-stricken; he was so frightened he didn't dare to turn his back on me. 'Why, here she is,' said I. I went up to the window and leaned right out of it. 'Here she is; she's in the bush, laughing at you, don't you see her?' He suddenly believed it; he was all of a shake—he was awfully crazy about her—and he leaned right out of the window. I snatched up that iron paper-weight from his table; do you remember, weighing about three pounds? I swung it and hit him on the top of the skull with the corner of it. He didn't even cry out. He only sank down suddenly, and I hit him again and a third time. And the third time I knew I'd broken his skull. He suddenly rolled on his back, face upwards, covered with blood. I looked round. There was no blood on me, not a spot. I wiped the paper-weight, put it back, went up to the ikons, took the money out of the envelope, and flung the envelope on the floor and the pink ribbon beside it. I went out into the garden all of a tremble, straight to the apple-tree with a hollow in it—you know that hollow. I'd marked it long before and put a rag and a piece of paper ready in it. I wrapped all the notes in the rag and stuffed it deep down in the hole. And there it stayed for over a fortnight. I took it out later, when I came out of the hospital. I went back to my bed, lay down and thought, 'If Grigory Vassilyevitch has been killed outright it may be a bad job for me, but if he is not killed and recovers, it will be first-rate, for then he'll bear witness that Dmitri Fyodorovitch has been here, and so he must have killed him and taken the money.' Then I began groaning with suspense and impatience, so as to wake Marfa Ignatyevna as soon as possible. At last she got up and she rushed to me, but when she saw Grigory Vassilyevitch was not there, she ran out, and I heard her scream in the garden. And that set it all going and set my mind at rest.\"\nHe stopped. Ivan had listened all the time in dead silence without stirring or taking his eyes off him. As he told his story Smerdyakov glanced at him from time to time, but for the most part kept his eyes averted. When he had finished he was evidently agitated and was breathing hard. The perspiration stood out on his face. But it was impossible to tell whether it was remorse he was feeling, or what.\n\"Stay,\" cried Ivan, pondering. \"What about the door? If he only opened the door to you, how could Grigory have seen it open before? For Grigory saw it before you went.\"\nIt was remarkable that Ivan spoke quite amicably, in a different tone, not angry as before, so if any one had opened the door at that moment and peeped in at them, he would certainly have concluded that they were talking peaceably about some ordinary, though interesting, subject.\n\"As for that door and Grigory Vassilyevitch's having seen it open, that's only his fancy,\" said Smerdyakov, with a wry smile. \"He is not a man, I assure you, but an obstinate mule. He didn't see it, but fancied he had seen it, and there's no shaking him. It's just our luck he took that notion into his head, for they can't fail to convict Dmitri Fyodorovitch after that.\"\n\"Listen ...\" said Ivan, beginning to seem bewildered again and making an effort to grasp something. \"Listen. There are a lot of questions I want to ask you, but I forget them ... I keep forgetting and getting mixed up. Yes. Tell me this at least, why did you open the envelope and leave it there on the floor? Why didn't you simply carry off the envelope?... When you were telling me, I thought you spoke about it as though it were the right thing to do ... but why, I can't understand....\"", "chosen": "I went back to my bed, lay down and thought, 'If Grigory Vassilyevitch has been killed outright it may be a bad job for me, but if he is not killed and recovers, it will be first-rate, for then he'll bear witness that Dmitri Fyodorovitch has been here, and so he must have killed him and taken the money.' Then I began groaning with suspense and impatience, so as to wake Marfa Ignatyevna as soon as possible.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nI went back to my bed, lay down and thought, 'If Grigory Vassilyevitch has been killed outright it may be a bad job for me, but if he is not killed and recovers, it will be first-rate, for then he'll bear witness that Dmitri Fyodorovitch has been here, and so he must have killed him and taken the money.' Then I began groaning with suspense and impatience, so as to wake Marfa Ignatyevna as soon as possible.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-075-03-4e4fe8de", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe Professor had turned into a street to the left, and walked along, with his head carried rigidly erect, in a crowd whose every individual almost overtopped his stunted stature. It was vain to pretend to himself that he was not disappointed. But that was mere feeling; the stoicism of his thought could not be disturbed by this or any other failure. Next time, or the time after next, a telling stroke would be delivered—something really startling—a blow fit to open the first crack in the imposing front of the great edifice of legal conceptions sheltering the atrocious injustice of society. Of humble origin, and with an appearance really so mean as to stand in the way of his considerable natural abilities, his imagination had been fired early by the tales of men rising from the depths of poverty to positions of authority and affluence. The extreme, almost ascetic purity of his thought, combined with an astounding ignorance of worldly conditions, had set before him a goal of power and prestige to be attained without the medium of arts, graces, tact, wealth—by sheer weight of merit alone. On that view he considered himself entitled to undisputed success. His father, a delicate dark enthusiast with a sloping forehead, had been an itinerant and rousing preacher of some obscure but rigid Christian sect—a man supremely confident in the privileges of his righteousness. In the son, individualist by temperament, once the science of colleges had replaced thoroughly the faith of conventicles, this moral attitude translated itself into a frenzied puritanism of ambition. He nursed it as something secularly holy. To see it thwarted opened his eyes to the true nature of the world, whose morality was artificial, corrupt, and blasphemous. The way of even the most justifiable revolutions is prepared by personal impulses disguised into creeds. The Professor's indignation found in itself a final cause that absolved him from the sin of turning to destruction as the agent of his ambition. To destroy public faith in legality was the imperfect formula of his pedantic fanaticism; but the subconscious conviction that the framework of an established social order cannot be effectually shattered except by some form of collective or individual violence was precise and correct. He was a moral agent—that was settled in his mind. By exercising his agency with ruthless defiance he procured for himself the appearances of power and personal prestige. That was undeniable to his vengeful bitterness. It pacified its unrest; and in their own way the most ardent of revolutionaries are perhaps doing no more but seeking for peace in common with the rest of mankind—the peace of soothed vanity, of satisfied appetites, or perhaps of appeased conscience.\nLost in the crowd, miserable and undersized, he meditated confidently on his power, keeping his hand in the left pocket of his trousers, grasping lightly the india-rubber ball, the supreme guarantee of his sinister freedom; but after a while he became disagreeably affected by the sight of the roadway thronged with vehicles and of the pavement crowded with men and women. He was in a long, straight street, peopled by a mere fraction of an immense multitude; but all round him, on and on, even to the limits of the horizon hidden by the enormous piles of bricks, he felt the mass of mankind mighty in its numbers. They swarmed numerous like locusts, industrious like ants, thoughtless like a natural force, pushing on blind and orderly and absorbed, impervious to sentiment, to logic, to terror too perhaps.\nThat was the form of doubt he feared most. Impervious to fear! Often while walking abroad, when he happened also to come out of himself, he had such moments of dreadful and sane mistrust of mankind. What if nothing could move them? Such moments come to all men whose ambition aims at a direct grasp upon humanity—to artists, politicians, thinkers, reformers, or saints. A despicable emotional state this, against which solitude fortifies a superior character; and with severe exultation the Professor thought of the refuge of his room, with its padlocked cupboard, lost in a wilderness of poor houses, the hermitage of the perfect anarchist. In order to reach sooner the point where he could take his omnibus, he turned brusquely out of the populous street into a narrow and dusky alley paved with flagstones. On one side the low brick houses had in their dusty windows the sightless, moribund look of incurable decay—empty shells awaiting demolition. From the other side life had not departed wholly as yet. Facing the only gas-lamp yawned the cavern of a second-hand furniture dealer, where, deep in the gloom of a sort of narrow avenue winding through a bizarre forest of wardrobes, with an undergrowth tangle of table legs, a tall pier-glass glimmered like a pool of water in a wood. An unhappy, homeless couch, accompanied by two unrelated chairs, stood in the open. The only human being making use of the alley besides the Professor, coming stalwart and erect from the opposite direction, checked his swinging pace suddenly.\n\"Hallo!\" he said, and stood a little on one side watchfully.\nThe Professor had already stopped, with a ready half turn which brought his shoulders very near the other wall. His right hand fell lightly on the back of the outcast couch, the left remained purposefully plunged deep in the trousers pocket, and the roundness of the heavy rimmed spectacles imparted an owlish character to his moody, unperturbed face.\nIt was like a meeting in a side corridor of a mansion full of life. The stalwart man was buttoned up in a dark overcoat, and carried an umbrella. His hat, tilted back, uncovered a good deal of forehead, which appeared very white in the dusk. In the dark patches of the orbits the eyeballs glimmered piercingly. Long, drooping moustaches, the colour of ripe corn, framed with their points the square block of his shaved chin.\n\"I am not looking for you,\" he said curtly.\nThe Professor did not stir an inch. The blended noises of the enormous town sank down to an inarticulate low murmur. Chief Inspector Heat of the Special Crimes Department changed his tone.\n\"Not in a hurry to get home?\" he asked, with mocking simplicity.\nThe unwholesome-looking little moral agent of destruction exulted silently in the possession of personal prestige, keeping in check this man armed with the defensive mandate of a menaced society. More fortunate than Caligula, who wished that the Roman Senate had only one head for the better satisfaction of his cruel lust, he beheld in that one man all the forces he had set at defiance: the force of law, property, oppression, and injustice. He beheld all his enemies, and fearlessly confronted them all in a supreme satisfaction of his vanity. They stood perplexed before him as if before a dreadful portent. He gloated inwardly over the chance of this meeting affirming his superiority over all the multitude of mankind.\nIt was in reality a chance meeting. Chief Inspector Heat had had a disagreeably busy day since his department received the first telegram from Greenwich a little before eleven in the morning. First of all, the fact of the outrage being attempted less than a week after he had assured a high official that no outbreak of anarchist activity was to be apprehended was sufficiently annoying. If he ever thought himself safe in making a statement, it was then. He had made that statement with infinite satisfaction to himself, because it was clear that the high official desired greatly to hear that very thing. He had affirmed that nothing of the sort could even be thought of without the department being aware of it within twenty-four hours; and he had spoken thus in his consciousness of being the great expert of his department. He had gone even so far as to utter words which true wisdom would have kept back. But Chief Inspector Heat was not very wise—at least not truly so. True wisdom, which is not certain of anything in this world of contradictions, would have prevented him from attaining his present position. It would have alarmed his superiors, and done away with his chances of promotion. His promotion had been very rapid.", "chosen": "rapid", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nrapid\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-974-004-00-9429369b", "source": "pg-974", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Yes. Didn't you know?\"\n\"No, I didn't. It was a guess.\"\n\"You don't say so! You are a schoolboy, I suppose?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"You get whipped, I expect?\"\n\"Nothing to speak of—sometimes.\"\n\"Does it hurt?\"\n\"Well, yes, it does.\"\n\"Ech, what a life!\" The peasant heaved a sigh from the bottom of his heart.\n\"Good-by, Matvey.\"\n\"Good-by. You are a nice chap, that you are.\"\nThe boys went on.\n\"That was a nice peasant,\" Kolya observed to Smurov. \"I like talking to the peasants, and am always glad to do them justice.\"\n\"Why did you tell a lie, pretending we are thrashed?\" asked Smurov.\n\"I had to say that to please him.\"\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\"You know, Smurov, I don't like being asked the same thing twice. I like people to understand at the first word. Some things can't be explained. According to a peasant's notions, schoolboys are whipped, and must be whipped. What would a schoolboy be if he were not whipped? And if I were to tell him we are not, he'd be disappointed. But you don't understand that. One has to know how to talk to the peasants.\"\n\"Only don't tease them, please, or you'll get into another scrape as you did about that goose.\"\n\"So you're afraid?\"\n\"Don't laugh, Kolya. Of course I'm afraid. My father would be awfully cross. I am strictly forbidden to go out with you.\"\n\"Don't be uneasy, nothing will happen this time. Hallo, Natasha!\" he shouted to a market woman in one of the booths.\n\"Call me Natasha! What next! My name is Marya,\" the middle-aged market woman shouted at him.\n\"I am so glad it's Marya. Good-by!\"\n\"Ah, you young rascal! A brat like you to carry on so!\"\n\"I'm in a hurry. I can't stay now. You shall tell me next Sunday.\" Kolya waved his hand at her, as though she had attacked him and not he her.\n\"I've nothing to tell you next Sunday. You set upon me, you impudent young monkey. I didn't say anything,\" bawled Marya. \"You want a whipping, that's what you want, you saucy jackanapes!\"\nThere was a roar of laughter among the other market women round her. Suddenly a man in a violent rage darted out from the arcade of shops close by. He was a young man, not a native of the town, with dark, curly hair and a long, pale face, marked with smallpox. He wore a long blue coat and a peaked cap, and looked like a merchant's clerk. He was in a state of stupid excitement and brandished his fist at Kolya.\n\"I know you!\" he cried angrily, \"I know you!\"\nKolya stared at him. He could not recall when he could have had a row with the man. But he had been in so many rows in the street that he could hardly remember them all.\n\"Do you?\" he asked sarcastically.\n\"I know you! I know you!\" the man repeated idiotically.\n\"So much the better for you. Well, it's time I was going. Good-by!\"\n\"You are at your saucy pranks again?\" cried the man. \"You are at your saucy pranks again? I know, you are at it again!\"\n\"It's not your business, brother, if I am at my saucy pranks again,\" said Kolya, standing still and scanning him.\n\"Not my business?\"\n\"No; it's not your business.\"\n\"Whose then? Whose then? Whose then?\"\n\"It's Trifon Nikititch's business, not yours.\"\n\"What Trifon Nikititch?\" asked the youth, staring with loutish amazement at Kolya, but still as angry as ever.\nKolya scanned him gravely.\n\"Have you been to the Church of the Ascension?\" he suddenly asked him, with stern emphasis.\n\"What Church of Ascension? What for? No, I haven't,\" said the young man, somewhat taken aback.\n\"Do you know Sabaneyev?\" Kolya went on even more emphatically and even more severely.\n\"What Sabaneyev? No, I don't know him.\"\n\"Well then you can go to the devil,\" said Kolya, cutting short the conversation; and turning sharply to the right he strode quickly on his way as though he disdained further conversation with a dolt who did not even know Sabaneyev.\n\"Stop, heigh! What Sabaneyev?\" the young man recovered from his momentary stupefaction and was as excited as before. \"What did he say?\" He turned to the market women with a silly stare.\nThe women laughed.\n\"You can never tell what he's after,\" said one of them.\n\"What Sabaneyev is it he's talking about?\" the young man repeated, still furious and brandishing his right arm.\n\"It must be a Sabaneyev who worked for the Kuzmitchovs, that's who it must be,\" one of the women suggested.\nThe young man stared at her wildly.\n\"For the Kuzmitchovs?\" repeated another woman. \"But his name wasn't Trifon. His name's Kuzma, not Trifon; but the boy said Trifon Nikititch, so it can't be the same.\"\n\"His name is not Trifon and not Sabaneyev, it's Tchizhov,\" put in suddenly a third woman, who had hitherto been silent, listening gravely. \"Alexey Ivanitch is his name. Tchizhov, Alexey Ivanitch.\"\n\"Not a doubt about it, it's Tchizhov,\" a fourth woman emphatically confirmed the statement.\nThe bewildered youth gazed from one to another.\n\"But what did he ask for, what did he ask for, good people?\" he cried almost in desperation. \"'Do you know Sabaneyev?' says he. And who the devil's to know who is Sabaneyev?\"\n\"You're a senseless fellow. I tell you it's not Sabaneyev, but Tchizhov, Alexey Ivanitch Tchizhov, that's who it is!\" one of the women shouted at him impressively.\n\"What Tchizhov? Who is he? Tell me, if you know.\"\n\"That tall, sniveling fellow who used to sit in the market in the summer.\"\n\"And what's your Tchizhov to do with me, good people, eh?\"\n\"How can I tell what he's to do with you?\" put in another. \"You ought to know yourself what you want with him, if you make such a clamor about him. He spoke to you, he did not speak to us, you stupid. Don't you really know him?\"\n\"Know whom?\"\n\"Tchizhov.\"\n\"The devil take Tchizhov and you with him. I'll give him a hiding, that I will. He was laughing at me!\"\n\"Will give Tchizhov a hiding! More likely he will give you one. You are a fool, that's what you are!\"\n\"Not Tchizhov, not Tchizhov, you spiteful, mischievous woman. I'll give the boy a hiding. Catch him, catch him, he was laughing at me!\"\nThe woman guffawed. But Kolya was by now a long way off, marching along with a triumphant air. Smurov walked beside him, looking round at the shouting group far behind. He too was in high spirits, though he was still afraid of getting into some scrape in Kolya's company.\n\"What Sabaneyev did you mean?\" he asked Kolya, foreseeing what his answer would be.\n\"How do I know? Now there'll be a hubbub among them all day. I like to stir up fools in every class of society. There's another blockhead, that peasant there. You know, they say 'there's no one stupider than a stupid Frenchman,' but a stupid Russian shows it in his face just as much. Can't you see it all over his face that he is a fool, that peasant, eh?\"\n\"Let him alone, Kolya. Let's go on.\"\n\"Nothing could stop me, now I am once off. Hey, good morning, peasant!\"\nA sturdy-looking peasant, with a round, simple face and grizzled beard, who was walking by, raised his head and looked at the boy. He seemed not quite sober.\n\"Good morning, if you are not laughing at me,\" he said deliberately in reply.\n\"And if I am?\" laughed Kolya.\n\"Well, a joke's a joke. Laugh away. I don't mind. There's no harm in a joke.\"\n\"I beg your pardon, brother, it was a joke.\"\n\"Well, God forgive you!\"\n\"Do you forgive me, too?\"\n\"I quite forgive you. Go along.\"\n\"I say, you seem a clever peasant.\"\n\"Cleverer than you,\" the peasant answered unexpectedly, with the same gravity.\n\"I doubt it,\" said Kolya, somewhat taken aback.\n\"It's true, though.\"\n\"Perhaps it is.\"\n\"It is, brother.\"\n\"Good-by, peasant!\"\n\"Good-by!\"\n\"There are all sorts of peasants,\" Kolya observed to Smurov after a brief silence. \"How could I tell I had hit on a clever one? I am always ready to recognize intelligence in the peasantry.\"", "chosen": "[\"Nothing\", \"Does\", \"Ech\", \"Good\", \"Matvey\", \"Kolya\", \"Smurov\", \"Only\", \"Don\", \"Natasha\", \"Call\", \"Marya\", \"Sunday\", \"Not\", \"Whose\", \"Trifon\", \"Nikititch\", \"Have\", \"Church\", \"Ascension\", \"Sabaneyev\", \"Stop\", \"Kuzmitchovs\", \"Kuzma\", \"His\", \"Tchizhov\", \"Alexey\", \"Ivanitch\", \"Know\", \"Will\", \"Frenchman\", \"Russian\", \"Let\", \"God\", \"Cleverer\", \"Perhaps\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Nothing\", \"Does\", \"Ech\", \"Good\", \"Matvey\", \"Kolya\", \"Smurov\", \"Only\", \"Don\", \"Natasha\", \"Call\", \"Marya\", \"Sunday\", \"Not\", \"Whose\", \"Trifon\", \"Nikititch\", \"Have\", \"Church\", \"Ascension\", \"Sabaneyev\", \"Stop\", \"Kuzmitchovs\", \"Kuzma\", \"His\", \"Tchizhov\", \"Alexey\", \"Ivanitch\", \"Know\", \"Will\", \"Frenchman\", \"Russian\", \"Let\", \"God\", \"Cleverer\", \"Perhaps\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-063-01-96520580", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nAt that time I was only twenty-four. My life was even then gloomy, ill-regulated, and as solitary as that of a savage. I made friends with no one and positively avoided talking, and buried myself more and more in my hole. At work in the office I never looked at any one, and I was perfectly well aware that my companions looked upon me, not only as a queer fellow, but even looked upon me--I always fancied this--with a sort of loathing. I sometimes wondered why it was that nobody except me fancied that he was looked upon with aversion? One of the clerks had a most repulsive, pock-marked face, which looked positively villainous. I believe I should not have dared to look at any one with such an unsightly countenance. Another had such a very dirty old uniform that there was an unpleasant odour in his proximity. Yet not one of these gentlemen showed the slightest self-consciousness--either about their clothes or their countenance or their character in any way. Neither of them ever imagined that they were looked at with repulsion; if they had imagined it they would not have minded--so long as their superiors did not look at them in that way. It is clear to me now that, owing to my unbounded vanity and to the high standard I set for myself, I often looked at myself with furious discontent, which verged on loathing, and so I inwardly attributed the same feeling to every one. I hated my face, for instance: I thought it disgusting, and even suspected that there was something base in my expression, and so every day when I turned up at the office I tried to behave as independently as possible, and to assume a lofty expression, so that I might not be suspected of being abject. \"My face may be ugly,\" I thought, \"but let it be lofty, expressive, and, above all, extremely intelligent.\" But I was positively and painfully certain that it was impossible for my countenance ever to express those qualities. And what was worst of all, I thought it actually stupid looking, and I would have been quite satisfied if I could have looked intelligent. In fact, I would even have put up with looking base if, at the same time, my face could have been thought strikingly intelligent.\nOf course, I hated my fellow clerks one and all, and I despised them all, yet at the same time I was, as it were, afraid of them. In fact, it happened at times that I thought more highly of them than of myself. It somehow happened quite suddenly that I alternated between despising them and thinking them superior to myself. A cultivated and decent man cannot be vain without setting a fearfully high standard for himself, and without despising and almost hating himself at certain moments. But whether I despised them or thought them superior I dropped my eyes almost every time I met any one. I even made experiments whether I could face so and so's looking at me, and I was always the first to drop my eyes. This worried me to distraction. I had a sickly dread, too, of being ridiculous, and so had a slavish passion for the conventional in everything external. I loved to fall into the common rut, and had a whole-hearted terror of any kind of eccentricity in myself. But how could I live up to it? I was morbidly sensitive, as a man of our age should be. They were all stupid, and as like one another as so many sheep. Perhaps I was the only one in the office who fancied that I was a coward and a slave, and I fancied it just because I was more highly developed. But it was not only that I fancied it, it really was so. I was a coward and a slave. I say this without the slightest embarrassment. Every decent man of our age must be a coward and a slave. That is his normal condition. Of that I am firmly persuaded. He is made and constructed to that very end. And not only at the present time owing to some casual circumstances, but always, at all times, a decent man is bound to be a coward and a slave. It is the law of nature for all decent people all over the earth. If any one of them happens to be valiant about something, he need not be comforted nor carried away by that; he would show the white feather just the same before something else. That is how it invariably and inevitably ends. Only donkeys and mules are valiant, and they only till they are pushed up to the wall. It is not worth while to pay attention to them for they really are of no consequence.\nAnother circumstance, too, worried me in those days: that there was no one like me and I was unlike any one else. \"I am alone and they are every one,\" I thought--and pondered.\nFrom that it is evident that I was still a youngster.\nThe very opposite sometimes happened. It was loathsome sometimes to go to the office; things reached such a point that I often came home ill. But all at once, à propos of nothing, there would come a phase of scepticism and indifference (everything happened in phases to me), and I would laugh myself at my intolerance and fastidiousness, I would reproach myself with being romantic. At one time I was unwilling to speak to any one, while at other times I would not only talk, but go to the length of contemplating making friends with them. All my fastidiousness would suddenly, for no rhyme or reason, vanish. Who knows, perhaps I never had really had it, and it had simply been affected, and got out of books. I have not decided that question even now. Once I quite made friends with them, visited their homes, played preference, drank vodka, talked of promotions.... But here let me make a digression.", "chosen": "At, My, I, At, I, One, I, Another, Yet, Neither, It, I, My, And, In, Of, In, It, A, But, I, This, I, I, But, I, They, Perhaps, But, I, I, Every, That, Of, He, And, It, If, That, Only, It, Another, I, From, The, It, But, At, All, Who, I, Once, But", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nAt, My, I, At, I, One, I, Another, Yet, Neither, It, I, My, And, In, Of, In, It, A, But, I, This, I, I, But, I, They, Perhaps, But, I, I, Every, That, Of, He, And, It, If, That, Only, It, Another, I, From, The, It, But, At, All, Who, I, Once, But\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-36034-002-00-d83f22c6", "source": "pg-36034", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nMy Incognito is Exploded\nAFTER a close study of the face of the pilot on watch, I was satisfied that I had never seen him before; so I went up there. The pilot inspected me; I re-inspected the pilot. These customary preliminaries over, I sat down on the high bench, and he faced about and went on with his work. Every detail of the pilot-house was familiar to me, with one exception,--a large-mouthed tube under the breast-board. I puzzled over that thing a considerable time; then gave up and asked what it was for.\n'To hear the engine-bells through.'\nIt was another good contrivance which ought to have been invented half a century sooner. So I was thinking, when the pilot asked--\n'Do you know what this rope is for?'\nI managed to get around this question, without committing myself.\n'Is this the first time you were ever in a pilot-house?'\nI crept under that one.\n'Where are you from?'\n'New England.'\n'First time you have ever been West?'\nI climbed over this one.\n'If you take an interest in such things, I can tell you what all these things are for.'\nI said I should like it.\n'This,' putting his hand on a backing-bell rope, 'is to sound the fire-alarm; this,' putting his hand on a go-ahead bell, 'is to call the texas-tender; this one,' indicating the whistle-lever, 'is to call the captain'--and so he went on, touching one object after another, and reeling off his tranquil spool of lies.\nI had never felt so like a passenger before. I thanked him, with emotion, for each new fact, and wrote it down in my note-book. The pilot warmed to his opportunity, and proceeded to load me up in the good old-fashioned way. At times I was afraid he was going to rupture his invention; but it always stood the strain, and he pulled through all right. He drifted, by easy stages, into revealments of the river's marvelous eccentricities of one sort and another, and backed them up with some pretty gigantic illustrations. For instance--\n'Do you see that little boulder sticking out of the water yonder? well, when I first came on the river, that was a solid ridge of rock, over sixty feet high and two miles long. All washed away but that.' [This with a sigh.]\nI had a mighty impulse to destroy him, but it seemed to me that killing, in any ordinary way, would be too good for him.\nOnce, when an odd-looking craft, with a vast coal-scuttle slanting aloft on the end of a beam, was steaming by in the distance, he indifferently drew attention to it, as one might to an object grown wearisome through familiarity, and observed that it was an 'alligator boat.'\n'An alligator boat? What's it for?'\n'To dredge out alligators with.'\n'Are they so thick as to be troublesome?'\n'Well, not now, because the Government keeps them down. But they used to be. Not everywhere; but in favorite places, here and there, where the river is wide and shoal-like Plum Point, and Stack Island, and so on--places they call alligator beds.'\n'Did they actually impede navigation?'\n'Years ago, yes, in very low water; there was hardly a trip, then, that we didn't get aground on alligators.'\nIt seemed to me that I should certainly have to get out my tomahawk. However, I restrained myself and said--\n'It must have been dreadful.'\n'Yes, it was one of the main difficulties about piloting. It was so hard to tell anything about the water; the damned things shift around so--never lie still five minutes at a time. You can tell a wind-reef, straight off, by the look of it; you can tell a break; you can tell a sand-reef--that's all easy; but an alligator reef doesn't show up, worth anything. Nine times in ten you can't tell where the water is; and when you do see where it is, like as not it ain't there when _you _get there, the devils have swapped around so, meantime. Of course there were some few pilots that could judge of alligator water nearly as well as they could of any other kind, but they had to have natural talent for it; it wasn't a thing a body could learn, you had to be born with it. Let me see: there was Ben Thornburg, and Beck Jolly, and Squire Bell, and Horace Bixby, and Major Downing, and John Stevenson, and Billy Gordon, and Jim Brady, and George Ealer, and Billy Youngblood--all A-1 alligator pilots. _They _could tell alligator water as far as another Christian could tell whiskey. Read it?--Ah, couldn't they, though! I only wish I had as many dollars as they could read alligator water a mile and a half off. Yes, and it paid them to do it, too. A good alligator pilot could always get fifteen hundred dollars a month. Nights, other people had to lay up for alligators, but those fellows never laid up for alligators; they never laid up for anything but fog. They could _smell the best alligator water it was said; I don't know whether it was so or not, and I think a body's got his hands full enough if he sticks to just what he knows himself, without going around backing up other people's say-so's, though there's a plenty that ain't backward about doing it, as long as they can roust out something wonderful to tell. Which is not the style of Robert Styles, by as much as three fathom--maybe quarter-less_.'\n[My! Was this Rob Styles?--This mustached and stately figure?-A slim enough cub, in my time. How he has improved in comeliness in five-and-twenty year and in the noble art of inflating his facts.] After these musings, I said aloud--\n'I should think that dredging out the alligators wouldn't have done much good, because they could come back again right away.'\n'If you had had as much experience of alligators as I have, you wouldn't talk like that. You dredge an alligator once and he's convinced. It's the last you hear of him. He wouldn't come back for pie. If there's one thing that an alligator is more down on than another, it's being dredged. Besides, they were not simply shoved out of the way; the most of the scoopful were scooped aboard; they emptied them into the hold; and when they had got a trip, they took them to Orleans to the Government works.'\n'What for?'\n'Why, to make soldier-shoes out of their hides. All the Government shoes are made of alligator hide. It makes the best shoes in the world. They last five years, and they won't absorb water. The alligator fishery is a Government monopoly. All the alligators are Government property--just like the live-oaks. You cut down a live-oak, and Government fines you fifty dollars; you kill an alligator, and up you go for misprision of treason--lucky duck if they don't hang you, too. And they will, if you're a Democrat. The buzzard is the sacred bird of the South, and you can't touch him; the alligator is the sacred bird of the Government, and you've got to let him alone.'\n'Do you ever get aground on the alligators now?'\n'Oh, no! it hasn't happened for years.'\n'Well, then, why do they still keep the alligator boats in service?'\n'Just for police duty--nothing more. They merely go up and down now and then. The present generation of alligators know them as easy as a burglar knows a roundsman; when they see one coming, they break camp and go for the woods.'\nAfter rounding-out and finishing-up and polishing-off the alligator business, he dropped easily and comfortably into the historical vein, and told of some tremendous feats of half-a-dozen old-time steamboats of his acquaintance, dwelling at special length upon a certain extraordinary performance of his chief favorite among this distinguished fleet--and then adding--", "chosen": "55", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n55\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-245-024-00-146be391", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nTom quailed. But presently the temptation rose up strong again and the boys agreed to try, with the understanding that they would take to their heels if the snoring stopped. So they went tiptoeing stealthily down, the one behind the other. When they had got to within five steps of the snorer, Tom stepped on a stick, and it broke with a sharp snap. The man moaned, writhed a little, and his face came into the moonlight. It was Muff Potter. The boys' hearts had stood still, and their hopes too, when the man moved, but their fears passed away now. They tip-toed out, through the broken weather-boarding, and stopped at a little distance to exchange a parting word. That long, lugubrious howl rose on the night air again! They turned and saw the strange dog standing within a few feet of where Potter was lying, and facing Potter, with his nose pointing heavenward.\n\"Oh, geeminy, it's him!\" exclaimed both boys, in a breath.\n\"Say, Tom—they say a stray dog come howling around Johnny Miller's house, 'bout midnight, as much as two weeks ago; and a whippoorwill come in and lit on the banisters and sung, the very same evening; and there ain't anybody dead there yet.\"\n\"Well, I know that. And suppose there ain't. Didn't Gracie Miller fall in the kitchen fire and burn herself terrible the very next Saturday?\"\n\"Yes, but she ain't dead. And what's more, she's getting better, too.\"\n\"All right, you wait and see. She's a goner, just as dead sure as Muff Potter's a goner. That's what the niggers say, and they know all about these kind of things, Huck.\"\nThen they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept in at his bedroom window the night was almost spent. He undressed with excessive caution, and fell asleep congratulating himself that nobody knew of his escapade. He was not aware that the gently-snoring Sid was awake, and had been so for an hour.\nWhen Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone. There was a late look in the light, a late sense in the atmosphere. He was startled. Why had he not been called—persecuted till he was up, as usual? The thought filled him with bodings. Within five minutes he was dressed and down-stairs, feeling sore and drowsy. The family were still at table, but they had finished breakfast. There was no voice of rebuke; but there were averted eyes; there was a silence and an air of solemnity that struck a chill to the culprit's heart. He sat down and tried to seem gay, but it was up-hill work; it roused no smile, no response, and he lapsed into silence and let his heart sink down to the depths.\nAfter breakfast his aunt took him aside, and Tom almost brightened in the hope that he was going to be flogged; but it was not so. His aunt wept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old heart so; and finally told him to go on, and ruin himself and bring her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try any more. This was worse than a thousand whippings, and Tom's heart was sorer now than his body. He cried, he pleaded for forgiveness, promised to reform over and over again, and then received his dismissal, feeling that he had won but an imperfect forgiveness and established but a feeble confidence.\nHe left the presence too miserable to even feel revengeful toward Sid; and so the latter's prompt retreat through the back gate was unnecessary. He moped to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging, along with Joe Harper, for playing hookey the day before, with the air of one whose heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead to trifles. Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on his desk and his jaws in his hands, and stared at the wall with the stony stare of suffering that has reached the limit and can no further go. His elbow was pressing against some hard substance. After a long time he slowly and sadly changed his position, and took up this object with a sigh. It was in a paper. He unrolled it. A long, lingering, colossal sigh followed, and his heart broke. It was his brass andiron knob!\nThis final feather broke the camel's back.", "chosen": "His aunt wept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old heart so; and finally told him to go on, and ruin himself and bring her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try any more.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nHis aunt wept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old heart so; and finally told him to go on, and ruin himself and bring her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try any more.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-74-010-01-db8e1e44", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nSPRING flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the village had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health, and stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, which lay stretched out beyond. The earth had donned her mantle of brightest green, and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime and vigour of the year, and all things were glad and flourishing.\nStill the same quiet life went on at the little cottage, and the same cheerful serenity prevailed among its inmates. Oliver had long since grown stout and healthy; but health or sickness made no difference in his warm feelings to those about him, (though they do in the feelings of a great many people,) and he was still the same gentle, attached, affectionate creature that he had been when pain and suffering had wasted his strength, and he was dependent for every slight attention and comfort on those who tended him.\nOne beautiful night they had taken a longer walk than was customary with them, for the day had been unusually warm, and there was a brilliant moon, and a light wind had sprung up, which was unusually refreshing. Rose had been in high spirits, too, and they had walked on, in merry conversation, until they had far exceeded their ordinary bounds. Mrs. Maylie was fatigued, and they returned more slowly home. The young lady, merely throwing off her simple bonnet, sat down to the piano, as usual; after running abstractedly over the keys for a few minutes, she fell into a low and very solemn air; and as she played it, they heard her sob as if she were weeping.\n\"Rose, my dear?\" said the elder lady.\nRose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as though the sound had roused her from some painful thoughts.\n\"Rose, my love!\" cried Mrs. Maylie, rising hastily, and bending over her. \"What is this? Your face is bathed in tears. My dear child, what distresses you?\"\n\"Nothing, aunt,—nothing,\" replied the young lady. \"I don't know what it is; I can't describe it; but I feel so low to-night, and——\"\n\"Not ill, my love?\" interposed Mrs. Maylie.\n\"No, no! Oh, not ill!\" replied Rose, shuddering, as though some deadly chillness were passing over her while she spoke; \"at least, I shall be better presently. Close the window, pray.\"\nOliver hastened to comply with the request; and the young lady, making an effort to recover her cheerfulness, strove to play some livelier tune; but her fingers dropped powerless on the keys, and covering her face with her hands, she sank upon a sofa, and gave vent to the tears which she was now unable to repress.\n\"My child!\" said the elder lady, folding her arms about her, \"I never saw you thus before.\"\n\"I would not alarm you if I could avoid it,\" rejoined Rose; \"but indeed I have tried very hard, and cannot help this. I fear I am ill, aunt.\"\nShe was, indeed; for, when candles were brought, they saw that in the very short time which had elapsed since their return home, the hue of her countenance had changed to a marble whiteness. Its expression had lost nothing of its beauty, but yet it was changed, and there was an anxious, haggard look about that gentle face which it had never worn before. Another minute, and it was suffused with a crimson flush, and a heavy wildness came over the soft blue eye; again this disappeared, like the shadow thrown by a passing cloud, and she was once more deadly pale.\nOliver, who watched the old lady anxiously, observed that she was alarmed by these appearances, and so, in truth, was he; but seeing that she affected to make light of them, he endeavoured to do the same; and they so far succeeded, that when Rose was persuaded by her aunt to retire for the night, she was in better spirits, and appeared even in better health, and assured them that she felt certain she should wake in the morning quite well.\n\"I hope, ma'am,\" said Oliver, when Mrs. Maylie returned, \"that nothing serious is the matter? Miss Maylie doesn't look well to-night, but——\"\nThe old lady motioned him not to speak, and sitting herself down in a dark corner of the room, remained silent for some time. At length, she said, in a trembling voice,—\n\"I hope not, Oliver. I have been very happy with her for some years—too happy, perhaps, and it may be time that I should meet with some misfortune; but I hope it is not this.\"\n\"What misfortune, ma'am?\" inquired Oliver.\n\"The heavy blow,\" said the old lady, almost inarticulately, \"of losing the dear girl who has so long been my comfort and happiness.\"\n\"Oh! God forbid!\" exclaimed Oliver, hastily.\n\"Amen to that, my child!\" said the old lady, wringing her hands.\n\"Surely there is no danger of anything so dreadful!\" said Oliver. \"Two hours ago she was quite well.\"\n\"She is very ill now,\" rejoined Mrs. Maylie, \"and will be worse, I am sure. My dear, dear Rose! Oh, what should I do without her!\"\nThe lady sank beneath her desponding thoughts, and gave way to such great grief that Oliver, suppressing his own emotion, ventured to remonstrate with her, and to beg earnestly that, for the sake of the dear young lady herself, she would be more calm.\n\"And consider, ma'am,\" said Oliver, as the tears forced themselves into his eyes, despite his efforts to the contrary, \"Oh! consider how young and good she is, and what pleasure and comfort she gives to all about her. I am sure—certain—quite certain—that, for your sake, who are so good yourself, and for her own, and for the sake of all she makes so happy, she will not die. God will never let her die yet.\"\n\"Hush!\" said Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand on Oliver's head. \"You think like a child, poor boy; and although what you say may be natural, it is wrong. But you teach me my duty, notwithstanding. I had forgotten it for a moment, Oliver, and I hope I may be pardoned, for I am old, and have seen enough of illness and death to know the pain they leave to those behind. I have seen enough, too, to know that it is not always the youngest and best who are spared to those that love them; but this should give us comfort rather than sorrow, for Heaven is just, and such things teach us impressively that there is a far brighter world than this, and that the passage to it is speedy. God's will be done! but I love her, and He alone knows how well!\"\nOliver was surprised to see that as Mrs. Maylie said these words, she checked her lamentations as though by one struggle, and drawing herself up as she spoke, became quite composed and firm. He was still more astonished to find that this firmness lasted, and that, under all the care and watching which ensued, Mrs. Maylie was ever ready and collected, performing all the duties which devolved upon her steadily, and, to all external appearance, even cheerfully. But he was young, and did not know what strong minds are capable of under trying circumstances. How should he, indeed, when their possessors so seldom know themselves?\nAn anxious night ensued, and when morning came, Mrs. Maylie's predictions were but too well verified. Rose was in the first stage of a high and dangerous fever.", "chosen": "[\"Rose, my dear?\", \"Rose, my love!\", \"What is this? Your face is bathed in tears. My dear child, what distresses you?\", \"Nothing, aunt,\\u2014nothing,\", \"I don't know what it is; I can't describe it; but I feel so low to-night, and\\u2014\\u2014\", \"Not ill, my love?\", \"No, no! Oh, not ill!\", \"at least, I shall be better presently. Close the window, pray.\", \"My child!\", \"I never saw you thus before.\", \"I would not alarm you if I could avoid it,\", \"but indeed I have tried very hard, and cannot help this. I fear I am ill, aunt.\", \"I hope, ma'am,\", \"that nothing serious is the matter? Miss Maylie doesn't look well to-night, but\\u2014\\u2014\", \"I hope not, Oliver. I have been very happy with her for some years\\u2014too happy, perhaps, and it may be time that I should meet with some misfortune; but I hope it is not this.\", \"What misfortune, ma'am?\", \"The heavy blow,\", \"of losing the dear girl who has so long been my comfort and happiness.\", \"Oh! God forbid!\", \"Amen to that, my child!\", \"Surely there is no danger of anything so dreadful!\", \"Two hours ago she was quite well.\", \"She is very ill now,\", \"and will be worse, I am sure. My dear, dear Rose! Oh, what should I do without her!\", \"And consider, ma'am,\", \"Hush!\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Rose, my dear?\", \"Rose, my love!\", \"What is this? Your face is bathed in tears. My dear child, what distresses you?\", \"Nothing, aunt,\\u2014nothing,\", \"I don't know what it is; I can't describe it; but I feel so low to-night, and\\u2014\\u2014\", \"Not ill, my love?\", \"No, no! Oh, not ill!\", \"at least, I shall be better presently. Close the window, pray.\", \"My child!\", \"I never saw you thus before.\", \"I would not alarm you if I could avoid it,\", \"but indeed I have tried very hard, and cannot help this. I fear I am ill, aunt.\", \"I hope, ma'am,\", \"that nothing serious is the matter? Miss Maylie doesn't look well to-night, but\\u2014\\u2014\", \"I hope not, Oliver. I have been very happy with her for some years\\u2014too happy, perhaps, and it may be time that I should meet with some misfortune; but I hope it is not this.\", \"What misfortune, ma'am?\", \"The heavy blow,\", \"of losing the dear girl who has so long been my comfort and happiness.\", \"Oh! God forbid!\", \"Amen to that, my child!\", \"Surely there is no danger of anything so dreadful!\", \"Two hours ago she was quite well.\", \"She is very ill now,\", \"and will be worse, I am sure. My dear, dear Rose! Oh, what should I do without her!\", \"And consider, ma'am,\", \"Hush!\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-47530-012-00-0014a48f", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nMrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces; and the two eldest, from their recent absence, were particularly welcome; and she was eagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden return home, which, as their own carriage had not fetched them, she should have known nothing about, if she had not happened to see Mr. Jones's shopboy in the street, who had told her that they were not to send any more draughts to Netherfield, because the Miss Bennets were come away, when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned with as much more, apologizing for his intrusion, without any previous acquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering himself, however, might be justified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced him to her notice. Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good breeding; but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put an end to by exclamations and inquiries about the other, of whom, however, she could only tell her nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had brought him from London, and that he was to have a lieutenant's commission in the ----shire. She had been watching him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street,--and had Mr. Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the occupation; but unluckily no one passed the windows now except a few of the officers, who, in comparison with the stranger, were become \"stupid, disagreeable fellows.\" Some of them were to dine with the Philipses the next day, and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham, and give him an invitation also, if the family from Longbourn would come in the evening. This was agreed to; and Mrs. Philips protested that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery tickets, and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr. Collins repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured, with unwearying civility, that they were perfectly needless.\nAs they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen; but though Jane would have defended either or both, had they appeared to be wrong, she could no more explain such behaviour than her sister.\nMr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs. Philips's manners and politeness. He protested that, except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman; for she had not only received him with the utmost civility, but had even pointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, although utterly unknown to her before. Something, he supposed, might be attributed to his connection with them, but yet he had never met with so much attention in the whole course of his life.", "chosen": "life", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nlife\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-1342-015-01-7528f674", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Then fancy shapes—as fancy can.\"\nOn a day about three weeks later, the Swancourt trio were sitting quietly in the drawing-room of The Crags, Mrs. Swancourt's house at Endelstow, chatting, and taking easeful survey of their previous month or two of town—a tangible weariness even to people whose acquaintances there might be counted on the fingers.\nA mere season in London with her practised step-mother had so advanced Elfride's perceptions, that her courtship by Stephen seemed emotionally meagre, and to have drifted back several years into a childish past. In regarding our mental experiences, as in visual observation, our own progress reads like a dwindling of that we progress from.\nShe was seated on a low chair, looking over her romance with melancholy interest for the first time since she had become acquainted with the remarks of the PRESENT thereupon.\n\"Still thinking of that reviewer, Elfie?\"\n\"Not of him personally; but I am thinking of his opinion. Really, on looking into the volume after this long time has elapsed, he seems to have estimated one part of it fairly enough.\"\n\"No, no; I wouldn't show the white feather now! Fancy that of all people in the world the writer herself should go over to the enemy. How shall Monmouth's men fight when Monmouth runs away?\"\n\"I don't do that. But I think he is right in some of his arguments, though wrong in others. And because he has some claim to my respect I regret all the more that he should think so mistakenly of my motives in one or two instances. It is more vexing to be misunderstood than to be misrepresented; and he misunderstands me. I cannot be easy whilst a person goes to rest night after night attributing to me intentions I never had.\"\n\"He doesn't know your name, or anything about you. And he has doubtless forgotten there is such a book in existence by this time.\"\n\"I myself should certainly like him to be put right upon one or two matters,\" said the vicar, who had hitherto been silent. \"You see, critics go on writing, and are never corrected or argued with, and therefore are never improved.\"\n\"Papa,\" said Elfride brightening, \"write to him!\"\n\"I would as soon write to him as look at him, for the matter of that,\" said Mr. Swancourt.\n\"Do! And say, the young person who wrote the book did not adopt a masculine pseudonym in vanity or conceit, but because she was afraid it would be thought presumptuous to publish her name, and that she did not mean the story for such as he, but as a sweetener of history for young people, who might thereby acquire a taste for what went on in their own country hundreds of years ago, and be tempted to dive deeper into the subject. Oh, there is so much to explain; I wish I might write myself!\"\n\"Now, Elfie, I'll tell you what we will do,\" answered Mr. Swancourt, tickled with a sort of bucolic humour at the idea of criticizing the critic. \"You shall write a clear account of what he is wrong in, and I will copy it and send it as mine.\"\n\"Yes, now, directly!\" said Elfride, jumping up. \"When will you send it, papa?\"\n\"Oh, in a day or two, I suppose,\" he returned. Then the vicar paused and slightly yawned, and in the manner of elderly people began to cool from his ardour for the undertaking now that it came to the point. \"But, really, it is hardly worth while,\" he said.\n\"O papa!\" said Elfride, with much disappointment. \"You said you would, and now you won't. That is not fair!\"\n\"But how can we send it if we don't know whom to send it to?\"\n\"If you really want to send such a thing it can easily be done,\" said Mrs. Swancourt, coming to her step-daughter's rescue. \"An envelope addressed, 'To the Critic of THE COURT OF KELLYON CASTLE, care of the Editor of the PRESENT,' would find him.\"\n\"Yes, I suppose it would.\"\n\"Why not write your answer yourself, Elfride?\" Mrs. Swancourt inquired.\n\"I might,\" she said hesitatingly; \"and send it anonymously: that would be treating him as he has treated me.\"\n\"No use in the world!\"\n\"But I don't like to let him know my exact name. Suppose I put my initials only? The less you are known the more you are thought of.\"\n\"Yes; you might do that.\"\nElfride set to work there and then. Her one desire for the last fortnight seemed likely to be realized. As happens with sensitive and secluded minds, a continual dwelling upon the subject had magnified to colossal proportions the space she assumed herself to occupy or to have occupied in the occult critic's mind. At noon and at night she had been pestering herself with endeavours to perceive more distinctly his conception of her as a woman apart from an author: whether he really despised her; whether he thought more or less of her than of ordinary young women who never ventured into the fire of criticism at all. Now she would have the satisfaction of feeling that at any rate he knew her true intent in crossing his path, and annoying him so by her performance, and be taught perhaps to despise it a little less.\nFour days later an envelope, directed to Miss Swancourt in a strange hand, made its appearance from the post-bag.\n\"Oh,\" said Elfride, her heart sinking within her. \"Can it be from that man—a lecture for impertinence? And actually one for Mrs. Swancourt in the same hand-writing!\" She feared to open hers. \"Yet how can he know my name? No; it is somebody else.\"\n\"Nonsense!\" said her father grimly. \"You sent your initials, and the Directory was available. Though he wouldn't have taken the trouble to look there unless he had been thoroughly savage with you. I thought you wrote with rather more asperity than simple literary discussion required.\" This timely clause was introduced to save the character of the vicar's judgment under any issue of affairs.\n\"Well, here I go,\" said Elfride, desperately tearing open the seal.\n\"To be sure, of course,\" exclaimed Mrs. Swancourt; and looking up from her own letter. \"Christopher, I quite forgot to tell you, when I mentioned that I had seen my distant relative, Harry Knight, that I invited him here for whatever length of time he could spare. And now he says he can come any day in August.\"\n\"Write, and say the first of the month,\" replied the indiscriminate vicar.\nShe read on, \"Goodness me—and that isn't all. He is actually the reviewer of Elfride's book. How absurd, to be sure! I had no idea he reviewed novels or had anything to do with the PRESENT. He is a barrister—and I thought he only wrote in the Quarterlies. Why, Elfride, you have brought about an odd entanglement! What does he say to you?\"\nElfride had put down her letter with a dissatisfied flush on her face. \"I don't know. The idea of his knowing my name and all about me!...Why, he says nothing particular, only this—\n\"'MY DEAR MADAM,—Though I am sorry that my remarks should have seemed harsh to you, it is a pleasure to find that they have been the means of bringing forth such an ingeniously argued reply. Unfortunately, it is so long since I wrote my review, that my memory does not serve me sufficiently to say a single word in my defence, even supposing there remains one to be said, which is doubtful. You will find from a letter I have written to Mrs. Swancourt, that we are not such strangers to each other as we have been imagining. Possibly, I may have the pleasure of seeing you soon, when any argument you choose to advance shall receive all the attention it deserves.'\n\"That is dim sarcasm—I know it is.\"\n\"Oh no, Elfride.\"\n\"And then, his remarks didn't seem harsh—I mean I did not say so.\"\n\"He thinks you are in a frightful temper,\" said Mr. Swancourt, chuckling in undertones.\n\"And he will come and see me, and find the authoress as contemptible in speech as she has been impertinent in manner. I do heartily wish I had never written a word to him!\"", "chosen": "[\"Swancourt\", \"Crags\", \"Endelstow\", \"London\", \"Elfride\", \"Stephen\", \"Still\", \"Elfie\", \"Not\", \"Monmouth\", \"Papa\", \"Critic\", \"Editor\", \"Can\", \"Yet\", \"Nonsense\", \"Directory\", \"Christopher\", \"Harry\", \"Knight\", \"August\", \"Write\", \"Goodness\", \"Quarterlies\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Swancourt\", \"Crags\", \"Endelstow\", \"London\", \"Elfride\", \"Stephen\", \"Still\", \"Elfie\", \"Not\", \"Monmouth\", \"Papa\", \"Critic\", \"Editor\", \"Can\", \"Yet\", \"Nonsense\", \"Directory\", \"Christopher\", \"Harry\", \"Knight\", \"August\", \"Write\", \"Goodness\", \"Quarterlies\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-224-015-00-604a9a35", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe straightforward course had, nevertheless, so much to recommend it, so well avoided the disadvantage of future revelation which a private repetition of the ceremony would entail, that assuming she could depend upon Swithin, as she knew she could do, good sense counselled its serious consideration.\nShe became more composed at her queer situation: hour after hour passed, and the first spasmodic impulse of womanly decorum--not to let the sun go down upon her present improper state--was quite controllable. She could regard the strange contingency that had arisen with something like philosophy. The day slipped by: she thought of the awkwardness of the accident rather than of its humiliation; and, loving Swithin now in a far calmer spirit than at that past date when they had rushed into each other's arms and vowed to be one for the first time, she ever and anon caught herself reflecting, 'Were it not that for my honour's sake I must re-marry him, I should perhaps be a nobler woman in not allowing him to encumber his bright future by a union with me at all.'\nThis thought, at first artificially raised, as little more than a mental exercise, became by stages a genuine conviction; and while her heart enforced, her reason regretted the necessity of abstaining from self-sacrifice--the being obliged, despite his curious escape from the first attempt, to lime Swithin's young wings again solely for her credit's sake.\nHowever, the deed had to be done; Swithin was to be made legally hers. Selfishness in a conjuncture of this sort was excusable, and even obligatory. Taking brighter views, she hoped that upon the whole this yoking of the young fellow with her, a portionless woman and his senior, would not greatly endanger his career. In such a mood night overtook her, and she went to bed conjecturing that Swithin had by this time arrived in the parish, was perhaps even at that moment passing homeward beneath her walls, and that in less than twelve hours she would have met him, have ventilated the secret which oppressed her, and have satisfactorily arranged with him the details of their reunion.", "chosen": "The, She, She, The, However,, Selfishness, Taking, In", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nThe, She, She, The, However,, Selfishness, Taking, In\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-3146-032-01-ea34557b", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Come in,\" says the woman, and I did. She says: \"Take a cheer.\"\nI done it. She looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says:\n\"What might your name be?\"\n\"Sarah Williams.\"\n\"Where 'bouts do you live? In this neighborhood?\"\n\"No'm. In Hookerville, seven mile below. I've walked all the way and I'm all tired out.\"\n\"Hungry, too, I reckon. I'll find you something.\"\n\"No'm, I ain't hungry. I was so hungry I had to stop two miles below here at a farm; so I ain't hungry no more. It's what makes me so late. My mother's down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come to tell my uncle Abner Moore. He lives at the upper end of the town, she says. I hain't ever been here before. Do you know him?\"\n\"No; but I don't know everybody yet. I haven't lived here quite two weeks. It's a considerable ways to the upper end of the town. You better stay here all night. Take off your bonnet.\"\n\"No,\" I says; \"I'll rest a while, I reckon, and go on. I ain't afeared of the dark.\"\nShe said she wouldn't let me go by myself, but her husband would be in by-and-by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she'd send him along with me. Then she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up the river, and her relations down the river, and about how much better off they used to was, and how they didn't know but they'd made a mistake coming to our town, instead of letting well alone—and so on and so on, till I was afeard I had made a mistake coming to her to find out what was going on in the town; but by-and-by she dropped on to pap and the murder, and then I was pretty willing to let her clatter right along. She told about me and Tom Sawyer finding the six thousand dollars (only she got it ten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what a hard lot I was, and at last she got down to where I was murdered. I says:\n\"Who done it? We've heard considerable about these goings on down in Hookerville, but we don't know who 'twas that killed Huck Finn.\"\n\"Well, I reckon there's a right smart chance of people here that'd like to know who killed him. Some think old Finn done it himself.\"\n\"No—is that so?\"\n\"Most everybody thought it at first. He'll never know how nigh he come to getting lynched. But before night they changed around and judged it was done by a runaway nigger named Jim.\"\n\"Why he—\"\nI stopped. I reckoned I better keep still. She run on, and never noticed I had put in at all:\n\"The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was killed. So there's a reward out for him—three hundred dollars. And there's a reward out for old Finn, too—two hundred dollars. You see, he come to town the morning after the murder, and told about it, and was out with 'em on the ferry-boat hunt, and right away after he up and left. Before night they wanted to lynch him, but he was gone, you see. Well, next day they found out the nigger was gone; they found out he hadn't ben seen sence ten o'clock the night the murder was done. So then they put it on him, you see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old Finn, and went boo-hooing to Judge Thatcher to get money to hunt for the nigger all over Illinois with. The judge gave him some, and that evening he got drunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mighty hard-looking strangers, and then went off with them. Well, he hain't come back sence, and they ain't looking for him back till this thing blows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and fixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he'd get Huck's money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit. People do say he warn't any too good to do it. Oh, he's sly, I reckon. If he don't come back for a year he'll be all right. You can't prove anything on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and he'll walk in Huck's money as easy as nothing.\"\n\"Yes, I reckon so, 'm. I don't see nothing in the way of it. Has everybody quit thinking the nigger done it?\"\n\"Oh, no, not everybody. A good many thinks he done it. But they'll get the nigger pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare it out of him.\"\n\"Why, are they after him yet?\"\n\"Well, you're innocent, ain't you! Does three hundred dollars lay around every day for people to pick up? Some folks think the nigger ain't far from here. I'm one of them—but I hain't talked it around. A few days ago I was talking with an old couple that lives next door in the log shanty, and they happened to say hardly anybody ever goes to that island over yonder that they call Jackson's Island. Don't anybody live there? says I. No, nobody, says they. I didn't say any more, but I done some thinking. I was pretty near certain I'd seen smoke over there, about the head of the island, a day or two before that, so I says to myself, like as not that nigger's hiding over there; anyway, says I, it's worth the trouble to give the place a hunt. I hain't seen any smoke sence, so I reckon maybe he's gone, if it was him; but husband's going over to see—him and another man. He was gone up the river; but he got back to-day, and I told him as soon as he got here two hours ago.\"\nI had got so uneasy I couldn't set still. I had to do something with my hands; so I took up a needle off of the table and went to threading it. My hands shook, and I was making a bad job of it. When the woman stopped talking I looked up, and she was looking at me pretty curious and smiling a little. I put down the needle and thread, and let on to be interested—and I was, too—and says:\n\"Three hundred dollars is a power of money. I wish my mother could get it. Is your husband going over there to-night?\"\n\"Oh, yes. He went up-town with the man I was telling you of, to get a boat and see if they could borrow another gun. They'll go over after midnight.\"\n\"Couldn't they see better if they was to wait till daytime?\"\n\"Yes. And couldn't the nigger see better, too? After midnight he'll likely be asleep, and they can slip around through the woods and hunt up his camp fire all the better for the dark, if he's got one.\"\n\"I didn't think of that.\"\nThe woman kept looking at me pretty curious, and I didn't feel a bit comfortable. Pretty soon she says,\n\"What did you say your name was, honey?\"\n\"M—Mary Williams.\"\nSomehow it didn't seem to me that I said it was Mary before, so I didn't look up—seemed to me I said it was Sarah; so I felt sort of cornered, and was afeared maybe I was looking it, too. I wished the woman would say something more; the longer she set still the uneasier I was. But now she says:\n\"Honey, I thought you said it was Sarah when you first come in?\"\n\"Oh, yes'm, I did. Sarah Mary Williams. Sarah's my first name. Some calls me Sarah, some calls me Mary.\"\n\"Oh, that's the way of it?\"\n\"Yes'm.\"\nI was feeling better then, but I wished I was out of there, anyway. I couldn't look up yet.", "chosen": "71", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n71\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-76-011-00-ffdd5695", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nWhere was he running? \"Where could she be except at Fyodor Pavlovitch's? She must have run straight to him from Samsonov's, that was clear now. The whole intrigue, the whole deceit was evident.\" ... It all rushed whirling through his mind. He did not run to Marya Kondratyevna's. \"There was no need to go there ... not the slightest need ... he must raise no alarm ... they would run and tell directly.... Marya Kondratyevna was clearly in the plot, Smerdyakov too, he too, all had been bought over!\"\nHe formed another plan of action: he ran a long way round Fyodor Pavlovitch's house, crossing the lane, running down Dmitrovsky Street, then over the little bridge, and so came straight to the deserted alley at the back, which was empty and uninhabited, with, on one side the hurdle fence of a neighbor's kitchen-garden, on the other the strong high fence, that ran all round Fyodor Pavlovitch's garden. Here he chose a spot, apparently the very place, where according to the tradition, he knew Lizaveta had once climbed over it: \"If she could climb over it,\" the thought, God knows why, occurred to him, \"surely I can.\" He did in fact jump up, and instantly contrived to catch hold of the top of the fence. Then he vigorously pulled himself up and sat astride on it. Close by, in the garden stood the bath-house, but from the fence he could see the lighted windows of the house too.\n\"Yes, the old man's bedroom is lighted up. She's there!\" and he leapt from the fence into the garden. Though he knew Grigory was ill and very likely Smerdyakov, too, and that there was no one to hear him, he instinctively hid himself, stood still, and began to listen. But there was dead silence on all sides and, as though of design, complete stillness, not the slightest breath of wind.\n\"And naught but the whispering silence,\" the line for some reason rose to his mind. \"If only no one heard me jump over the fence! I think not.\" Standing still for a minute, he walked softly over the grass in the garden, avoiding the trees and shrubs. He walked slowly, creeping stealthily at every step, listening to his own footsteps. It took him five minutes to reach the lighted window. He remembered that just under the window there were several thick and high bushes of elder and whitebeam. The door from the house into the garden on the left-hand side, was shut; he had carefully looked on purpose to see, in passing. At last he reached the bushes and hid behind them. He held his breath. \"I must wait now,\" he thought, \"to reassure them, in case they heard my footsteps and are listening ... if only I don't cough or sneeze.\"\nHe waited two minutes. His heart was beating violently, and, at moments, he could scarcely breathe. \"No, this throbbing at my heart won't stop,\" he thought. \"I can't wait any longer.\" He was standing behind a bush in the shadow. The light of the window fell on the front part of the bush.\n\"How red the whitebeam berries are!\" he murmured, not knowing why. Softly and noiselessly, step by step, he approached the window, and raised himself on tiptoe. All Fyodor Pavlovitch's bedroom lay open before him. It was not a large room, and was divided in two parts by a red screen, \"Chinese,\" as Fyodor Pavlovitch used to call it. The word \"Chinese\" flashed into Mitya's mind, \"and behind the screen, is Grushenka,\" thought Mitya. He began watching Fyodor Pavlovitch, who was wearing his new striped-silk dressing-gown, which Mitya had never seen, and a silk cord with tassels round the waist. A clean, dandified shirt of fine linen with gold studs peeped out under the collar of the dressing-gown. On his head Fyodor Pavlovitch had the same red bandage which Alyosha had seen.\n\"He has got himself up,\" thought Mitya.\nHis father was standing near the window, apparently lost in thought. Suddenly he jerked up his head, listened a moment, and hearing nothing went up to the table, poured out half a glass of brandy from a decanter and drank it off. Then he uttered a deep sigh, again stood still a moment, walked carelessly up to the looking-glass on the wall, with his right hand raised the red bandage on his forehead a little, and began examining his bruises and scars, which had not yet disappeared.\n\"He's alone,\" thought Mitya, \"in all probability he's alone.\"\nFyodor Pavlovitch moved away from the looking-glass, turned suddenly to the window and looked out. Mitya instantly slipped away into the shadow.\n\"She may be there behind the screen. Perhaps she's asleep by now,\" he thought, with a pang at his heart. Fyodor Pavlovitch moved away from the window. \"He's looking for her out of the window, so she's not there. Why should he stare out into the dark? He's wild with impatience.\" ... Mitya slipped back at once, and fell to gazing in at the window again. The old man was sitting down at the table, apparently disappointed. At last he put his elbow on the table, and laid his right cheek against his hand. Mitya watched him eagerly.\n\"He's alone, he's alone!\" he repeated again. \"If she were here, his face would be different.\"\nStrange to say, a queer, irrational vexation rose up in his heart that she was not here. \"It's not that she's not here,\" he explained to himself, immediately, \"but that I can't tell for certain whether she is or not.\" Mitya remembered afterwards that his mind was at that moment exceptionally clear, that he took in everything to the slightest detail, and missed no point. But a feeling of misery, the misery of uncertainty and indecision, was growing in his heart with every instant. \"Is she here or not?\" The angry doubt filled his heart, and suddenly, making up his mind, he put out his hand and softly knocked on the window frame. He knocked the signal the old man had agreed upon with Smerdyakov, twice slowly and then three times more quickly, the signal that meant \"Grushenka is here!\"\nThe old man started, jerked up his head, and, jumping up quickly, ran to the window. Mitya slipped away into the shadow. Fyodor Pavlovitch opened the window and thrust his whole head out.\n\"Grushenka, is it you? Is it you?\" he said, in a sort of trembling half-whisper. \"Where are you, my angel, where are you?\" He was fearfully agitated and breathless.\n\"He's alone.\" Mitya decided.\n\"Where are you?\" cried the old man again; and he thrust his head out farther, thrust it out to the shoulders, gazing in all directions, right and left. \"Come here, I've a little present for you. Come, I'll show you....\"\n\"He means the three thousand,\" thought Mitya.\n\"But where are you? Are you at the door? I'll open it directly.\"\nAnd the old man almost climbed out of the window, peering out to the right, where there was a door into the garden, trying to see into the darkness. In another second he would certainly have run out to open the door without waiting for Grushenka's answer.", "chosen": "Marya Kondratyevna was clearly in the plot, Smerdyakov too, he too, all had been bought over!\"\nHe formed another plan of action: he ran a long way round Fyodor Pavlovitch's house, crossing the lane, running down Dmitrovsky Street, then over the little bridge, and so came straight to the deserted alley at the back, which was empty and uninhabited, with, on one side the hurdle fence of a neighbor's kitchen-garden, on the other the strong high fence, that ran all round Fyodor Pavlovitch's garden.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nMarya Kondratyevna was clearly in the plot, Smerdyakov too, he too, all had been bought over!\"\nHe formed another plan of action: he ran a long way round Fyodor Pavlovitch's house, crossing the lane, running down Dmitrovsky Street, then over the little bridge, and so came straight to the deserted alley at the back, which was empty and uninhabited, with, on one side the hurdle fence of a neighbor's kitchen-garden, on the other the strong high fence, that ran all round Fyodor Pavlovitch's garden.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-047-00-1746f8ab", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nInto this second life Bulstrode's past had now risen, only the pleasures of it seeming to have lost their quality. Night and day, without interruption save of brief sleep which only wove retrospect and fear into a fantastic present, he felt the scenes of his earlier life coming between him and everything else, as obstinately as when we look through the window from a lighted room, the objects we turn our backs on are still before us, instead of the grass and the trees. The successive events inward and outward were there in one view: though each might be dwelt on in turn, the rest still kept their hold in the consciousness.\nOnce more he saw himself the young banker's clerk, with an agreeable person, as clever in figures as he was fluent in speech and fond of theological definition: an eminent though young member of a Calvinistic dissenting church at Highbury, having had striking experience in conviction of sin and sense of pardon. Again he heard himself called for as Brother Bulstrode in prayer meetings, speaking on religious platforms, preaching in private houses. Again he felt himself thinking of the ministry as possibly his vocation, and inclined towards missionary labor. That was the happiest time of his life: that was the spot he would have chosen now to awake in and find the rest a dream. The people among whom Brother Bulstrode was distinguished were very few, but they were very near to him, and stirred his satisfaction the more; his power stretched through a narrow space, but he felt its effect the more intensely. He believed without effort in the peculiar work of grace within him, and in the signs that God intended him for special instrumentality.\nThen came the moment of transition; it was with the sense of promotion he had when he, an orphan educated at a commercial charity-school, was invited to a fine villa belonging to Mr. Dunkirk, the richest man in the congregation. Soon he became an intimate there, honored for his piety by the wife, marked out for his ability by the husband, whose wealth was due to a flourishing city and west-end trade. That was the setting-in of a new current for his ambition, directing his prospects of \"instrumentality\" towards the uniting of distinguished religious gifts with successful business.\nBy-and-by came a decided external leading: a confidential subordinate partner died, and nobody seemed to the principal so well fitted to fill the severely felt vacancy as his young friend Bulstrode, if he would become confidential accountant. The offer was accepted. The business was a pawnbroker's, of the most magnificent sort both in extent and profits; and on a short acquaintance with it Bulstrode became aware that one source of magnificent profit was the easy reception of any goods offered, without strict inquiry as to where they came from. But there was a branch house at the west end, and no pettiness or dinginess to give suggestions of shame.\nHe remembered his first moments of shrinking. They were private, and were filled with arguments; some of these taking the form of prayer. The business was established and had old roots; is it not one thing to set up a new gin-palace and another to accept an investment in an old one? The profits made out of lost souls—where can the line be drawn at which they begin in human transactions? Was it not even God's way of saving His chosen? \"Thou knowest,\"—the young Bulstrode had said then, as the older Bulstrode was saying now—\"Thou knowest how loose my soul sits from these things—how I view them all as implements for tilling Thy garden rescued here and there from the wilderness.\"\nMetaphors and precedents were not wanting; peculiar spiritual experiences were not wanting which at last made the retention of his position seem a service demanded of him: the vista of a fortune had already opened itself, and Bulstrode's shrinking remained private. Mr. Dunkirk had never expected that there would be any shrinking at all: he had never conceived that trade had anything to do with the scheme of salvation. And it was true that Bulstrode found himself carrying on two distinct lives; his religious activity could not be incompatible with his business as soon as he had argued himself into not feeling it incompatible.\nMentally surrounded with that past again, Bulstrode had the same pleas—indeed, the years had been perpetually spinning them into intricate thickness, like masses of spider-web, padding the moral sensibility; nay, as age made egoism more eager but less enjoying, his soul had become more saturated with the belief that he did everything for God's sake, being indifferent to it for his own. And yet—if he could be back in that far-off spot with his youthful poverty—why, then he would choose to be a missionary.\nBut the train of causes in which he had locked himself went on. There was trouble in the fine villa at Highbury. Years before, the only daughter had run away, defied her parents, and gone on the stage; and now the only boy died, and after a short time Mr. Dunkirk died also. The wife, a simple pious woman, left with all the wealth in and out of the magnificent trade, of which she never knew the precise nature, had come to believe in Bulstrode, and innocently adore him as women often adore their priest or \"man-made\" minister. It was natural that after a time marriage should have been thought of between them. But Mrs. Dunkirk had qualms and yearnings about her daughter, who had long been regarded as lost both to God and her parents. It was known that the daughter had married, but she was utterly gone out of sight. The mother, having lost her boy, imagined a grandson, and wished in a double sense to reclaim her daughter. If she were found, there would be a channel for property—perhaps a wide one—in the provision for several grandchildren. Efforts to find her must be made before Mrs. Dunkirk would marry again. Bulstrode concurred; but after advertisement as well as other modes of inquiry had been tried, the mother believed that her daughter was not to be found, and consented to marry without reservation of property.\nThe daughter had been found; but only one man besides Bulstrode knew it, and he was paid for keeping silence and carrying himself away.\nThat was the bare fact which Bulstrode was now forced to see in the rigid outline with which acts present themselves to onlookers. But for himself at that distant time, and even now in burning memory, the fact was broken into little sequences, each justified as it came by reasonings which seemed to prove it righteous. Bulstrode's course up to that time had, he thought, been sanctioned by remarkable providences, appearing to point the way for him to be the agent in making the best use of a large property and withdrawing it from perversion. Death and other striking dispositions, such as feminine trustfulness, had come; and Bulstrode would have adopted Cromwell's words—\"Do you call these bare events? The Lord pity you!\" The events were comparatively small, but the essential condition was there—namely, that they were in favor of his own ends. It was easy for him to settle what was due from him to others by inquiring what were God's intentions with regard to himself. Could it be for God's service that this fortune should in any considerable proportion go to a young woman and her husband who were given up to the lightest pursuits, and might scatter it abroad in triviality—people who seemed to lie outside the path of remarkable providences? Bulstrode had never said to himself beforehand, \"The daughter shall not be found\"—nevertheless when the moment came he kept her existence hidden; and when other moments followed, he soothed the mother with consolation in the probability that the unhappy young woman might be no more.", "chosen": "[\"instrumentality\", \"Thou knowest,\", \"Thou knowest how loose my soul sits from these things\\u2014how I view them all as implements for tilling Thy garden rescued here and there from the wilderness.\", \"man-made\", \"Do you call these bare events? The Lord pity you!\", \"The daughter shall not be found\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"instrumentality\", \"Thou knowest,\", \"Thou knowest how loose my soul sits from these things\\u2014how I view them all as implements for tilling Thy garden rescued here and there from the wilderness.\", \"man-made\", \"Do you call these bare events? The Lord pity you!\", \"The daughter shall not be found\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-061-01-156fc7bc", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nHe paused for a little, still trailing his stick, and then went on—\n\"But put it this way. Walking up a road at night, I have seen a lamp and a lighted window and a cloud make together a most complete and unmistakable face. If anyone in heaven has that face I shall know him again. Yet when I walked a little farther I found that there was no face, that the window was ten yards away, the lamp ten hundred yards, the cloud beyond the world. Well, Sunday's face escaped me; it ran away to right and left, as such chance pictures run away. And so his face has made me, somehow, doubt whether there are any faces. I don't know whether your face, Bull, is a face or a combination in perspective. Perhaps one black disc of your beastly glasses is quite close and another fifty miles away. Oh, the doubts of a materialist are not worth a dump. Sunday has taught me the last and the worst doubts, the doubts of a spiritualist. I am a Buddhist, I suppose; and Buddhism is not a creed, it is a doubt. My poor dear Bull, I do not believe that you really have a face. I have not faith enough to believe in matter.\"\nSyme's eyes were still fixed upon the errant orb, which, reddened in the evening light, looked like some rosier and more innocent world.\n\"Have you noticed an odd thing,\" he said, \"about all your descriptions? Each man of you finds Sunday quite different, yet each man of you can only find one thing to compare him to—the universe itself. Bull finds him like the earth in spring, Gogol like the sun at noonday. The Secretary is reminded of the shapeless protoplasm, and the Inspector of the carelessness of virgin forests. The Professor says he is like a changing landscape. This is queer, but it is queerer still that I also have had my odd notion about the President, and I also find that I think of Sunday as I think of the whole world.\"\n\"Get on a little faster, Syme,\" said Bull; \"never mind the balloon.\"\n\"When I first saw Sunday,\" said Syme slowly, \"I only saw his back; and when I saw his back, I knew he was the worst man in the world. His neck and shoulders were brutal, like those of some apish god. His head had a stoop that was hardly human, like the stoop of an ox. In fact, I had at once the revolting fancy that this was not a man at all, but a beast dressed up in men's clothes.\"\n\"Get on,\" said Dr. Bull.\n\"And then the queer thing happened. I had seen his back from the street, as he sat in the balcony. Then I entered the hotel, and coming round the other side of him, saw his face in the sunlight. His face frightened me, as it did everyone; but not because it was brutal, not because it was evil. On the contrary, it frightened me because it was so beautiful, because it was so good.\"\n\"Syme,\" exclaimed the Secretary, \"are you ill?\"\n\"It was like the face of some ancient archangel, judging justly after heroic wars. There was laughter in the eyes, and in the mouth honour and sorrow. There was the same white hair, the same great, grey-clad shoulders that I had seen from behind. But when I saw him from behind I was certain he was an animal, and when I saw him in front I knew he was a god.\"\n\"Pan,\" said the Professor dreamily, \"was a god and an animal.\"\n\"Then, and again and always,\" went on Syme like a man talking to himself, \"that has been for me the mystery of Sunday, and it is also the mystery of the world. When I see the horrible back, I am sure the noble face is but a mask. When I see the face but for an instant, I know the back is only a jest. Bad is so bad, that we cannot but think good an accident; good is so good, that we feel certain that evil could be explained. But the whole came to a kind of crest yesterday when I raced Sunday for the cab, and was just behind him all the way.\"\n\"Had you time for thinking then?\" asked Ratcliffe.\n\"Time,\" replied Syme, \"for one outrageous thought. I was suddenly possessed with the idea that the blind, blank back of his head really was his face—an awful, eyeless face staring at me! And I fancied that the figure running in front of me was really a figure running backwards, and dancing as he ran.\"\n\"Horrible!\" said Dr. Bull, and shuddered.\n\"Horrible is not the word,\" said Syme. \"It was exactly the worst instant of my life. And yet ten minutes afterwards, when he put his head out of the cab and made a grimace like a gargoyle, I knew that he was only like a father playing hide-and-seek with his children.\"\n\"It is a long game,\" said the Secretary, and frowned at his broken boots.\n\"Listen to me,\" cried Syme with extraordinary emphasis. \"Shall I tell you the secret of the whole world? It is that we have only known the back of the world. We see everything from behind, and it looks brutal. That is not a tree, but the back of a tree. That is not a cloud, but the back of a cloud. Cannot you see that everything is stooping and hiding a face? If we could only get round in front—\"\n\"Look!\" cried out Bull clamorously, \"the balloon is coming down!\"\nThere was no need to cry out to Syme, who had never taken his eyes off it. He saw the great luminous globe suddenly stagger in the sky, right itself, and then sink slowly behind the trees like a setting sun.\nThe man called Gogol, who had hardly spoken through all their weary travels, suddenly threw up his hands like a lost spirit.\n\"He is dead!\" he cried. \"And now I know he was my friend—my friend in the dark!\"\n\"Dead!\" snorted the Secretary. \"You will not find him dead easily. If he has been tipped out of the car, we shall find him rolling as a colt rolls in a field, kicking his legs for fun.\"\n\"Clashing his hoofs,\" said the Professor. \"The colts do, and so did Pan.\"\n\"Pan again!\" said Dr. Bull irritably. \"You seem to think Pan is everything.\"\n\"So he is,\" said the Professor, \"in Greek. He means everything.\"\n\"Don't forget,\" said the Secretary, looking down, \"that he also means Panic.\"\nSyme had stood without hearing any of the exclamations.\n\"It fell over there,\" he said shortly. \"Let us follow it!\"\nThen he added with an indescribable gesture—\n\"Oh, if he has cheated us all by getting killed! It would be like one of his larks.\"\nHe strode off towards the distant trees with a new energy, his rags and ribbons fluttering in the wind. The others followed him in a more footsore and dubious manner. And almost at the same moment all six men realised that they were not alone in the little field.\nAcross the square of turf a tall man was advancing towards them, leaning on a strange long staff like a sceptre. He was clad in a fine but old-fashioned suit with knee-breeches; its colour was that shade between blue, violet and grey which can be seen in certain shadows of the woodland. His hair was whitish grey, and at the first glance, taken along with his knee-breeches, looked as if it was powdered. His advance was very quiet; but for the silver frost upon his head, he might have been one to the shadows of the wood.\n\"Gentlemen,\" he said, \"my master has a carriage waiting for you in the road just by.\"\n\"Who is your master?\" asked Syme, standing quite still.\n\"I was told you knew his name,\" said the man respectfully.\nThere was a silence, and then the Secretary said—\n\"Where is this carriage?\"\n\"It has been waiting only a few moments,\" said the stranger. \"My master has only just come home.\"", "chosen": "home", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nhome\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-1695-014-01-4e425f3e", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nBefore one of them could move, the monstrous man had swung himself like some huge ourang-outang over the balustrade of the balcony. Yet before he dropped he pulled himself up again as on a horizontal bar, and thrusting his great chin over the edge of the balcony, said solemnly—\n\"There's one thing I'll tell you though about who I am. I am the man in the dark room, who made you all policemen.\"\nWith that he fell from the balcony, bouncing on the stones below like a great ball of india-rubber, and went bounding off towards the corner of the Alhambra, where he hailed a hansom-cab and sprang inside it. The six detectives had been standing thunderstruck and livid in the light of his last assertion; but when he disappeared into the cab, Syme's practical senses returned to him, and leaping over the balcony so recklessly as almost to break his legs, he called another cab.\nHe and Bull sprang into the cab together, the Professor and the Inspector into another, while the Secretary and the late Gogol scrambled into a third just in time to pursue the flying Syme, who was pursuing the flying President. Sunday led them a wild chase towards the north-west, his cabman, evidently under the influence of more than common inducements, urging the horse at breakneck speed. But Syme was in no mood for delicacies, and he stood up in his own cab shouting, \"Stop thief!\" until crowds ran along beside his cab, and policemen began to stop and ask questions. All this had its influence upon the President's cabman, who began to look dubious, and to slow down to a trot. He opened the trap to talk reasonably to his fare, and in so doing let the long whip droop over the front of the cab. Sunday leant forward, seized it, and jerked it violently out of the man's hand. Then standing up in front of the cab himself, he lashed the horse and roared aloud, so that they went down the streets like a flying storm. Through street after street and square after square went whirling this preposterous vehicle, in which the fare was urging the horse and the driver trying desperately to stop it. The other three cabs came after it (if the phrase be permissible of a cab) like panting hounds. Shops and streets shot by like rattling arrows.\nAt the highest ecstacy of speed, Sunday turned round on the splashboard where he stood, and sticking his great grinning head out of the cab, with white hair whistling in the wind, he made a horrible face at his pursuers, like some colossal urchin. Then raising his right hand swiftly, he flung a ball of paper in Syme's face and vanished. Syme caught the thing while instinctively warding it off, and discovered that it consisted of two crumpled papers. One was addressed to himself, and the other to Dr. Bull, with a very long, and it is to be feared partly ironical, string of letters after his name. Dr. Bull's address was, at any rate, considerably longer than his communication, for the communication consisted entirely of the words:—\n\"What about Martin Tupper now?\"\n\"What does the old maniac mean?\" asked Bull, staring at the words. \"What does yours say, Syme?\"\nSyme's message was, at any rate, longer, and ran as follows:—\n\"No one would regret anything in the nature of an interference by the Archdeacon more than I. I trust it will not come to that. But, for the last time, where are your goloshes? The thing is too bad, especially after what uncle said.\"\nThe President's cabman seemed to be regaining some control over his horse, and the pursuers gained a little as they swept round into the Edgware Road. And here there occurred what seemed to the allies a providential stoppage. Traffic of every kind was swerving to right or left or stopping, for down the long road was coming the unmistakable roar announcing the fire-engine, which in a few seconds went by like a brazen thunderbolt. But quick as it went by, Sunday had bounded out of his cab, sprung at the fire-engine, caught it, slung himself on to it, and was seen as he disappeared in the noisy distance talking to the astonished fireman with explanatory gestures.\n\"After him!\" howled Syme. \"He can't go astray now. There's no mistaking a fire-engine.\"\nThe three cabmen, who had been stunned for a moment, whipped up their horses and slightly decreased the distance between themselves and their disappearing prey. The President acknowledged this proximity by coming to the back of the car, bowing repeatedly, kissing his hand, and finally flinging a neatly-folded note into the bosom of Inspector Ratcliffe. When that gentleman opened it, not without impatience, he found it contained the words:—\n\"Fly at once. The truth about your trouser-stretchers is known.—A FRIEND.\"\nThe fire-engine had struck still farther to the north, into a region that they did not recognise; and as it ran by a line of high railings shadowed with trees, the six friends were startled, but somewhat relieved, to see the President leap from the fire-engine, though whether through another whim or the increasing protest of his entertainers they could not see. Before the three cabs, however, could reach up to the spot, he had gone up the high railings like a huge grey cat, tossed himself over, and vanished in a darkness of leaves.\nSyme with a furious gesture stopped his cab, jumped out, and sprang also to the escalade. When he had one leg over the fence and his friends were following, he turned a face on them which shone quite pale in the shadow.\n\"What place can this be?\" he asked. \"Can it be the old devil's house? I've heard he has a house in North London.\"\n\"All the better,\" said the Secretary grimly, planting a foot in a foothold, \"we shall find him at home.\"\n\"No, but it isn't that,\" said Syme, knitting his brows. \"I hear the most horrible noises, like devils laughing and sneezing and blowing their devilish noses!\"\n\"His dogs barking, of course,\" said the Secretary.\n\"Why not say his black-beetles barking!\" said Syme furiously, \"snails barking! geraniums barking! Did you ever hear a dog bark like that?\"\nHe held up his hand, and there came out of the thicket a long growling roar that seemed to get under the skin and freeze the flesh—a low thrilling roar that made a throbbing in the air all about them.\n\"The dogs of Sunday would be no ordinary dogs,\" said Gogol, and shuddered.\nSyme had jumped down on the other side, but he still stood listening impatiently.\n\"Well, listen to that,\" he said, \"is that a dog—anybody's dog?\"\nThere broke upon their ear a hoarse screaming as of things protesting and clamouring in sudden pain; and then, far off like an echo, what sounded like a long nasal trumpet.\n\"Well, his house ought to be hell!\" said the Secretary; \"and if it is hell, I'm going in!\" and he sprang over the tall railings almost with one swing.\nThe others followed. They broke through a tangle of plants and shrubs, and came out on an open path. Nothing was in sight, but Dr. Bull suddenly struck his hands together.\n\"Why, you asses,\" he cried, \"it's the Zoo!\"\nAs they were looking round wildly for any trace of their wild quarry, a keeper in uniform came running along the path with a man in plain clothes.\n\"Has it come this way?\" gasped the keeper.\n\"Has what?\" asked Syme.\n\"The elephant!\" cried the keeper. \"An elephant has gone mad and run away!\"\n\"He has run away with an old gentleman,\" said the other stranger breathlessly, \"a poor old gentleman with white hair!\"\n\"What sort of old gentleman?\" asked Syme, with great curiosity.\n\"A very large and fat old gentleman in light grey clothes,\" said the keeper eagerly.\n\"Well,\" said Syme, \"if he's that particular kind of old gentleman, if you're quite sure that he's a large and fat old gentleman in grey clothes, you may take my word for it that the elephant has not run away with him. He has run away with the elephant. The elephant is not made by God that could run away with him if he did not consent to the elopement. And, by thunder, there he is!\"", "chosen": "[\"Alhambra\", \"Syme\", \"Bull\", \"Professor\", \"Inspector\", \"Secretary\", \"Gogol\", \"President\", \"Stop\", \"Sunday\", \"Martin\", \"Tupper\", \"Archdeacon\", \"Edgware\", \"Road\", \"After\", \"Ratcliffe\", \"Fly\", \"Can\", \"North\", \"London\", \"All\", \"His\", \"Zoo\", \"Has\", \"God\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Alhambra\", \"Syme\", \"Bull\", \"Professor\", \"Inspector\", \"Secretary\", \"Gogol\", \"President\", \"Stop\", \"Sunday\", \"Martin\", \"Tupper\", \"Archdeacon\", \"Edgware\", \"Road\", \"After\", \"Ratcliffe\", \"Fly\", \"Can\", \"North\", \"London\", \"All\", \"His\", \"Zoo\", \"Has\", \"God\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1695-013-01-fa13a65b", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as I was ashamed to put my name to. The original was all her own--her own happy thoughts and gentle diction. But what could I do! we were engaged, every thing in preparation, the day almost fixed--but I am talking like a fool. Preparation! Day! In honest words, her money was necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, any thing was to be done to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did it signify to my character in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language my answer was couched? It must have been only to one end. My business was to declare myself a scoundrel, and whether I did it with a bow or a bluster was of little importance. 'I am ruined for ever in their opinion,' said I to myself; 'I am shut out for ever from their society, they already think me an unprincipled fellow, this letter will only make them think me a blackguard one.' Such were my reasonings, as, in a sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife's words, and parted with the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes--unluckily they were all in my pocket-book, or I should have denied their existence, and hoarded them for ever--I was forced to put them up, and could not even kiss them. And the lock of hair--that too I had always carried about me in the same pocket-book, which was now searched by Madam with the most ingratiating virulence,--the dear lock--all, every memento was torn from me.\"\n\"You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blamable,\" said Elinor, while her voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her compassionate emotion; \"you ought not to speak in this way, either of Mrs. Willoughby or my sister. You had made your own choice. It was not forced on you. Your wife has a claim to your politeness, to your respect, at least. She must be attached to you, or she would not have married you. To treat her with unkindness, to speak of her slightingly is no atonement to Marianne--nor can I suppose it a relief to your own conscience.\"\n\"Do not talk to me of my wife,\" said he with a heavy sigh. \"She does not deserve your compassion. She knew I had no regard for her when we married. Well, married we were, and came down to Combe Magna to be happy, and afterwards returned to town to be gay. And now do you pity me, Miss Dashwood? or have I said all this to no purpose? Am I,--be it only one degree,--am I less guilty in your opinion than I was before? My intentions were not always wrong. Have I explained away any part of my guilt?\"\n\"Yes, you have certainly removed something--a little. You have proved yourself, on the whole, less faulty than I had believed you. You have proved your heart less wicked, much less wicked. But I hardly know--the misery that you have inflicted--I hardly know what could have made it worse.\"\n\"Will you repeat to your sister when she is recovered, what I have been telling you?--Let me be a little lightened too in her opinion as well as in yours. You tell me that she has forgiven me already. Let me be able to fancy that a better knowledge of my heart, and of my present feelings, will draw from her a more spontaneous, more natural, more gentle, less dignified, forgiveness. Tell her of my misery and my penitence--tell her that my heart was never inconstant to her, and if you will, that at this moment she is dearer to me than ever.\"\n\"I will tell her all that is necessary to what may comparatively be called, your justification. But you have not explained to me the particular reason of your coming now, nor how you heard of her illness.\"\n\"Last night, in Drury Lane lobby, I ran against Sir John Middleton, and when he saw who I was, for the first time these two months--he spoke to me. That he had cut me ever since my marriage, I had seen without surprise or resentment. Now, however, his good-natured, honest, stupid soul, full of indignation against me, and concern for your sister, could not resist the temptation of telling me what he knew ought to, though probably he did not think it would, vex me horridly. As bluntly as he could speak it, therefore, he told me that Marianne Dashwood was dying of a putrid fever at Cleveland--a letter that morning received from Mrs. Jennings declared her danger most imminent--the Palmers are all gone off in a fright, &c. I was too much shocked to be able to pass myself off as insensible even to the undiscerning Sir John. His heart was softened in seeing mine suffer; and so much of his ill-will was done away, that when we parted, he almost shook me by the hand while he reminded me of an old promise about a pointer puppy. What I felt on hearing that your sister was dying, and dying too, believing me the greatest villain upon earth, scorning, hating me in her latest moments--for how could I tell what horrid projects might not have been imputed? One person I was sure would represent me as capable of any thing. What I felt was dreadful! My resolution was soon made, and at eight o'clock this morning I was in my carriage. Now you know all.\"\nElinor made no answer. Her thoughts were silently fixed on the irreparable injury which too early an independence and its consequent habits of idleness, dissipation, and luxury, had made in the mind, the character, the happiness, of a man who, to every advantage of person and talents, united a disposition naturally open and honest, and a feeling, affectionate temper. The world had made him extravagant and vain--Extravagance and vanity had made him cold-hearted and selfish. Vanity, while seeking its own guilty triumph at the expense of another, had involved him in a real attachment, which extravagance, or at least its offspring, necessity, had required to be sacrificed. Each faulty propensity in leading him to evil, had led him likewise to punishment. The attachment, from which against honour, against feeling, against every better interest he had outwardly torn himself, now, when no longer allowable, governed every thought; and the connection, for the sake of which he had, with little scruple, left her sister to misery, was likely to prove a source of unhappiness to himself of a far more incurable nature. From a reverie of this kind she was recalled at the end of some minutes by Willoughby, who, rousing himself from a reverie at least equally painful, started up in preparation for going, and said--\n\"There is no use in staying here; I must be off.\"\n\"Are you going back to town?\"\n\"No--to Combe Magna. I have business there; from thence to town in a day or two. Good bye.\"\nHe held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him hers;--he pressed it with affection.\n\"And you do think something better of me than you did?\"--said he, letting it fall, and leaning against the mantelpiece as if forgetting he was to go.\nElinor assured him that she did;--that she forgave, pitied, wished him well--was even interested in his happiness--and added some gentle counsel as to the behaviour most likely to promote it. His answer was not very encouraging.\n\"As to that,\" said he, \"I must rub through the world as well as I can. Domestic happiness is out of the question. If, however, I am allowed to think that you and yours feel an interest in my fate and actions, it may be the means--it may put me on my guard--at least, it may be something to live for. Marianne to be sure is lost to me for ever. Were I even by any blessed chance at liberty again--\"\nElinor stopped him with a reproof.\n\"Well,\"--he replied--\"once more good bye. I shall now go away and live in dread of one event.\"\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\"Your sister's marriage.\"\n\"You are very wrong. She can never be more lost to you than she is now.\"", "chosen": "Yes,, The, But, we, Preparation!, Day!, In, And, It, My, I, Her, And, Willoughby,, Willoughby, You, It, Your, She, To, She, She, Well,, And, or, Am, My, Have, You, You, But, You, Let, Tell, But, That, Now,, As, Jennings, I, His, What, One, What, My, Now, Her, The, Vanity,, Each, The, From, I, Good, She, And, Elinor, His, As, Domestic, If,, Marianne, Were, Well,\"--he, I, She", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nYes,, The, But, we, Preparation!, Day!, In, And, It, My, I, Her, And, Willoughby,, Willoughby, You, It, Your, She, To, She, She, Well,, And, or, Am, My, Have, You, You, But, You, Let, Tell, But, That, Now,, As, Jennings, I, His, What, One, What, My, Now, Her, The, Vanity,, Each, The, From, I, Good, She, And, Elinor, His, As, Domestic, If,, Marianne, Were, Well,\"--he, I, She\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-044-03-85871d74", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Your confidence in me ought to be returned with full confidence on my part. My present name, though but slightly changed from my mother's, is not, as you will remember, my own. I wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England.\"\n\"Stop!\" said the Doctor of Beauvais.\n\"I wish it, that I may the better deserve your confidence, and have no secret from you.\"\n\"Stop!\"\nFor an instant, the Doctor even had his two hands at his ears; for another instant, even had his two hands laid on Darnay's lips.\n\"Tell me when I ask you, not now. If your suit should prosper, if Lucie should love you, you shall tell me on your marriage morning. Do you promise?\"\n\"Willingly.\n\"Give me your hand. She will be home directly, and it is better she should not see us together to-night. Go! God bless you!\"\nIt was dark when Charles Darnay left him, and it was an hour later and darker when Lucie came home; she hurried into the room alone--for Miss Pross had gone straight up-stairs--and was surprised to find his reading-chair empty.\n\"My father!\" she called to him. \"Father dear!\"\nNothing was said in answer, but she heard a low hammering sound in his bedroom. Passing lightly across the intermediate room, she looked in at his door and came running back frightened, crying to herself, with her blood all chilled, \"What shall I do! What shall I do!\"\nHer uncertainty lasted but a moment; she hurried back, and tapped at his door, and softly called to him. The noise ceased at the sound of her voice, and he presently came out to her, and they walked up and down together for a long time.\nShe came down from her bed, to look at him in his sleep that night. He slept heavily, and his tray of shoemaking tools, and his old unfinished work, were all as usual.", "chosen": "18", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n18\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-98-016-02-b8dffb8f", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nYou can easily imagine what a father such a man could be and how he would bring up his children. His behavior as a father was exactly what might be expected. He completely abandoned the child of his marriage with Adelaïda Ivanovna, not from malice, nor because of his matrimonial grievances, but simply because he forgot him. While he was wearying every one with his tears and complaints, and turning his house into a sink of debauchery, a faithful servant of the family, Grigory, took the three-year-old Mitya into his care. If he hadn't looked after him there would have been no one even to change the baby's little shirt.\nIt happened moreover that the child's relations on his mother's side forgot him too at first. His grandfather was no longer living, his widow, Mitya's grandmother, had moved to Moscow, and was seriously ill, while his daughters were married, so that Mitya remained for almost a whole year in old Grigory's charge and lived with him in the servant's cottage. But if his father had remembered him (he could not, indeed, have been altogether unaware of his existence) he would have sent him back to the cottage, as the child would only have been in the way of his debaucheries. But a cousin of Mitya's mother, Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miüsov, happened to return from Paris. He lived for many years afterwards abroad, but was at that time quite a young man, and distinguished among the Miüsovs as a man of enlightened ideas and of European culture, who had been in the capitals and abroad. Towards the end of his life he became a Liberal of the type common in the forties and fifties. In the course of his career he had come into contact with many of the most Liberal men of his epoch, both in Russia and abroad. He had known Proudhon and Bakunin personally, and in his declining years was very fond of describing the three days of the Paris Revolution of February 1848, hinting that he himself had almost taken part in the fighting on the barricades. This was one of the most grateful recollections of his youth. He had an independent property of about a thousand souls, to reckon in the old style. His splendid estate lay on the outskirts of our little town and bordered on the lands of our famous monastery, with which Pyotr Alexandrovitch began an endless lawsuit, almost as soon as he came into the estate, concerning the rights of fishing in the river or wood-cutting in the forest, I don't know exactly which. He regarded it as his duty as a citizen and a man of culture to open an attack upon the \"clericals.\" Hearing all about Adelaïda Ivanovna, whom he, of course, remembered, and in whom he had at one time been interested, and learning of the existence of Mitya, he intervened, in spite of all his youthful indignation and contempt for Fyodor Pavlovitch. He made the latter's acquaintance for the first time, and told him directly that he wished to undertake the child's education. He used long afterwards to tell as a characteristic touch, that when he began to speak of Mitya, Fyodor Pavlovitch looked for some time as though he did not understand what child he was talking about, and even as though he was surprised to hear that he had a little son in the house. The story may have been exaggerated, yet it must have been something like the truth.\nFyodor Pavlovitch was all his life fond of acting, of suddenly playing an unexpected part, sometimes without any motive for doing so, and even to his own direct disadvantage, as, for instance, in the present case. This habit, however, is characteristic of a very great number of people, some of them very clever ones, not like Fyodor Pavlovitch. Pyotr Alexandrovitch carried the business through vigorously, and was appointed, with Fyodor Pavlovitch, joint guardian of the child, who had a small property, a house and land, left him by his mother. Mitya did, in fact, pass into this cousin's keeping, but as the latter had no family of his own, and after securing the revenues of his estates was in haste to return at once to Paris, he left the boy in charge of one of his cousins, a lady living in Moscow. It came to pass that, settling permanently in Paris he, too, forgot the child, especially when the Revolution of February broke out, making an impression on his mind that he remembered all the rest of his life. The Moscow lady died, and Mitya passed into the care of one of her married daughters. I believe he changed his home a fourth time later on. I won't enlarge upon that now, as I shall have much to tell later of Fyodor Pavlovitch's firstborn, and must confine myself now to the most essential facts about him, without which I could not begin my story.\nIn the first place, this Mitya, or rather Dmitri Fyodorovitch, was the only one of Fyodor Pavlovitch's three sons who grew up in the belief that he had property, and that he would be independent on coming of age. He spent an irregular boyhood and youth. He did not finish his studies at the gymnasium, he got into a military school, then went to the Caucasus, was promoted, fought a duel, and was degraded to the ranks, earned promotion again, led a wild life, and spent a good deal of money. He did not begin to receive any income from Fyodor Pavlovitch until he came of age, and until then got into debt. He saw and knew his father, Fyodor Pavlovitch, for the first time on coming of age, when he visited our neighborhood on purpose to settle with him about his property. He seems not to have liked his father. He did not stay long with him, and made haste to get away, having only succeeded in obtaining a sum of money, and entering into an agreement for future payments from the estate, of the revenues and value of which he was unable (a fact worthy of note), upon this occasion, to get a statement from his father. Fyodor Pavlovitch remarked for the first time then (this, too, should be noted) that Mitya had a vague and exaggerated idea of his property. Fyodor Pavlovitch was very well satisfied with this, as it fell in with his own designs. He gathered only that the young man was frivolous, unruly, of violent passions, impatient, and dissipated, and that if he could only obtain ready money he would be satisfied, although only, of course, for a short time. So Fyodor Pavlovitch began to take advantage of this fact, sending him from time to time small doles, installments. In the end, when four years later, Mitya, losing patience, came a second time to our little town to settle up once for all with his father, it turned out to his amazement that he had nothing, that it was difficult to get an account even, that he had received the whole value of his property in sums of money from Fyodor Pavlovitch, and was perhaps even in debt to him, that by various agreements into which he had, of his own desire, entered at various previous dates, he had no right to expect anything more, and so on, and so on. The young man was overwhelmed, suspected deceit and cheating, and was almost beside himself. And, indeed, this circumstance led to the catastrophe, the account of which forms the subject of my first introductory story, or rather the external side of it. But before I pass to that story I must say a little of Fyodor Pavlovitch's other two sons, and of their origin.", "chosen": "In the end, when four years later, Mitya, losing patience, came a second time to our little town to settle up once for all with his father, it turned out to his amazement that he had nothing, that it was difficult to get an account even, that he had received the whole value of his property in sums of money from Fyodor Pavlovitch, and was perhaps even in debt to him, that by various agreements into which he had, of his own desire, entered at various previous dates, he had no right to expect anything more, and so on, and so on.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nIn the end, when four years later, Mitya, losing patience, came a second time to our little town to settle up once for all with his father, it turned out to his amazement that he had nothing, that it was difficult to get an account even, that he had received the whole value of his property in sums of money from Fyodor Pavlovitch, and was perhaps even in debt to him, that by various agreements into which he had, of his own desire, entered at various previous dates, he had no right to expect anything more, and so on, and so on.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-002-00-360dc1d9", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"I know you have been very good. I shall like to hear anything you will say to me about Tertius.\"\n\"The day before yesterday,\" said Dorothea, \"when I had asked him to come to Lowick to give me his opinion on the affairs of the Hospital, he told me everything about his conduct and feelings in this sad event which has made ignorant people cast suspicions on him. The reason he told me was because I was very bold and asked him. I believed that he had never acted dishonorably, and I begged him to tell me the history. He confessed to me that he had never told it before, not even to you, because he had a great dislike to say, 'I was not wrong,' as if that were proof, when there are guilty people who will say so. The truth is, he knew nothing of this man Raffles, or that there were any bad secrets about him; and he thought that Mr. Bulstrode offered him the money because he repented, out of kindness, of having refused it before. All his anxiety about his patient was to treat him rightly, and he was a little uncomfortable that the case did not end as he had expected; but he thought then and still thinks that there may have been no wrong in it on any one's part. And I have told Mr. Farebrother, and Mr. Brooke, and Sir James Chettam: they all believe in your husband. That will cheer you, will it not? That will give you courage?\"\nDorothea's face had become animated, and as it beamed on Rosamond very close to her, she felt something like bashful timidity before a superior, in the presence of this self-forgetful ardor. She said, with blushing embarrassment, \"Thank you: you are very kind.\"\n\"And he felt that he had been so wrong not to pour out everything about this to you. But you will forgive him. It was because he feels so much more about your happiness than anything else—he feels his life bound into one with yours, and it hurts him more than anything, that his misfortunes must hurt you. He could speak to me because I am an indifferent person. And then I asked him if I might come to see you; because I felt so much for his trouble and yours. That is why I came yesterday, and why I am come to-day. Trouble is so hard to bear, is it not?— How can we live and think that any one has trouble—piercing trouble—and we could help them, and never try?\"\nDorothea, completely swayed by the feeling that she was uttering, forgot everything but that she was speaking from out the heart of her own trial to Rosamond's. The emotion had wrought itself more and more into her utterance, till the tones might have gone to one's very marrow, like a low cry from some suffering creature in the darkness. And she had unconsciously laid her hand again on the little hand that she had pressed before.\nRosamond, with an overmastering pang, as if a wound within her had been probed, burst into hysterical crying as she had done the day before when she clung to her husband. Poor Dorothea was feeling a great wave of her own sorrow returning over her—her thought being drawn to the possible share that Will Ladislaw might have in Rosamond's mental tumult. She was beginning to fear that she should not be able to suppress herself enough to the end of this meeting, and while her hand was still resting on Rosamond's lap, though the hand underneath it was withdrawn, she was struggling against her own rising sobs. She tried to master herself with the thought that this might be a turning-point in three lives—not in her own; no, there the irrevocable had happened, but—in those three lives which were touching hers with the solemn neighborhood of danger and distress. The fragile creature who was crying close to her—there might still be time to rescue her from the misery of false incompatible bonds; and this moment was unlike any other: she and Rosamond could never be together again with the same thrilling consciousness of yesterday within them both. She felt the relation between them to be peculiar enough to give her a peculiar influence, though she had no conception that the way in which her own feelings were involved was fully known to Mrs. Lydgate.\nIt was a newer crisis in Rosamond's experience than even Dorothea could imagine: she was under the first great shock that had shattered her dream-world in which she had been easily confident of herself and critical of others; and this strange unexpected manifestation of feeling in a woman whom she had approached with a shrinking aversion and dread, as one who must necessarily have a jealous hatred towards her, made her soul totter all the more with a sense that she had been walking in an unknown world which had just broken in upon her.\nWhen Rosamond's convulsed throat was subsiding into calm, and she withdrew the handkerchief with which she had been hiding her face, her eyes met Dorothea's as helplessly as if they had been blue flowers. What was the use of thinking about behavior after this crying? And Dorothea looked almost as childish, with the neglected trace of a silent tear. Pride was broken down between these two.\n\"We were talking about your husband,\" Dorothea said, with some timidity. \"I thought his looks were sadly changed with suffering the other day. I had not seen him for many weeks before. He said he had been feeling very lonely in his trial; but I think he would have borne it all better if he had been able to be quite open with you.\"\n\"Tertius is so angry and impatient if I say anything,\" said Rosamond, imagining that he had been complaining of her to Dorothea. \"He ought not to wonder that I object to speak to him on painful subjects.\"\n\"It was himself he blamed for not speaking,\" said Dorothea. \"What he said of you was, that he could not be happy in doing anything which made you unhappy—that his marriage was of course a bond which must affect his choice about everything; and for that reason he refused my proposal that he should keep his position at the Hospital, because that would bind him to stay in Middlemarch, and he would not undertake to do anything which would be painful to you. He could say that to me, because he knows that I had much trial in my marriage, from my husband's illness, which hindered his plans and saddened him; and he knows that I have felt how hard it is to walk always in fear of hurting another who is tied to us.\"\nDorothea waited a little; she had discerned a faint pleasure stealing over Rosamond's face. But there was no answer, and she went on, with a gathering tremor, \"Marriage is so unlike everything else. There is something even awful in the nearness it brings. Even if we loved some one else better than—than those we were married to, it would be no use\"—poor Dorothea, in her palpitating anxiety, could only seize her language brokenly—\"I mean, marriage drinks up all our power of giving or getting any blessedness in that sort of love. I know it may be very dear—but it murders our marriage—and then the marriage stays with us like a murder—and everything else is gone. And then our husband—if he loved and trusted us, and we have not helped him, but made a curse in his life—\"\nHer voice had sunk very low: there was a dread upon her of presuming too far, and of speaking as if she herself were perfection addressing error. She was too much preoccupied with her own anxiety, to be aware that Rosamond was trembling too; and filled with the need to express pitying fellowship rather than rebuke, she put her hands on Rosamond's, and said with more agitated rapidity,—\"I know, I know that the feeling may be very dear—it has taken hold of us unawares—it is so hard, it may seem like death to part with it—and we are weak—I am weak—\"", "chosen": "[\"I know you have been very good. I shall like to hear anything you will say to me about Tertius.\", \"The day before yesterday,\", \"Thank you: you are very kind.\", \"We were talking about your husband,\", \"Tertius is so angry and impatient if I say anything,\", \"He ought not to wonder that I object to speak to him on painful subjects.\", \"It was himself he blamed for not speaking,\", \"\\nDorothea waited a little; she had discerned a faint pleasure stealing over Rosamond's face. But there was no answer, and she went on, with a gathering tremor, \", \"\\u2014poor Dorothea, in her palpitating anxiety, could only seize her language brokenly\\u2014\", \"I know, I know that the feeling may be very dear\\u2014it has taken hold of us unawares\\u2014it is so hard, it may seem like death to part with it\\u2014and we are weak\\u2014I am weak\\u2014\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"I know you have been very good. I shall like to hear anything you will say to me about Tertius.\", \"The day before yesterday,\", \"Thank you: you are very kind.\", \"We were talking about your husband,\", \"Tertius is so angry and impatient if I say anything,\", \"He ought not to wonder that I object to speak to him on painful subjects.\", \"It was himself he blamed for not speaking,\", \"\\nDorothea waited a little; she had discerned a faint pleasure stealing over Rosamond's face. But there was no answer, and she went on, with a gathering tremor, \", \"\\u2014poor Dorothea, in her palpitating anxiety, could only seize her language brokenly\\u2014\", \"I know, I know that the feeling may be very dear\\u2014it has taken hold of us unawares\\u2014it is so hard, it may seem like death to part with it\\u2014and we are weak\\u2014I am weak\\u2014\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-081-01-f5906b92", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThis was the visit of Mitya of which Grushenka had spoken to Rakitin with such horror. She was just then expecting the \"message,\" and was much relieved that Mitya had not been to see her that day or the day before. She hoped that \"please God he won't come till I'm gone away,\" and he suddenly burst in on her. The rest we know already. To get him off her hands she suggested at once that he should walk with her to Samsonov's, where she said she absolutely must go \"to settle his accounts,\" and when Mitya accompanied her at once, she said good-by to him at the gate, making him promise to come at twelve o'clock to take her home again. Mitya, too, was delighted at this arrangement. If she was sitting at Samsonov's she could not be going to Fyodor Pavlovitch's, \"if only she's not lying,\" he added at once. But he thought she was not lying from what he saw.\nHe was that sort of jealous man who, in the absence of the beloved woman, at once invents all sorts of awful fancies of what may be happening to her, and how she may be betraying him, but, when shaken, heartbroken, convinced of her faithlessness, he runs back to her; at the first glance at her face, her gay, laughing, affectionate face, he revives at once, lays aside all suspicion and with joyful shame abuses himself for his jealousy.\nAfter leaving Grushenka at the gate he rushed home. Oh, he had so much still to do that day! But a load had been lifted from his heart, anyway.\n\"Now I must only make haste and find out from Smerdyakov whether anything happened there last night, whether, by any chance, she went to Fyodor Pavlovitch; ough!\" floated through his mind.\nBefore he had time to reach his lodging, jealousy had surged up again in his restless heart.\nJealousy! \"Othello was not jealous, he was trustful,\" observed Pushkin. And that remark alone is enough to show the deep insight of our great poet. Othello's soul was shattered and his whole outlook clouded simply because his ideal was destroyed. But Othello did not begin hiding, spying, peeping. He was trustful, on the contrary. He had to be led up, pushed on, excited with great difficulty before he could entertain the idea of deceit. The truly jealous man is not like that. It is impossible to picture to oneself the shame and moral degradation to which the jealous man can descend without a qualm of conscience. And yet it's not as though the jealous were all vulgar and base souls. On the contrary, a man of lofty feelings, whose love is pure and full of self-sacrifice, may yet hide under tables, bribe the vilest people, and be familiar with the lowest ignominy of spying and eavesdropping.\nOthello was incapable of making up his mind to faithlessness—not incapable of forgiving it, but of making up his mind to it—though his soul was as innocent and free from malice as a babe's. It is not so with the really jealous man. It is hard to imagine what some jealous men can make up their mind to and overlook, and what they can forgive! The jealous are the readiest of all to forgive, and all women know it. The jealous man can forgive extraordinarily quickly (though, of course, after a violent scene), and he is able to forgive infidelity almost conclusively proved, the very kisses and embraces he has seen, if only he can somehow be convinced that it has all been \"for the last time,\" and that his rival will vanish from that day forward, will depart to the ends of the earth, or that he himself will carry her away somewhere, where that dreaded rival will not get near her. Of course the reconciliation is only for an hour. For, even if the rival did disappear next day, he would invent another one and would be jealous of him. And one might wonder what there was in a love that had to be so watched over, what a love could be worth that needed such strenuous guarding. But that the jealous will never understand. And yet among them are men of noble hearts. It is remarkable, too, that those very men of noble hearts, standing hidden in some cupboard, listening and spying, never feel the stings of conscience at that moment, anyway, though they understand clearly enough with their \"noble hearts\" the shameful depths to which they have voluntarily sunk.\nAt the sight of Grushenka, Mitya's jealousy vanished, and, for an instant he became trustful and generous, and positively despised himself for his evil feelings. But it only proved that, in his love for the woman, there was an element of something far higher than he himself imagined, that it was not only a sensual passion, not only the \"curve of her body,\" of which he had talked to Alyosha. But, as soon as Grushenka had gone, Mitya began to suspect her of all the low cunning of faithlessness, and he felt no sting of conscience at it.\nAnd so jealousy surged up in him again. He had, in any case, to make haste. The first thing to be done was to get hold of at least a small, temporary loan of money. The nine roubles had almost all gone on his expedition. And, as we all know, one can't take a step without money. But he had thought over in the cart where he could get a loan. He had a brace of fine dueling pistols in a case, which he had not pawned till then because he prized them above all his possessions.\nIn the \"Metropolis\" tavern he had some time since made acquaintance with a young official and had learnt that this very opulent bachelor was passionately fond of weapons. He used to buy pistols, revolvers, daggers, hang them on his wall and show them to acquaintances. He prided himself on them, and was quite a specialist on the mechanism of the revolver. Mitya, without stopping to think, went straight to him, and offered to pawn his pistols to him for ten roubles. The official, delighted, began trying to persuade him to sell them outright. But Mitya would not consent, so the young man gave him ten roubles, protesting that nothing would induce him to take interest. They parted friends.\nMitya was in haste; he rushed towards Fyodor Pavlovitch's by the back way, to his arbor, to get hold of Smerdyakov as soon as possible. In this way the fact was established that three or four hours before a certain event, of which I shall speak later on, Mitya had not a farthing, and pawned for ten roubles a possession he valued, though, three hours later, he was in possession of thousands.... But I am anticipating. From Marya Kondratyevna (the woman living near Fyodor Pavlovitch's) he learned the very disturbing fact of Smerdyakov's illness. He heard the story of his fall in the cellar, his fit, the doctor's visit, Fyodor Pavlovitch's anxiety; he heard with interest, too, that his brother Ivan had set off that morning for Moscow.", "chosen": "Moscow", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nMoscow\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-046-00-aa5330d3", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nNot exactly the sort of thing for an idle fellow to think about, is it? But outsiders, you know, often see most of the game; and sitting in my arbor by the wayside, smoking my hookah of contentment and eating the sweet lotus-leaves of indolence, I can look out musingly upon the whirling throng that rolls and tumbles past me on the great high-road of life.\nNever-ending is the wild procession. Day and night you can hear the quick tramp of the myriad feet--some running, some walking, some halting and lame; but all hastening, all eager in the feverish race, all straining life and limb and heart and soul to reach the ever-receding horizon of success.\nMark them as they surge along--men and women, old and young, gentle and simple, fair and foul, rich and poor, merry and sad--all hurrying, bustling, scrambling. The strong pushing aside the weak, the cunning creeping past the foolish; those behind elbowing those before; those in front kicking, as they run, at those behind. Look close and see the flitting show. Here is an old man panting for breath, and there a timid maiden driven by a hard and sharp-faced matron; here is a studious youth, reading \"How to Get On in the World\" and letting everybody pass him as he stumbles along with his eyes on his book; here is a bored-looking man, with a fashionably dressed woman jogging his elbow; here a boy gazing wistfully back at the sunny village that he never again will see; here, with a firm and easy step, strides a broad-shouldered man; and here, with stealthy tread, a thin-faced, stooping fellow dodges and shuffles upon his way; here, with gaze fixed always on the ground, an artful rogue carefully works his way from side to side of the road and thinks he is going forward; and here a youth with a noble face stands, hesitating as he looks from the distant goal to the mud beneath his feet.\nAnd now into sight comes a fair girl, with her dainty face growing more wrinkled at every step, and now a care-worn man, and now a hopeful lad.\nA motley throng--a motley throng! Prince and beggar, sinner and saint, butcher and baker and candlestick maker, tinkers and tailors, and plowboys and sailors--all jostling along together. Here the counsel in his wig and gown, and here the old Jew clothes-man under his dingy tiara; here the soldier in his scarlet, and here the undertaker's mute in streaming hat-band and worn cotton gloves; here the musty scholar fumbling his faded leaves, and here the scented actor dangling his showy seals. Here the glib politician crying his legislative panaceas, and here the peripatetic Cheap-Jack holding aloft his quack cures for human ills. Here the sleek capitalist and there the sinewy laborer; here the man of science and here the shoe-back; here the poet and here the water-rate collector; here the cabinet minister and there the ballet-dancer. Here a red-nosed publican shouting the praises of his vats and there a temperance lecturer at 50 pounds a night; here a judge and there a swindler; here a priest and there a gambler. Here a jeweled duchess, smiling and gracious; here a thin lodging-house keeper, irritable with cooking; and here a wabbling, strutting thing, tawdry in paint and finery.\nCheek by cheek they struggle onward. Screaming, cursing, and praying, laughing, singing, and moaning, they rush past side by side. Their speed never slackens, the race never ends. There is no wayside rest for them, no halt by cooling fountains, no pause beneath green shades. On, on, on--on through the heat and the crowd and the dust--on, or they will be trampled down and lost--on, with throbbing brain and tottering limbs--on, till the heart grows sick, and the eyes grow blurred, and a gurgling groan tells those behind they may close up another space.\nAnd yet, in spite of the killing pace and the stony track, who but the sluggard or the dolt can hold aloof from the course? Who--like the belated traveler that stands watching fairy revels till he snatches and drains the goblin cup and springs into the whirling circle--can view the mad tumult and not be drawn into its midst? Not I, for one. I confess to the wayside arbor, the pipe of contentment, and the lotus-leaves being altogether unsuitable metaphors. They sounded very nice and philosophical, but I'm afraid I am not the sort of person to sit in arbors smoking pipes when there is any fun going on outside. I think I more resemble the Irishman who, seeing a crowd collecting, sent his little girl out to ask if there was going to be a row--\"'Cos, if so, father would like to be in it.\"\nI love the fierce strife. I like to watch it. I like to hear of people getting on in it--battling their way bravely and fairly--that is, not slipping through by luck or trickery. It stirs one's old Saxon fighting blood like the tales of \"knights who fought 'gainst fearful odds\" that thrilled us in our school-boy days.\nAnd fighting the battle of life is fighting against fearful odds, too. There are giants and dragons in this nineteenth century, and the golden casket that they guard is not so easy to win as it appears in the story-books. There, Algernon takes one long, last look at the ancestral hall, dashes the tear-drop from his eye, and goes off--to return in three years' time, rolling in riches. The authors do not tell us \"how it's done,\" which is a pity, for it would surely prove exciting.\nBut then not one novelist in a thousand ever does tell us the real story of their hero. They linger for a dozen pages over a tea-party, but sum up a life's history with \"he had become one of our merchant princes,\" or \"he was now a great artist, with the world at his feet.\" Why, there is more real life in one of Gilbert's patter-songs than in half the biographical novels ever written. He relates to us all the various steps by which his office-boy rose to be the \"ruler of the queen's navee,\" and explains to us how the briefless barrister managed to become a great and good judge, \"ready to try this breach of promise of marriage.\" It is in the petty details, not in the great results, that the interest of existence lies.\nWhat we really want is a novel showing us all the hidden under-current of an ambitious man's career--his struggles, and failures, and hopes, his disappointments and victories. It would be an immense success. I am sure the wooing of Fortune would prove quite as interesting a tale as the wooing of any flesh-and-blood maiden, though, by the way, it would read extremely similar; for Fortune is, indeed, as the ancients painted her, very like a woman--not quite so unreasonable and inconsistent, but nearly so--and the pursuit is much the same in one case as in the other. Ben Jonson's couplet--\n\"Court a mistress, she denies you; Let her alone, she will court you\"--\nputs them both in a nutshell. A woman never thoroughly cares for her lover until he has ceased to care for her; and it is not until you have snapped your fingers in Fortune's face and turned on your heel that she begins to smile upon you.\nBut by that time you do not much care whether she smiles or frowns. Why could she not have smiled when her smiles would have filled you with ecstasy? Everything comes too late in this world.\nGood people say that it is quite right and proper that it should be so, and that it proves ambition is wicked.\nBosh! Good people are altogether wrong. (They always are, in my opinion. We never agree on any single point.) What would the world do without ambitious people, I should like to know? Why, it would be as flabby as a Norfolk dumpling. Ambitious people are the leaven which raises it into wholesome bread. Without ambitious people the world would never get up. They are busybodies who are about early in the morning, hammering, shouting, and rattling the fire-irons, and rendering it generally impossible for the rest of the house to remain in bed.", "chosen": "[\"Get\", \"World\", \"Jew\", \"Cheap\", \"Irishman\", \"Saxon\", \"Algernon\", \"Gilbert\", \"Fortune\", \"Jonson\", \"Court\", \"Let\", \"Norfolk\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Get\", \"World\", \"Jew\", \"Cheap\", \"Irishman\", \"Saxon\", \"Algernon\", \"Gilbert\", \"Fortune\", \"Jonson\", \"Court\", \"Let\", \"Norfolk\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-849-006-00-801a79a3", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"There is a casting-vote still to be given. It is yours, Mr. Lydgate: will you be good enough to write?\"\n\"The thing is settled now,\" said Mr. Wrench, rising. \"We all know how Mr. Lydgate will vote.\"\n\"You seem to speak with some peculiar meaning, sir,\" said Lydgate, rather defiantly, and keeping his pencil suspended.\n\"I merely mean that you are expected to vote with Mr. Bulstrode. Do you regard that meaning as offensive?\"\n\"It may be offensive to others. But I shall not desist from voting with him on that account.\" Lydgate immediately wrote down \"Tyke.\"\nSo the Rev. Walter Tyke became chaplain to the Infirmary, and Lydgate continued to work with Mr. Bulstrode. He was really uncertain whether Tyke were not the more suitable candidate, and yet his consciousness told him that if he had been quite free from indirect bias he should have voted for Mr. Farebrother. The affair of the chaplaincy remained a sore point in his memory as a case in which this petty medium of Middlemarch had been too strong for him. How could a man be satisfied with a decision between such alternatives and under such circumstances? No more than he can be satisfied with his hat, which he has chosen from among such shapes as the resources of the age offer him, wearing it at best with a resignation which is chiefly supported by comparison.\nBut Mr. Farebrother met him with the same friendliness as before. The character of the publican and sinner is not always practically incompatible with that of the modern Pharisee, for the majority of us scarcely see more distinctly the faultiness of our own conduct than the faultiness of our own arguments, or the dulness of our own jokes. But the Vicar of St. Botolph's had certainly escaped the slightest tincture of the Pharisee, and by dint of admitting to himself that he was too much as other men were, he had become remarkably unlike them in this—that he could excuse others for thinking slightly of him, and could judge impartially of their conduct even when it told against him.\n\"The world has been too strong for me, I know,\" he said one day to Lydgate. \"But then I am not a mighty man—I shall never be a man of renown. The choice of Hercules is a pretty fable; but Prodicus makes it easy work for the hero, as if the first resolves were enough. Another story says that he came to hold the distaff, and at last wore the Nessus shirt. I suppose one good resolve might keep a man right if everybody else's resolve helped him.\"\nThe Vicar's talk was not always inspiriting: he had escaped being a Pharisee, but he had not escaped that low estimate of possibilities which we rather hastily arrive at as an inference from our own failure. Lydgate thought that there was a pitiable infirmity of will in Mr. Farebrother.", "chosen": "There, It, Lydgate:, Wrench,, We, Lydgate, I, Bulstrode., Do, But, Walter, Bulstrode., He, Farebrother., The, How, No, But, Farebrother, The, But, Botolph's, The, But, The, Another, I, Lydgate, Farebrother.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nThere, It, Lydgate:, Wrench,, We, Lydgate, I, Bulstrode., Do, But, Walter, Bulstrode., He, Farebrother., The, How, No, But, Farebrother, The, But, Botolph's, The, But, The, Another, I, Lydgate, Farebrother.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-019-03-360a8908", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nAt last Becky's frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat down. Tom rested with her, and they talked of home, and the friends there, and the comfortable beds and, above all, the light! Becky cried, and Tom tried to think of some way of comforting her, but all his encouragements were grown thread-bare with use, and sounded like sarcasms. Fatigue bore so heavily upon Becky that she drowsed off to sleep. Tom was grateful. He sat looking into her drawn face and saw it grow smooth and natural under the influence of pleasant dreams; and by-and-by a smile dawned and rested there. The peaceful face reflected somewhat of peace and healing into his own spirit, and his thoughts wandered away to bygone times and dreamy memories. While he was deep in his musings, Becky woke up with a breezy little laugh—but it was stricken dead upon her lips, and a groan followed it.\n\"Oh, how could I sleep! I wish I never, never had waked! No! No, I don't, Tom! Don't look so! I won't say it again.\"\n\"I'm glad you've slept, Becky; you'll feel rested, now, and we'll find the way out.\"\n\"We can try, Tom; but I've seen such a beautiful country in my dream. I reckon we are going there.\"\n\"Maybe not, maybe not. Cheer up, Becky, and let's go on trying.\"\nThey rose up and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They tried to estimate how long they had been in the cave, but all they knew was that it seemed days and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not be, for their candles were not gone yet. A long time after this—they could not tell how long—Tom said they must go softly and listen for dripping water—they must find a spring. They found one presently, and Tom said it was time to rest again. Both were cruelly tired, yet Becky said she thought she could go a little farther. She was surprised to hear Tom dissent. She could not understand it. They sat down, and Tom fastened his candle to the wall in front of them with some clay. Thought was soon busy; nothing was said for some time. Then Becky broke the silence:\n\"Tom, I am so hungry!\"\nTom took something out of his pocket.\n\"Do you remember this?\" said he.\nBecky almost smiled.\n\"It's our wedding-cake, Tom.\"\n\"Yes—I wish it was as big as a barrel, for it's all we've got.\"\n\"I saved it from the picnic for us to dream on, Tom, the way grownup people do with wedding-cake—but it'll be our—\"\nShe dropped the sentence where it was. Tom divided the cake and Becky ate with good appetite, while Tom nibbled at his moiety. There was abundance of cold water to finish the feast with. By-and-by Becky suggested that they move on again. Tom was silent a moment. Then he said:\n\"Becky, can you bear it if I tell you something?\"\nBecky's face paled, but she thought she could.\n\"Well, then, Becky, we must stay here, where there's water to drink. That little piece is our last candle!\"\nBecky gave loose to tears and wailings. Tom did what he could to comfort her, but with little effect. At length Becky said:\n\"Tom!\"\n\"Well, Becky?\"\n\"They'll miss us and hunt for us!\"\n\"Yes, they will! Certainly they will!\"\n\"Maybe they're hunting for us now, Tom.\"\n\"Why, I reckon maybe they are. I hope they are.\"\n\"When would they miss us, Tom?\"\n\"When they get back to the boat, I reckon.\"\n\"Tom, it might be dark then—would they notice we hadn't come?\"\n\"I don't know. But anyway, your mother would miss you as soon as they got home.\"\nA frightened look in Becky's face brought Tom to his senses and he saw that he had made a blunder. Becky was not to have gone home that night! The children became silent and thoughtful. In a moment a new burst of grief from Becky showed Tom that the thing in his mind had struck hers also—that the Sabbath morning might be half spent before Mrs. Thatcher discovered that Becky was not at Mrs. Harper's.\nThe children fastened their eyes upon their bit of candle and watched it melt slowly and pitilessly away; saw the half inch of wick stand alone at last; saw the feeble flame rise and fall, climb the thin column of smoke, linger at its top a moment, and then—the horror of utter darkness reigned!\nHow long afterward it was that Becky came to a slow consciousness that she was crying in Tom's arms, neither could tell. All that they knew was, that after what seemed a mighty stretch of time, both awoke out of a dead stupor of sleep and resumed their miseries once more. Tom said it might be Sunday, now—maybe Monday. He tried to get Becky to talk, but her sorrows were too oppressive, all her hopes were gone. Tom said that they must have been missed long ago, and no doubt the search was going on. He would shout and maybe some one would come. He tried it; but in the darkness the distant echoes sounded so hideously that he tried it no more.\nThe hours wasted away, and hunger came to torment the captives again. A portion of Tom's half of the cake was left; they divided and ate it. But they seemed hungrier than before. The poor morsel of food only whetted desire.\nBy-and-by Tom said:\n\"SH! Did you hear that?\"\nBoth held their breath and listened. There was a sound like the faintest, far-off shout. Instantly Tom answered it, and leading Becky by the hand, started groping down the corridor in its direction. Presently he listened again; again the sound was heard, and apparently a little nearer.\n\"It's them!\" said Tom; \"they're coming! Come along, Becky—we're all right now!\"\nThe joy of the prisoners was almost overwhelming. Their speed was slow, however, because pitfalls were somewhat common, and had to be guarded against. They shortly came to one and had to stop. It might be three feet deep, it might be a hundred—there was no passing it at any rate. Tom got down on his breast and reached as far down as he could. No bottom. They must stay there and wait until the searchers came. They listened; evidently the distant shoutings were growing more distant! a moment or two more and they had gone altogether. The heart-sinking misery of it! Tom whooped until he was hoarse, but it was of no use. He talked hopefully to Becky; but an age of anxious waiting passed and no sounds came again.\nThe children groped their way back to the spring. The weary time dragged on; they slept again, and awoke famished and woe-stricken. Tom believed it must be Tuesday by this time.", "chosen": "79", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n79\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-74-030-01-d8f00bd8", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nMeantime, the other would have fain gone on with the discourse; but the cunning barber lathered him with so generous a brush, so piled up the foam on him, that his face looked like the yeasty crest of a billow, and vain to think of talking under it, as for a drowning priest in the sea to exhort his fellow-sinners on a raft. Nothing would do, but he must keep his mouth shut. Doubtless, the interval was not, in a meditative way, unimproved; for, upon the traces of the operation being at last removed, the cosmopolitan rose, and, for added refreshment, washed his face and hands; and having generally readjusted himself, began, at last, addressing the barber in a manner different, singularly so, from his previous one. Hard to say exactly what the manner was, any more than to hint it was a sort of magical; in a benign way, not wholly unlike the manner, fabled or otherwise, of certain creatures in nature, which have the power of persuasive fascination--the power of holding another creature by the button of the eye, as it were, despite the serious disinclination, and, indeed, earnest protest, of the victim. With this manner the conclusion of the matter was not out of keeping; for, in the end, all argument and expostulation proved vain, the barber being irresistibly persuaded to agree to try, for the remainder of the present trip, the experiment of trusting men, as both phrased it. True, to save his credit as a free agent, he was loud in averring that it was only for the novelty of the thing that he so agreed, and he required the other, as before volunteered, to go security to him against any loss that might ensue; but still the fact remained, that he engaged to trust men, a thing he had before said he would not do, at least not unreservedly. Still the more to save his credit, he now insisted upon it, as a last point, that the agreement should be put in black and white, especially the security part. The other made no demur; pen, ink, and paper were provided, and grave as any notary the cosmopolitan sat down, but, ere taking the pen, glanced up at the notification, and said: \"First down with that sign, barber--Timon's sign, there; down with it.\"\nThis, being in the agreement, was done--though a little reluctantly--with an eye to the future, the sign being carefully put away in a drawer.\n\"Now, then, for the writing,\" said the cosmopolitan, squaring himself. \"Ah,\" with a sigh, \"I shall make a poor lawyer, I fear. Ain't used, you see, barber, to a business which, ignoring the principle of honor, holds no nail fast till clinched. Strange, barber,\" taking up the blank paper, \"that such flimsy stuff as this should make such strong hawsers; vile hawsers, too. Barber,\" starting up, \"I won't put it in black and white. It were a reflection upon our joint honor. I will take your word, and you shall take mine.\"\n\"But your memory may be none of the best, sir. Well for you, on your side, to have it in black and white, just for a memorandum like, you know.\"\n\"That, indeed! Yes, and it would help your memory, too, wouldn't it, barber? Yours, on your side, being a little weak, too, I dare say. Ah, barber! how ingenious we human beings are; and how kindly we reciprocate each other's little delicacies, don't we? What better proof, now, that we are kind, considerate fellows, with responsive fellow-feelings--eh, barber? But to business. Let me see. What's your name, barber?\"\n\"William Cream, sir.\"\nPondering a moment, he began to write; and, after some corrections, leaned back, and read aloud the following:\n\"AGREEMENT Between FRANK GOODMAN, Philanthropist, and Citizen of the World, and WILLIAM CREAM, Barber of the Mississippi steamer, Fidèle.\n\"The first hereby agrees to make good to the last any loss that may come from his trusting mankind, in the way of his vocation, for the residue of the present trip; PROVIDED that William Cream keep out of sight, for the given term, his notification of NO TRUST, and by no other mode convey any, the least hint or intimation, tending to discourage men from soliciting trust from him, in the way of his vocation, for the time above specified; but, on the contrary, he do, by all proper and reasonable words, gestures, manners, and looks, evince a perfect confidence in all men, especially strangers; otherwise, this agreement to be void.\n\"Done, in good faith, this 1st day of April 18--, at a quarter to twelve o'clock, P. M., in the shop of said William Cream, on board the said boat, Fidèle.\"\n\"There, barber; will that do?\"\n\"That will do,\" said the barber, \"only now put down your name.\"\nBoth signatures being affixed, the question was started by the barber, who should have custody of the instrument; which point, however, he settled for himself, by proposing that both should go together to the captain, and give the document into his hands--the barber hinting that this would be a safe proceeding, because the captain was necessarily a party disinterested, and, what was more, could not, from the nature of the present case, make anything by a breach of trust. All of which was listened to with some surprise and concern.\n\"Why, barber,\" said the cosmopolitan, \"this don't show the right spirit; for me, I have confidence in the captain purely because he is a man; but he shall have nothing to do with our affair; for if you have no confidence in me, barber, I have in you. There, keep the paper yourself,\" handing it magnanimously.\n\"Very good,\" said the barber, \"and now nothing remains but for me to receive the cash.\"\nThough the mention of that word, or any of its singularly numerous equivalents, in serious neighborhood to a requisition upon one's purse, is attended with a more or less noteworthy effect upon the human countenance, producing in many an abrupt fall of it--in others, a writhing and screwing up of the features to a point not undistressing to behold, in some, attended with a blank pallor and fatal consternation--yet no trace of any of these symptoms was visible upon the countenance of the cosmopolitan, notwithstanding nothing could be more sudden and unexpected than the barber's demand.\n\"You speak of cash, barber; pray in what connection?\"\n\"In a nearer one, sir,\" answered the barber, less blandly, \"than I thought the man with the sweet voice stood, who wanted me to trust him once for a shave, on the score of being a sort of thirteenth cousin.\"\n\"Indeed, and what did you say to him?\"\n\"I said, 'Thank you, sir, but I don't see the connection,'\"\n\"How could you so unsweetly answer one with a sweet voice?\"\n\"Because, I recalled what the son of Sirach says in the True Book: 'An enemy speaketh sweetly with his lips;' and so I did what the son of Sirach advises in such cases: 'I believed not his many words.'\"\n\"What, barber, do you say that such cynical sort of things are in the True Book, by which, of course, you mean the Bible?\"\n\"Yes, and plenty more to the same effect. Read the Book of Proverbs.\"\n\"That's strange, now, barber; for I never happen to have met with those passages you cite. Before I go to bed this night, I'll inspect the Bible I saw on the cabin-table, to-day. But mind, you mustn't quote the True Book that way to people coming in here; it would be impliedly a violation of the contract. But you don't know how glad I feel that you have for one while signed off all that sort of thing.\"\n\"No, sir; not unless you down with the cash.\"\n\"Cash again! What do you mean?\"\n\"Why, in this paper here, you engage, sir, to insure me against a certain loss, and----\"\n\"Certain? Is it so certain you are going to lose?\"\n\"Why, that way of taking the word may not be amiss, but I didn't mean it so. I meant a certain loss; you understand, a CERTAIN loss; that is to say, a certain loss. Now then, sir, what use your mere writing and saying you will insure me, unless beforehand you place in my hands a money-pledge, sufficient to that end?\"\n\"I see; the material pledge.\"", "chosen": "\"You speak of cash, barber; pray in what connection?\"\n\"In a nearer one, sir,\" answered the barber, less blandly, \"than I thought the man with the sweet voice stood, who wanted me to trust him once for a shave, on the score of being a sort of thirteenth cousin.\"\n\"Indeed, and what did you say to him?\"\n\"I said, 'Thank you, sir, but I don't see the connection,'\"\n\"How could you so unsweetly answer one with a sweet voice?\"\n\"Because, I recalled what the son of Sirach says in the True Book: 'An enemy speaketh sweetly with his lips;' and so I did what the son of Sirach advises in such cases: 'I believed not his many words.'\"\n\"What, barber, do you say that such cynical sort of things are in the True Book, by which, of course, you mean the Bible?\"\n\"Yes, and plenty more to the same effect.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n\"You speak of cash, barber; pray in what connection?\"\n\"In a nearer one, sir,\" answered the barber, less blandly, \"than I thought the man with the sweet voice stood, who wanted me to trust him once for a shave, on the score of being a sort of thirteenth cousin.\"\n\"Indeed, and what did you say to him?\"\n\"I said, 'Thank you, sir, but I don't see the connection,'\"\n\"How could you so unsweetly answer one with a sweet voice?\"\n\"Because, I recalled what the son of Sirach says in the True Book: 'An enemy speaketh sweetly with his lips;' and so I did what the son of Sirach advises in such cases: 'I believed not his many words.'\"\n\"What, barber, do you say that such cynical sort of things are in the True Book, by which, of course, you mean the Bible?\"\n\"Yes, and plenty more to the same effect.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21816-039-01-9ed008c1", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nMy reference, a moment ago, to the fact that a pilot's peculiar official position placed him out of the reach of criticism or command, brings Stephen W---- naturally to my mind. He was a gifted pilot, a good fellow, a tireless talker, and had both wit and humor in him. He had a most irreverent independence, too, and was deliciously easy-going and comfortable in the presence of age, official dignity, and even the most august wealth. He always had work, he never saved a penny, he was a most persuasive borrower, he was in debt to every pilot on the river, and to the majority of the captains. He could throw a sort of splendor around a bit of harum-scarum, devil-may-care piloting, that made it almost fascinating--but not to everybody. He made a trip with good old Captain Y----once, and was 'relieved' from duty when the boat got to New Orleans. Somebody expressed surprise at the discharge. Captain Y---- shuddered at the mere mention of Stephen. Then his poor, thin old voice piped out something like this:--\n'Why, bless me! I wouldn't have such a wild creature on my boat for the world--not for the whole world! He swears, he sings, he whistles, he yells--I never saw such an Injun to yell. All times of the night--it never made any difference to him. He would just yell that way, not for anything in particular, but merely on account of a kind of devilish comfort he got out of it. I never could get into a sound sleep but he would fetch me out of bed, all in a cold sweat, with one of those dreadful war-whoops. A queer being--very queer being; no respect for anything or anybody. Sometimes he called me \"Johnny.\" And he kept a fiddle, and a cat. He played execrably. This seemed to distress the cat, and so the cat would howl. Nobody could sleep where that man--and his family--was. And reckless. There never was anything like it. Now you may believe it or not, but as sure as I am sitting here, he brought my boat a-tilting down through those awful snags at Chicot under a rattling head of steam, and the wind a-blowing like the very nation, at that! My officers will tell you so. They saw it. And, sir, while he was a-tearing right down through those snags, and I a-shaking in my shoes and praying, I wish I may never speak again if he didn't pucker up his mouth and go to whistling! Yes, sir; whistling \"Buffalo gals, can't you come out tonight, can't you come out to-night, can't you come out to-night;\" and doing it as calmly as if we were attending a funeral and weren't related to the corpse. And when I remonstrated with him about it, he smiled down on me as if I was his child, and told me to run in the house and try to be good, and not be meddling with my superiors!'\nOnce a pretty mean captain caught Stephen in New Orleans out of work and as usual out of money. He laid steady siege to Stephen, who was in a very 'close place,' and finally persuaded him to hire with him at one hundred and twenty-five dollars per month, just half wages, the captain agreeing not to divulge the secret and so bring down the contempt of all the guild upon the poor fellow. But the boat was not more than a day out of New Orleans before Stephen discovered that the captain was boasting of his exploit, and that all the officers had been told. Stephen winced, but said nothing. About the middle of the afternoon the captain stepped out on the hurricane deck, cast his eye around, and looked a good deal surprised. He glanced inquiringly aloft at Stephen, but Stephen was whistling placidly, and attending to business. The captain stood around a while in evident discomfort, and once or twice seemed about to make a suggestion; but the etiquette of the river taught him to avoid that sort of rashness, and so he managed to hold his peace. He chafed and puzzled a few minutes longer, then retired to his apartments. But soon he was out again, and apparently more perplexed than ever. Presently he ventured to remark, with deference--\n'Pretty good stage of the river now, ain't it, sir?'\n'Well, I should say so! Bank-full is a pretty liberal stage.'\n'Seems to be a good deal of current here.'\n'Good deal don't describe it! It's worse than a mill-race.'\n'Isn't it easier in toward shore than it is out here in the middle?'\n'Yes, I reckon it is; but a body can't be too careful with a steamboat. It's pretty safe out here; can't strike any bottom here, you can depend on that.'\nThe captain departed, looking rueful enough. At this rate, he would probably die of old age before his boat got to St. Louis. Next day he appeared on deck and again found Stephen faithfully standing up the middle of the river, fighting the whole vast force of the Mississippi, and whistling the same placid tune. This thing was becoming serious. In by the shore was a slower boat clipping along in the easy water and gaining steadily; she began to make for an island chute; Stephen stuck to the middle of the river. Speech was _wrung _from the captain. He said--\n'Mr. W----, don't that chute cut off a good deal of distance?'\n'I think it does, but I don't know.'\n'Don't know! Well, isn't there water enough in it now to go through?'\n'I expect there is, but I am not certain.'\n'Upon my word this is odd! Why, those pilots on that boat yonder are going to try it. Do you mean to say that you don't know as much as they do?'\n'They! Why, _they _are two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar pilots! But don't you be uneasy; I know as much as any man can afford to know for a hundred and twenty-five!'\nThe captain surrendered.\nFive minutes later Stephen was bowling through the chute and showing the rival boat a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar pair of heels.", "chosen": "heels", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nheels\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-245-015-01-d4a1c62b", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThey finished supper, and while Mattie cleared the table Ethan went to look at the cows and then took a last turn about the house. The earth lay dark under a muffled sky and the air was so still that now and then he heard a lump of snow come thumping down from a tree far off on the edge of the wood-lot.\nWhen he returned to the kitchen Mattie had pushed up his chair to the stove and seated herself near the lamp with a bit of sewing. The scene was just as he had dreamed of it that morning. He sat down, drew his pipe from his pocket and stretched his feet to the glow. His hard day's work in the keen air made him feel at once lazy and light of mood, and he had a confused sense of being in another world, where all was warmth and harmony and time could bring no change. The only drawback to his complete well-being was the fact that he could not see Mattie from where he sat; but he was too indolent to move and after a moment he said: \"Come over here and sit by the stove.\"\nZeena's empty rocking-chair stood facing him. Mattie rose obediently, and seated herself in it. As her young brown head detached itself against the patch-work cushion that habitually framed his wife's gaunt countenance, Ethan had a momentary shock. It was almost as if the other face, the face of the superseded woman, had obliterated that of the intruder. After a moment Mattie seemed to be affected by the same sense of constraint. She changed her position, leaning forward to bend her head above her work, so that he saw only the foreshortened tip of her nose and the streak of red in her hair; then she slipped to her feet, saying \"I can't see to sew,\" and went back to her chair by the lamp.\nEthan made a pretext of getting up to replenish the stove, and when he returned to his seat he pushed it sideways that he might get a view of her profile and of the lamplight falling on her hands. The cat, who had been a puzzled observer of these unusual movements, jumped up into Zeena's chair, rolled itself into a ball, and lay watching them with narrowed eyes.\nDeep quiet sank on the room. The clock ticked above the dresser, a piece of charred wood fell now and then in the stove, and the faint sharp scent of the geraniums mingled with the odour of Ethan's smoke, which began to throw a blue haze about the lamp and to hang its greyish cobwebs in the shadowy corners of the room.\nAll constraint had vanished between the two, and they began to talk easily and simply. They spoke of every-day things, of the prospect of snow, of the next church sociable, of the loves and quarrels of Starkfield. The commonplace nature of what they said produced in Ethan an illusion of long-established intimacy which no outburst of emotion could have given, and he set his imagination adrift on the fiction that they had always spent their evenings thus and would always go on doing so....\n\"This is the night we were to have gone coasting, Matt,\" he said at length, with the rich sense, as he spoke, that they could go on any other night they chose, since they had all time before them.\nShe smiled back at him. \"I guess you forgot!\"\n\"No, I didn't forget; but it's as dark as Egypt outdoors. We might go to-morrow if there's a moon.\"\nShe laughed with pleasure, her head tilted back, the lamplight sparkling on her lips and teeth. \"That would be lovely, Ethan!\"\nHe kept his eyes fixed on her, marvelling at the way her face changed with each turn of their talk, like a wheat-field under a summer breeze. It was intoxicating to find such magic in his clumsy words, and he longed to try new ways of using it.\n\"Would you be scared to go down the Corbury road with me on a night like this?\" he asked.\nHer cheeks burned redder. \"I ain't any more scared than you are!\"\n\"Well, I'd be scared, then; I wouldn't do it. That's an ugly corner down by the big elm. If a fellow didn't keep his eyes open he'd go plumb into it.\" He luxuriated in the sense of protection and authority which his words conveyed. To prolong and intensify the feeling he added: \"I guess we're well enough here.\"\nShe let her lids sink slowly, in the way he loved. \"Yes, we're well enough here,\" she sighed.\nHer tone was so sweet that he took the pipe from his mouth and drew his chair up to the table. Leaning forward, he touched the farther end of the strip of brown stuff that she was hemming. \"Say, Matt,\" he began with a smile, \"what do you think I saw under the Varnum spruces, coming along home just now? I saw a friend of yours getting kissed.\"\nThe words had been on his tongue all the evening, but now that he had spoken them they struck him as inexpressibly vulgar and out of place.\nMattie blushed to the roots of her hair and pulled her needle rapidly twice or thrice through her work, insensibly drawing the end of it away from him. \"I suppose it was Ruth and Ned,\" she said in a low voice, as though he had suddenly touched on something grave.\nEthan had imagined that his allusion might open the way to the accepted pleasantries, and these perhaps in turn to a harmless caress, if only a mere touch on her hand. But now he felt as if her blush had set a flaming guard about her. He supposed it was his natural awkwardness that made him feel so. He knew that most young men made nothing at all of giving a pretty girl a kiss, and he remembered that the night before, when he had put his arm about Mattie, she had not resisted. But that had been out-of-doors, under the open irresponsible night. Now, in the warm lamplit room, with all its ancient implications of conformity and order, she seemed infinitely farther away from him and more unapproachable.\nTo ease his constraint he said: \"I suppose they'll be setting a date before long.\"\n\"Yes. I shouldn't wonder if they got married some time along in the summer.\" She pronounced the word married as if her voice caressed it. It seemed a rustling covert leading to enchanted glades. A pang shot through Ethan, and he said, twisting away from her in his chair: \"It'll be your turn next, I wouldn't wonder.\"\nShe laughed a little uncertainly. \"Why do you keep on saying that?\"\nHe echoed her laugh. \"I guess I do it to get used to the idea.\"\nHe drew up to the table again and she sewed on in silence, with dropped lashes, while he sat in fascinated contemplation of the way in which her hands went up and down above the strip of stuff, just as he had seen a pair of birds make short perpendicular flights over a nest they were building. At length, without turning her head or lifting her lids, she said in a low tone: \"It's not because you think Zeena's got anything against me, is it?\"\nHis former dread started up full-armed at the suggestion. \"Why, what do you mean?\" he stammered.\nShe raised distressed eyes to his, her work dropping on the table between them. \"I don't know. I thought last night she seemed to have.\"\n\"I'd like to know what,\" he growled.\n\"Nobody can tell with Zeena.\" It was the first time they had ever spoken so openly of her attitude toward Mattie, and the repetition of the name seemed to carry it to the farther corners of the room and send it back to them in long repercussions of sound. Mattie waited, as if to give the echo time to drop, and then went on: \"She hasn't said anything to you?\"\nHe shook his head. \"No, not a word.\"\nShe tossed the hair back from her forehead with a laugh. \"I guess I'm just nervous, then. I'm not going to think about it any more.\"\n\"Oh, no—don't let's think about it, Matt!\"", "chosen": "[\"Mattie\", \"Ethan\", \"Come\", \"Zeena\", \"Starkfield\", \"Matt\", \"Egypt\", \"Would\", \"Corbury\", \"Say\", \"Varnum\", \"Ruth\", \"Ned\", \"Nobody\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Mattie\", \"Ethan\", \"Come\", \"Zeena\", \"Starkfield\", \"Matt\", \"Egypt\", \"Would\", \"Corbury\", \"Say\", \"Varnum\", \"Ruth\", \"Ned\", \"Nobody\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-4517-006-00-9f0c1f04", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Ach, what if I am convinced? That's only my dream for the time. Why should I put you in safety? You know that's it, since you ask me to do it. If I confront you with that workman for instance and you say to him 'were you drunk or not? Who saw me with you? I simply took you to be drunk, and you were drunk, too.' Well, what could I answer, especially as your story is a more likely one than his? for there's nothing but psychology to support his evidence--that's almost unseemly with his ugly mug, while you hit the mark exactly, for the rascal is an inveterate drunkard and notoriously so. And I have myself admitted candidly several times already that that psychology can be taken in two ways and that the second way is stronger and looks far more probable, and that apart from that I have as yet nothing against you. And though I shall put you in prison and indeed have come--quite contrary to etiquette--to inform you of it beforehand, yet I tell you frankly, also contrary to etiquette, that it won't be to my advantage. Well, secondly, I've come to you because...\"\n\"Yes, yes, secondly?\" Raskolnikov was listening breathless.\n\"Because, as I told you just now, I consider I owe you an explanation. I don't want you to look upon me as a monster, as I have a genuine liking for you, you may believe me or not. And in the third place I've come to you with a direct and open proposition--that you should surrender and confess. It will be infinitely more to your advantage and to my advantage too, for my task will be done. Well, is this open on my part or not?\"\nRaskolnikov thought a minute.\n\"Listen, Porfiry Petrovitch. You said just now you have nothing but psychology to go on, yet now you've gone on mathematics. Well, what if you are mistaken yourself, now?\"\n\"No, Rodion Romanovitch, I am not mistaken. I have a little fact even then, Providence sent it me.\"\n\"What little fact?\"\n\"I won't tell you what, Rodion Romanovitch. And in any case, I haven't the right to put it off any longer, I must arrest you. So think it over: it makes no difference to me now and so I speak only for your sake. Believe me, it will be better, Rodion Romanovitch.\"\nRaskolnikov smiled malignantly.\n\"That's not simply ridiculous, it's positively shameless. Why, even if I were guilty, which I don't admit, what reason should I have to confess, when you tell me yourself that I shall be in greater safety in prison?\"\n\"Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, don't put too much faith in words, perhaps prison will not be altogether a restful place. That's only theory and my theory, and what authority am I for you? Perhaps, too, even now I am hiding something from you? I can't lay bare everything, he-he! And how can you ask what advantage? Don't you know how it would lessen your sentence? You would be confessing at a moment when another man has taken the crime on himself and so has muddled the whole case. Consider that! I swear before God that I will so arrange that your confession shall come as a complete surprise. We will make a clean sweep of all these psychological points, of a suspicion against you, so that your crime will appear to have been something like an aberration, for in truth it was an aberration. I am an honest man, Rodion Romanovitch, and will keep my word.\"\nRaskolnikov maintained a mournful silence and let his head sink dejectedly. He pondered a long while and at last smiled again, but his smile was sad and gentle.\n\"No!\" he said, apparently abandoning all attempt to keep up appearances with Porfiry, \"it's not worth it, I don't care about lessening the sentence!\"\n\"That's just what I was afraid of!\" Porfiry cried warmly and, as it seemed, involuntarily. \"That's just what I feared, that you wouldn't care about the mitigation of sentence.\"\nRaskolnikov looked sadly and expressively at him.\n\"Ah, don't disdain life!\" Porfiry went on. \"You have a great deal of it still before you. How can you say you don't want a mitigation of sentence? You are an impatient fellow!\"\n\"A great deal of what lies before me?\"\n\"Of life. What sort of prophet are you, do you know much about it? Seek and ye shall find. This may be God's means for bringing you to Him. And it's not for ever, the bondage....\"\n\"The time will be shortened,\" laughed Raskolnikov.\n\"Why, is it the bourgeois disgrace you are afraid of? It may be that you are afraid of it without knowing it, because you are young! But anyway you shouldn't be afraid of giving yourself up and confessing.\"\n\"Ach, hang it!\" Raskolnikov whispered with loathing and contempt, as though he did not want to speak aloud.\nHe got up again as though he meant to go away, but sat down again in evident despair.\n\"Hang it, if you like! You've lost faith and you think that I am grossly flattering you; but how long has your life been? How much do you understand? You made up a theory and then were ashamed that it broke down and turned out to be not at all original! It turned out something base, that's true, but you are not hopelessly base. By no means so base! At least you didn't deceive yourself for long, you went straight to the furthest point at one bound. How do I regard you? I regard you as one of those men who would stand and smile at their torturer while he cuts their entrails out, if only they have found faith or God. Find it and you will live. You have long needed a change of air. Suffering, too, is a good thing. Suffer! Maybe Nikolay is right in wanting to suffer. I know you don't believe in it--but don't be over-wise; fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation; don't be afraid--the flood will bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again. What bank? How can I tell? I only believe that you have long life before you. I know that you take all my words now for a set speech prepared beforehand, but maybe you will remember them after. They may be of use some time. That's why I speak. It's as well that you only killed the old woman. If you'd invented another theory you might perhaps have done something a thousand times more hideous. You ought to thank God, perhaps. How do you know? Perhaps God is saving you for something. But keep a good heart and have less fear! Are you afraid of the great expiation before you? No, it would be shameful to be afraid of it. Since you have taken such a step, you must harden your heart. There is justice in it. You must fulfil the demands of justice. I know that you don't believe it, but indeed, life will bring you through. You will live it down in time. What you need now is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air!\"\nRaskolnikov positively started.\n\"But who are you? what prophet are you? From the height of what majestic calm do you proclaim these words of wisdom?\"", "chosen": "Ach,, That's, Why, You, If, Who, I, for, And, And, Well,, Because,, I, And, It, Well,, Listen,, You, Well,, I, And, So, Believe, That's, Why,, That's, Perhaps,, I, And, Don't, You, Consider, I, We, I, He, No!\", That's, Ah,, You, How, You, What, Seek, This, And, Why,, It, But, He, Hang, You've, How, You, It, By, At, How, I, Find, You, Suffering,, Suffer!, Maybe, I, What, How, I, I, They, That's, It's, If, You, How, Perhaps, But, Are, No,, Since, There, You, I, You, What, But, what, From", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nAch,, That's, Why, You, If, Who, I, for, And, And, Well,, Because,, I, And, It, Well,, Listen,, You, Well,, I, And, So, Believe, That's, Why,, That's, Perhaps,, I, And, Don't, You, Consider, I, We, I, He, No!\", That's, Ah,, You, How, You, What, Seek, This, And, Why,, It, But, He, Hang, You've, How, You, It, By, At, How, I, Find, You, Suffering,, Suffer!, Maybe, I, What, How, I, I, They, That's, It's, If, You, How, Perhaps, But, Are, No,, Since, There, You, I, You, What, But, what, From\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-2554-003-03-ae4c47a8", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth,\" said her uncle, as they drove from the town; \"and really, upon serious consideration, I am much more inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does of the matter. It appears to me so very unlikely that any young man should form such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected or friendless, and who was actually staying in his Colonel's family, that I am strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that her friends would not step forward? Could he expect to be noticed again by the regiment, after such an affront to Colonel Forster? His temptation is not adequate to the risk.\"\n\"Do you really think so?\" cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.\n\"Upon my word,\" said Mrs. Gardiner, \"I begin to be of your uncle's opinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honour, and interest, for him to be guilty of it. I cannot think so very ill of Wickham. Can you, yourself, Lizzie, so wholly give him up, as to believe him capable of it?\"\n\"Not perhaps of neglecting his own interest. But of every other neglect I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I dare not hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland, if that had been the case?\"\n\"In the first place,\" replied Mr. Gardiner, \"there is no absolute proof that they are not gone to Scotland.\"\n\"Oh, but their removing from the chaise into a hackney coach is such a presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be found on the Barnet road.\"\n\"Well, then,--supposing them to be in London--they may be there, though for the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptionable purpose. It is not likely that money should be very abundant on either side; and it might strike them that they could be more economically, though less expeditiously, married in London, than in Scotland.\"\n\"But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their marriage be private? Oh, no, no--this is not likely. His most particular friend, you see by Jane's account, was persuaded of his never intending to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia, what attractions has she beyond youth, health, and good humour, that could make him for her sake forego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As to what restraint the apprehensions of disgrace in the corps might throw on a dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge; for I know nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to your other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my father's behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever seemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that he would do as little and think as little about it, as any father could do, in such a matter.\"\n\"But can you think that Lydia is so lost to everything but love of him, as to consent to live with him on any other terms than marriage?\"\n\"It does seem, and it is most shocking, indeed,\" replied Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, \"that a sister's sense of decency and virtue in such a point should admit of doubt. But, really, I know not what to say. Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young: she has never been taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last half year, nay, for a twelvemonth, she has been given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way. Since the ----shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation, and officers, have been in her head. She has been doing everything in her power, by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater--what shall I call it?--susceptibility to her feelings; which are naturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of person and address that can captivate a woman.\"\n\"But you see that Jane,\" said her aunt, \"does not think so ill of Wickham, as to believe him capable of the attempt.\"\n\"Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be their former conduct, that she would believe capable of such an attempt, till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every sense of the word; that he has neither integrity nor honour; that he is as false and deceitful as he is insinuating.\"\n\"And do you really know all this?\" cried Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity as to the mode of her intelligence was all alive.\n\"I do, indeed,\" replied Elizabeth, colouring. \"I told you the other day of his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you, yourself, when last at Longbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man who had behaved with such forbearance and liberality towards him. And there are other circumstances which I am not at liberty--which it is not worth while to relate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From what he said of Miss Darcy, I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud, reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He must know that she was as amiable and unpretending as we have found her.\"\n\"But does Lydia know nothing of this? can she be ignorant of what you and Jane seem so well to understand?\"\n\"Oh, yes!--that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent, and saw so much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was ignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned home the ----shire was to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight's time. As that was the case, neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it necessary to make our knowledge public; for of what use could it apparently be to anyone, that the good opinion, which all the neighbourhood had of him, should then be overthrown? And even when it was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of opening her eyes to his character never occurred to me. That she could be in any danger from the deception never entered my head. That such a consequence as this should ensue, you may easily believe was far enough from my thoughts.\"\n\"When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I suppose, to believe them fond of each other?\"\n\"Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either side; and had anything of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware that ours is not a family on which it could be thrown away. When first he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we all were. Every girl in or near Meryton was out of her senses about him for the first two months: but he never distinguished her by any particular attention; and, consequently, after a moderate period of extravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment, who treated her with more distinction, again became her favourites.\"\nIt may be easily believed, that however little of novelty could be added to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting subject by its repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long, during the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts it was never absent. Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self-reproach, she could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness.\nThey travelled as expeditiously as possible; and sleeping one night on the road, reached Longbourn by dinnertime the next day. It was a comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied by long expectations.", "chosen": "61", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n61\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-1342-047-00-a0d2b828", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"I repeat, moderate your expectations, don't demand of me 'everything great and noble' and you'll see how well we shall get on,\" said the gentleman impressively. \"You are really angry with me for not having appeared to you in a red glow, with thunder and lightning, with scorched wings, but have shown myself in such a modest form. You are wounded, in the first place, in your esthetic feelings, and, secondly, in your pride. How could such a vulgar devil visit such a great man as you! Yes, there is that romantic strain in you, that was so derided by Byelinsky. I can't help it, young man, as I got ready to come to you I did think as a joke of appearing in the figure of a retired general who had served in the Caucasus, with a star of the Lion and the Sun on my coat. But I was positively afraid of doing it, for you'd have thrashed me for daring to pin the Lion and the Sun on my coat, instead of, at least, the Polar Star or the Sirius. And you keep on saying I am stupid, but, mercy on us! I make no claim to be equal to you in intelligence. Mephistopheles declared to Faust that he desired evil, but did only good. Well, he can say what he likes, it's quite the opposite with me. I am perhaps the one man in all creation who loves the truth and genuinely desires good. I was there when the Word, Who died on the Cross, rose up into heaven bearing on His bosom the soul of the penitent thief. I heard the glad shrieks of the cherubim singing and shouting hosannah and the thunderous rapture of the seraphim which shook heaven and all creation, and I swear to you by all that's sacred, I longed to join the choir and shout hosannah with them all. The word had almost escaped me, had almost broken from my lips ... you know how susceptible and esthetically impressionable I am. But common sense—oh, a most unhappy trait in my character—kept me in due bounds and I let the moment pass! For what would have happened, I reflected, what would have happened after my hosannah? Everything on earth would have been extinguished at once and no events could have occurred. And so, solely from a sense of duty and my social position, I was forced to suppress the good moment and to stick to my nasty task. Somebody takes all the credit of what's good for Himself, and nothing but nastiness is left for me. But I don't envy the honor of a life of idle imposture, I am not ambitious. Why am I, of all creatures in the world, doomed to be cursed by all decent people and even to be kicked, for if I put on mortal form I am bound to take such consequences sometimes? I know, of course, there's a secret in it, but they won't tell me the secret for anything, for then perhaps, seeing the meaning of it, I might bawl hosannah, and the indispensable minus would disappear at once, and good sense would reign supreme throughout the whole world. And that, of course, would mean the end of everything, even of magazines and newspapers, for who would take them in? I know that at the end of all things I shall be reconciled. I, too, shall walk my quadrillion and learn the secret. But till that happens I am sulking and fulfill my destiny though it's against the grain—that is, to ruin thousands for the sake of saving one. How many souls have had to be ruined and how many honorable reputations destroyed for the sake of that one righteous man, Job, over whom they made such a fool of me in old days! Yes, till the secret is revealed, there are two sorts of truths for me—one, their truth, yonder, which I know nothing about so far, and the other my own. And there's no knowing which will turn out the better.... Are you asleep?\"\n\"I might well be,\" Ivan groaned angrily. \"All my stupid ideas—outgrown, thrashed out long ago, and flung aside like a dead carcass—you present to me as something new!\"\n\"There's no pleasing you! And I thought I should fascinate you by my literary style. That hosannah in the skies really wasn't bad, was it? And then that ironical tone à la Heine, eh?\"\n\"No, I was never such a flunkey! How then could my soul beget a flunkey like you?\"\n\"My dear fellow, I know a most charming and attractive young Russian gentleman, a young thinker and a great lover of literature and art, the author of a promising poem entitled The Grand Inquisitor. I was only thinking of him!\"\n\"I forbid you to speak of The Grand Inquisitor,\" cried Ivan, crimson with shame.\n\"And the Geological Cataclysm. Do you remember? That was a poem, now!\"\n\"Hold your tongue, or I'll kill you!\"\n\"You'll kill me? No, excuse me, I will speak. I came to treat myself to that pleasure. Oh, I love the dreams of my ardent young friends, quivering with eagerness for life! 'There are new men,' you decided last spring, when you were meaning to come here, 'they propose to destroy everything and begin with cannibalism. Stupid fellows! they didn't ask my advice! I maintain that nothing need be destroyed, that we only need to destroy the idea of God in man, that's how we have to set to work. It's that, that we must begin with. Oh, blind race of men who have no understanding! As soon as men have all of them denied God—and I believe that period, analogous with geological periods, will come to pass—the old conception of the universe will fall of itself without cannibalism, and, what's more, the old morality, and everything will begin anew. Men will unite to take from life all it can give, but only for joy and happiness in the present world. Man will be lifted up with a spirit of divine Titanic pride and the man-god will appear. From hour to hour extending his conquest of nature infinitely by his will and his science, man will feel such lofty joy from hour to hour in doing it that it will make up for all his old dreams of the joys of heaven. Every one will know that he is mortal and will accept death proudly and serenely like a god. His pride will teach him that it's useless for him to repine at life's being a moment, and he will love his brother without need of reward. Love will be sufficient only for a moment of life, but the very consciousness of its momentariness will intensify its fire, which now is dissipated in dreams of eternal love beyond the grave'... and so on and so on in the same style. Charming!\"\nIvan sat with his eyes on the floor, and his hands pressed to his ears, but he began trembling all over. The voice continued.\n\"The question now is, my young thinker reflected, is it possible that such a period will ever come? If it does, everything is determined and humanity is settled for ever. But as, owing to man's inveterate stupidity, this cannot come about for at least a thousand years, every one who recognizes the truth even now may legitimately order his life as he pleases, on the new principles. In that sense, 'all things are lawful' for him. What's more, even if this period never comes to pass, since there is anyway no God and no immortality, the new man may well become the man-god, even if he is the only one in the whole world, and promoted to his new position, he may lightheartedly overstep all the barriers of the old morality of the old slave-man, if necessary. There is no law for God. Where God stands, the place is holy. Where I stand will be at once the foremost place ... 'all things are lawful' and that's the end of it! That's all very charming; but if you want to swindle why do you want a moral sanction for doing it? But that's our modern Russian all over. He can't bring himself to swindle without a moral sanction. He is so in love with truth—\"", "chosen": "What's more, even if this period never comes to pass, since there is anyway no God and no immortality, the new man may well become the man-god, even if he is the only one in the whole world, and promoted to his new position, he may lightheartedly overstep all the barriers of the old morality of the old slave-man, if necessary.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nWhat's more, even if this period never comes to pass, since there is anyway no God and no immortality, the new man may well become the man-god, even if he is the only one in the whole world, and promoted to his new position, he may lightheartedly overstep all the barriers of the old morality of the old slave-man, if necessary.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-076-05-039607c0", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Jealousy is cruel as the grave.\"\nStephen pondered not a little on this meeting with his old friend and once-beloved exemplar. He was grieved, for amid all the distractions of his latter years a still small voice of fidelity to Knight had lingered on in him. Perhaps this staunchness was because Knight ever treated him as a mere disciple—even to snubbing him sometimes; and had at last, though unwittingly, inflicted upon him the greatest snub of all, that of taking away his sweetheart. The emotional side of his constitution was built rather after a feminine than a male model; and that tremendous wound from Knight's hand may have tended to keep alive a warmth which solicitousness would have extinguished altogether.\nKnight, on his part, was vexed, after they had parted, that he had not taken Stephen in hand a little after the old manner. Those words which Smith had let fall concerning somebody having a prior claim to Elfride, would, if uttered when the man was younger, have provoked such a query as, \"Come, tell me all about it, my lad,\" from Knight, and Stephen would straightway have delivered himself of all he knew on the subject.\nStephen the ingenuous boy, though now obliterated externally by Stephen the contriving man, returned to Knight's memory vividly that afternoon. He was at present but a sojourner in London; and after attending to the two or three matters of business which remained to be done that day, he walked abstractedly into the gloomy corridors of the British Museum for the half-hour previous to their closing. That meeting with Smith had reunited the present with the past, closing up the chasm of his absence from England as if it had never existed, until the final circumstances of his previous time of residence in London formed but a yesterday to the circumstances now. The conflict that then had raged in him concerning Elfride Swancourt revived, strengthened by its sleep. Indeed, in those many months of absence, though quelling the intention to make her his wife, he had never forgotten that she was the type of woman adapted to his nature; and instead of trying to obliterate thoughts of her altogether, he had grown to regard them as an infirmity it was necessary to tolerate.\nKnight returned to his hotel much earlier in the evening than he would have done in the ordinary course of things. He did not care to think whether this arose from a friendly wish to close the gap that had slowly been widening between himself and his earliest acquaintance, or from a hankering desire to hear the meaning of the dark oracles Stephen had hastily pronounced, betokening that he knew something more of Elfride than Knight had supposed.\nHe made a hasty dinner, inquired for Smith, and soon was ushered into the young man's presence, whom he found sitting in front of a comfortable fire, beside a table spread with a few scientific periodicals and art reviews.\n\"I have come to you, after all,\" said Knight. \"My manner was odd this morning, and it seemed desirable to call; but that you had too much sense to notice, Stephen, I know. Put it down to my wanderings in France and Italy.\"\n\"Don't say another word, but sit down. I am only too glad to see you again.\"\nStephen would hardly have cared to tell Knight just then that the minute before Knight was announced he had been reading over some old letters of Elfride's. They were not many; and until to-night had been sealed up, and stowed away in a corner of his leather trunk, with a few other mementoes and relics which had accompanied him in his travels. The familiar sights and sounds of London, the meeting with his friend, had with him also revived that sense of abiding continuity with regard to Elfride and love which his absence at the other side of the world had to some extent suspended, though never ruptured. He at first intended only to look over these letters on the outside; then he read one; then another; until the whole was thus re-used as a stimulus to sad memories. He folded them away again, placed them in his pocket, and instead of going on with an examination into the state of the artistic world, had remained musing on the strange circumstance that he had returned to find Knight not the husband of Elfride after all.\nThe possibility of any given gratification begets a cumulative sense of its necessity. Stephen gave the rein to his imagination, and felt more intensely than he had felt for many months that, without Elfride, his life would never be any great pleasure to himself, or honour to his Maker.\nThey sat by the fire, chatting on external and random subjects, neither caring to be the first to approach the matter each most longed to discuss. On the table with the periodicals lay two or three pocket-books, one of them being open. Knight seeing from the exposed page that the contents were sketches only, began turning the leaves over carelessly with his finger. When, some time later, Stephen was out of the room, Knight proceeded to pass the interval by looking at the sketches more carefully.\nThe first crude ideas, pertaining to dwellings of all kinds, were roughly outlined on the different pages. Antiquities had been copied; fragments of Indian columns, colossal statues, and outlandish ornament from the temples of Elephanta and Kenneri, were carelessly intruded upon by outlines of modern doors, windows, roofs, cooking-stoves, and household furniture; everything, in short, which comes within the range of a practising architect's experience, who travels with his eyes open. Among these occasionally appeared rough delineations of mediaeval subjects for carving or illumination—heads of Virgins, Saints, and Prophets.\nStephen was not professedly a free-hand draughtsman, but he drew the human figure with correctness and skill. In its numerous repetitions on the sides and edges of the leaves, Knight began to notice a peculiarity. All the feminine saints had one type of feature. There were large nimbi and small nimbi about their drooping heads, but the face was always the same. That profile—how well Knight knew that profile!\nHad there been but one specimen of the familiar countenance, he might have passed over the resemblance as accidental; but a repetition meant more. Knight thought anew of Smith's hasty words earlier in the day, and looked at the sketches again and again.\nOn the young man's entry, Knight said with palpable agitation—\n\"Stephen, who are those intended for?\"\nStephen looked over the book with utter unconcern, \"Saints and angels, done in my leisure moments. They were intended as designs for the stained glass of an English church.\"\n\"But whom do you idealize by that type of woman you always adopt for the Virgin?\"\n\"Nobody.\"\nAnd then a thought raced along Stephen's mind and he looked up at his friend.\nThe truth is, Stephen's introduction of Elfride's lineaments had been so unconscious that he had not at first understood his companion's drift. The hand, like the tongue, easily acquires the trick of repetition by rote, without calling in the mind to assist at all; and this had been the case here. Young men who cannot write verses about their Loves generally take to portraying them, and in the early days of his attachment Smith had never been weary of outlining Elfride. The lay-figure of Stephen's sketches now initiated an adjustment of many things. Knight had recognized her. The opportunity of comparing notes had come unsought.\n\"Elfride Swancourt, to whom I was engaged,\" he said quietly.\n\"Stephen!\"\n\"I know what you mean by speaking like that.\"\n\"Was it Elfride? YOU the man, Stephen?\"\n\"Yes; and you are thinking why did I conceal the fact from you that time at Endelstow, are you not?\"\n\"Yes, and more—more.\"\n\"I did it for the best; blame me if you will; I did it for the best. And now say how could I be with you afterwards as I had been before?\"\n\"I don't know at all; I can't say.\"\nKnight remained fixed in thought, and once he murmured—\n\"I had a suspicion this afternoon that there might be some such meaning in your words about my taking her away. But I dismissed it. How came you to know her?\" he presently asked, in almost a peremptory tone.", "chosen": "[\"Jealousy is cruel as the grave.\", \"Come, tell me all about it, my lad,\", \"I have come to you, after all,\", \"My manner was odd this morning, and it seemed desirable to call; but that you had too much sense to notice, Stephen, I know. Put it down to my wanderings in France and Italy.\", \"Don't say another word, but sit down. I am only too glad to see you again.\", \"Stephen, who are those intended for?\", \"Saints and angels, done in my leisure moments. They were intended as designs for the stained glass of an English church.\", \"But whom do you idealize by that type of woman you always adopt for the Virgin?\", \"Nobody.\", \"Elfride Swancourt, to whom I was engaged,\", \"Stephen!\", \"I know what you mean by speaking like that.\", \"Was it Elfride? YOU the man, Stephen?\", \"Yes; and you are thinking why did I conceal the fact from you that time at Endelstow, are you not?\", \"Yes, and more\\u2014more.\", \"I did it for the best; blame me if you will; I did it for the best. And now say how could I be with you afterwards as I had been before?\", \"I don't know at all; I can't say.\", \"I had a suspicion this afternoon that there might be some such meaning in your words about my taking her away. But I dismissed it. How came you to know her?\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Jealousy is cruel as the grave.\", \"Come, tell me all about it, my lad,\", \"I have come to you, after all,\", \"My manner was odd this morning, and it seemed desirable to call; but that you had too much sense to notice, Stephen, I know. Put it down to my wanderings in France and Italy.\", \"Don't say another word, but sit down. I am only too glad to see you again.\", \"Stephen, who are those intended for?\", \"Saints and angels, done in my leisure moments. They were intended as designs for the stained glass of an English church.\", \"But whom do you idealize by that type of woman you always adopt for the Virgin?\", \"Nobody.\", \"Elfride Swancourt, to whom I was engaged,\", \"Stephen!\", \"I know what you mean by speaking like that.\", \"Was it Elfride? YOU the man, Stephen?\", \"Yes; and you are thinking why did I conceal the fact from you that time at Endelstow, are you not?\", \"Yes, and more\\u2014more.\", \"I did it for the best; blame me if you will; I did it for the best. And now say how could I be with you afterwards as I had been before?\", \"I don't know at all; I can't say.\", \"I had a suspicion this afternoon that there might be some such meaning in your words about my taking her away. But I dismissed it. How came you to know her?\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-224-037-00-1de790c8", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"My dear child! can you suppose that any one so wrapped up in another—Mrs. Tope's expression: not mine—as Jack is in me, could fail to be struck all of a heap by such a sudden and complete change in my life? I say sudden, because it will be sudden to him, you know.\"\nShe nodded twice or thrice, and her lips parted as if she would have assented. But she uttered no sound, and her breathing was no slower.\n\"How shall I tell Jack?\" said Edwin, ruminating. If he had been less occupied with the thought, he must have seen her singular emotion. \"I never thought of Jack. It must be broken to him, before the town-crier knows it. I dine with the dear fellow to-morrow and next day—Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—but it would never do to spoil his feast-days. He always worries about me, and moddley-coddleys in the merest trifles. The news is sure to overset him. How on earth shall this be broken to Jack?\"\n\"He must be told, I suppose?\" said Rosa.\n\"My dear Rosa! who ought to be in our confidence, if not Jack?\"\n\"My guardian promised to come down, if I should write and ask him. I am going to do so. Would you like to leave it to him?\"\n\"A bright idea!\" cried Edwin. \"The other trustee. Nothing more natural. He comes down, he goes to Jack, he relates what we have agreed upon, and he states our case better than we could. He has already spoken feelingly to you, he has already spoken feelingly to me, and he'll put the whole thing feelingly to Jack. That's it! I am not a coward, Rosa, but to tell you a secret, I am a little afraid of Jack.\"\n\"No, no! you are not afraid of him!\" cried Rosa, turning white, and clasping her hands.\n\"Why, sister Rosa, sister Rosa, what do you see from the turret?\" said Edwin, rallying her. \"My dear girl!\"\n\"You frightened me.\"\n\"Most unintentionally, but I am as sorry as if I had meant to do it. Could you possibly suppose for a moment, from any loose way of speaking of mine, that I was literally afraid of the dear fond fellow? What I mean is, that he is subject to a kind of paroxysm, or fit—I saw him in it once—and I don't know but that so great a surprise, coming upon him direct from me whom he is so wrapped up in, might bring it on perhaps. Which—and this is the secret I was going to tell you—is another reason for your guardian's making the communication. He is so steady, precise, and exact, that he will talk Jack's thoughts into shape, in no time: whereas with me Jack is always impulsive and hurried, and, I may say, almost womanish.\"\nRosa seemed convinced. Perhaps from her own very different point of view of \"Jack,\" she felt comforted and protected by the interposition of Mr. Grewgious between herself and him.\nAnd now, Edwin Drood's right hand closed again upon the ring in its little case, and again was checked by the consideration: \"It is certain, now, that I am to give it back to him; then why should I tell her of it?\" That pretty sympathetic nature which could be so sorry for him in the blight of their childish hopes of happiness together, and could so quietly find itself alone in a new world to weave fresh wreaths of such flowers as it might prove to bear, the old world's flowers being withered, would be grieved by those sorrowful jewels; and to what purpose? Why should it be? They were but a sign of broken joys and baseless projects; in their very beauty they were (as the unlikeliest of men had said) almost a cruel satire on the loves, hopes, plans, of humanity, which are able to forecast nothing, and are so much brittle dust. Let them be. He would restore them to her guardian when he came down; he in his turn would restore them to the cabinet from which he had unwillingly taken them; and there, like old letters or old vows, or other records of old aspirations come to nothing, they would be disregarded, until, being valuable, they were sold into circulation again, to repeat their former round.\nLet them be. Let them lie unspoken of, in his breast. However distinctly or indistinctly he entertained these thoughts, he arrived at the conclusion, Let them be. Among the mighty store of wonderful chains that are for ever forging, day and night, in the vast iron-works of time and circumstance, there was one chain forged in the moment of that small conclusion, riveted to the foundations of heaven and earth, and gifted with invincible force to hold and drag.\nThey walked on by the river. They began to speak of their separate plans. He would quicken his departure from England, and she would remain where she was, at least as long as Helena remained. The poor dear girls should have their disappointment broken to them gently, and, as the first preliminary, Miss Twinkleton should be confided in by Rosa, even in advance of the reappearance of Mr. Grewgious. It should be made clear in all quarters that she and Edwin were the best of friends. There had never been so serene an understanding between them since they were first affianced. And yet there was one reservation on each side; on hers, that she intended through her guardian to withdraw herself immediately from the tuition of her music-master; on his, that he did already entertain some wandering speculations whether it might ever come to pass that he would know more of Miss Landless.\nThe bright, frosty day declined as they walked and spoke together. The sun dipped in the river far behind them, and the old city lay red before them, as their walk drew to a close. The moaning water cast its seaweed duskily at their feet, when they turned to leave its margin; and the rooks hovered above them with hoarse cries, darker splashes in the darkening air.\n\"I will prepare Jack for my flitting soon,\" said Edwin, in a low voice, \"and I will but see your guardian when he comes, and then go before they speak together. It will be better done without my being by. Don't you think so?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"We know we have done right, Rosa?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"We know we are better so, even now?\"\n\"And shall be far, far better so by-and-by.\"\nStill there was that lingering tenderness in their hearts towards the old positions they were relinquishing, that they prolonged their parting. When they came among the elm-trees by the Cathedral, where they had last sat together, they stopped as by consent, and Rosa raised her face to his, as she had never raised it in the old days;—for they were old already.\n\"God bless you, dear! Good-bye!\"\n\"God bless you, dear! Good-bye!\"\nThey kissed each other fervently.\n\"Now, please take me home, Eddy, and let me be by myself.\"\n\"Don't look round, Rosa,\" he cautioned her, as he drew her arm through his, and led her away. \"Didn't you see Jack?\"\n\"No! Where?\"\n\"Under the trees. He saw us, as we took leave of each other. Poor fellow! he little thinks we have parted. This will be a blow to him, I am much afraid!\"\nShe hurried on, without resting, and hurried on until they had passed under the gatehouse into the street; once there, she asked:\n\"Has he followed us? You can look without seeming to. Is he behind?\"\n\"No. Yes, he is! He has just passed out under the gateway. The dear, sympathetic old fellow likes to keep us in sight. I am afraid he will be bitterly disappointed!\"\nShe pulled hurriedly at the handle of the hoarse old bell, and the gate soon opened. Before going in, she gave him one last, wide, wondering look, as if she would have asked him with imploring emphasis: \"O! don't you understand?\" And out of that look he vanished from her view.", "chosen": "view", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nview\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-564-013-02-d475ef95", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nBeyond the small and slippery pyramid which composed Mrs. Archer's world lay the almost unmapped quarter inhabited by artists, musicians and \"people who wrote.\" These scattered fragments of humanity had never shown any desire to be amalgamated with the social structure. In spite of odd ways they were said to be, for the most part, quite respectable; but they preferred to keep to themselves. Medora Manson, in her prosperous days, had inaugurated a \"literary salon\"; but it had soon died out owing to the reluctance of the literary to frequent it.\nOthers had made the same attempt, and there was a household of Blenkers--an intense and voluble mother, and three blowsy daughters who imitated her--where one met Edwin Booth and Patti and William Winter, and the new Shakespearian actor George Rignold, and some of the magazine editors and musical and literary critics.\nMrs. Archer and her group felt a certain timidity concerning these persons. They were odd, they were uncertain, they had things one didn't know about in the background of their lives and minds. Literature and art were deeply respected in the Archer set, and Mrs. Archer was always at pains to tell her children how much more agreeable and cultivated society had been when it included such figures as Washington Irving, Fitz-Greene Halleck and the poet of \"The Culprit Fay.\" The most celebrated authors of that generation had been \"gentlemen\"; perhaps the unknown persons who succeeded them had gentlemanly sentiments, but their origin, their appearance, their hair, their intimacy with the stage and the Opera, made any old New York criterion inapplicable to them.\n\"When I was a girl,\" Mrs. Archer used to say, \"we knew everybody between the Battery and Canal Street; and only the people one knew had carriages. It was perfectly easy to place any one then; now one can't tell, and I prefer not to try.\"\nOnly old Catherine Mingott, with her absence of moral prejudices and almost parvenu indifference to the subtler distinctions, might have bridged the abyss; but she had never opened a book or looked at a picture, and cared for music only because it reminded her of gala nights at the Italiens, in the days of her triumph at the Tuileries. Possibly Beaufort, who was her match in daring, would have succeeded in bringing about a fusion; but his grand house and silk-stockinged footmen were an obstacle to informal sociability. Moreover, he was as illiterate as old Mrs. Mingott, and considered \"fellows who wrote\" as the mere paid purveyors of rich men's pleasures; and no one rich enough to influence his opinion had ever questioned it.\nNewland Archer had been aware of these things ever since he could remember, and had accepted them as part of the structure of his universe. He knew that there were societies where painters and poets and novelists and men of science, and even great actors, were as sought after as Dukes; he had often pictured to himself what it would have been to live in the intimacy of drawing-rooms dominated by the talk of Mérimée (whose \"Lettres à une Inconnue\" was one of his inseparables), of Thackeray, Browning or William Morris. But such things were inconceivable in New York, and unsettling to think of. Archer knew most of the \"fellows who wrote,\" the musicians and the painters: he met them at the Century, or at the little musical and theatrical clubs that were beginning to come into existence. He enjoyed them there, and was bored with them at the Blenkers', where they were mingled with fervid and dowdy women who passed them about like captured curiosities; and even after his most exciting talks with Ned Winsett he always came away with the feeling that if his world was small, so was theirs, and that the only way to enlarge either was to reach a stage of manners where they would naturally merge.\nHe was reminded of this by trying to picture the society in which the Countess Olenska had lived and suffered, and also--perhaps--tasted mysterious joys. He remembered with what amusement she had told him that her grandmother Mingott and the Wellands objected to her living in a \"Bohemian\" quarter given over to \"people who wrote.\" It was not the peril but the poverty that her family disliked; but that shade escaped her, and she supposed they considered literature compromising.\nShe herself had no fears of it, and the books scattered about her drawing-room (a part of the house in which books were usually supposed to be \"out of place\"), though chiefly works of fiction, had whetted Archer's interest with such new names as those of Paul Bourget, Huysmans, and the Goncourt brothers. Ruminating on these things as he approached her door, he was once more conscious of the curious way in which she reversed his values, and of the need of thinking himself into conditions incredibly different from any that he knew if he were to be of use in her present difficulty.\nNastasia opened the door, smiling mysteriously. On the bench in the hall lay a sable-lined overcoat, a folded opera hat of dull silk with a gold J. B. on the lining, and a white silk muffler: there was no mistaking the fact that these costly articles were the property of Julius Beaufort.\nArcher was angry: so angry that he came near scribbling a word on his card and going away; then he remembered that in writing to Madame Olenska he had been kept by excess of discretion from saying that he wished to see her privately. He had therefore no one but himself to blame if she had opened her doors to other visitors; and he entered the drawing-room with the dogged determination to make Beaufort feel himself in the way, and to outstay him.\nThe banker stood leaning against the mantelshelf, which was draped with an old embroidery held in place by brass candelabra containing church candles of yellowish wax. He had thrust his chest out, supporting his shoulders against the mantel and resting his weight on one large patent-leather foot. As Archer entered he was smiling and looking down on his hostess, who sat on a sofa placed at right angles to the chimney. A table banked with flowers formed a screen behind it, and against the orchids and azaleas which the young man recognised as tributes from the Beaufort hot-houses, Madame Olenska sat half-reclined, her head propped on a hand and her wide sleeve leaving the arm bare to the elbow.\nIt was usual for ladies who received in the evenings to wear what were called \"simple dinner dresses\": a close-fitting armour of whale-boned silk, slightly open in the neck, with lace ruffles filling in the crack, and tight sleeves with a flounce uncovering just enough wrist to show an Etruscan gold bracelet or a velvet band. But Madame Olenska, heedless of tradition, was attired in a long robe of red velvet bordered about the chin and down the front with glossy black fur. Archer remembered, on his last visit to Paris, seeing a portrait by the new painter, Carolus Duran, whose pictures were the sensation of the Salon, in which the lady wore one of these bold sheath-like robes with her chin nestling in fur. There was something perverse and provocative in the notion of fur worn in the evening in a heated drawing-room, and in the combination of a muffled throat and bare arms; but the effect was undeniably pleasing.\n\"Lord love us--three whole days at Skuytercliff!\" Beaufort was saying in his loud sneering voice as Archer entered. \"You'd better take all your furs, and a hot-water-bottle.\"\n\"Why? Is the house so cold?\" she asked, holding out her left hand to Archer in a way mysteriously suggesting that she expected him to kiss it.\n\"No; but the missus is,\" said Beaufort, nodding carelessly to the young man.\n\"But I thought her so kind. She came herself to invite me. Granny says I must certainly go.\"\n\"Granny would, of course. And I say it's a shame you're going to miss the little oyster supper I'd planned for you at Delmonico's next Sunday, with Campanini and Scalchi and a lot of jolly people.\"\nShe looked doubtfully from the banker to Archer.\n\"Ah--that does tempt me! Except the other evening at Mrs. Struthers's I've not met a single artist since I've been here.\"", "chosen": "[\"These\", \"Manson\", \"Blenkers\", \"Edwin\", \"Booth\", \"Patti\", \"William\", \"Winter\", \"Shakespearian\", \"George\", \"Rignold\", \"Archer\", \"Washington\", \"Irving\", \"Fitz\", \"Halleck\", \"Culprit\", \"Fay\", \"Opera\", \"New\", \"York\", \"Battery\", \"Canal\", \"Street\", \"Catherine\", \"Mingott\", \"Italiens\", \"Tuileries\", \"Beaufort\", \"Dukes\", \"Lettres\", \"Inconnue\", \"Thackeray\", \"Browning\", \"Morris\", \"Century\", \"Ned\", \"Winsett\", \"Countess\", \"Olenska\", \"Wellands\", \"Bohemian\", \"Paul\", \"Bourget\", \"Huysmans\", \"Goncourt\", \"Julius\", \"Madame\", \"Etruscan\", \"Paris\", \"Carolus\", \"Duran\", \"Salon\", \"Skuytercliff\", \"Granny\", \"Delmonico\", \"Sunday\", \"Campanini\", \"Scalchi\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"These\", \"Manson\", \"Blenkers\", \"Edwin\", \"Booth\", \"Patti\", \"William\", \"Winter\", \"Shakespearian\", \"George\", \"Rignold\", \"Archer\", \"Washington\", \"Irving\", \"Fitz\", \"Halleck\", \"Culprit\", \"Fay\", \"Opera\", \"New\", \"York\", \"Battery\", \"Canal\", \"Street\", \"Catherine\", \"Mingott\", \"Italiens\", \"Tuileries\", \"Beaufort\", \"Dukes\", \"Lettres\", \"Inconnue\", \"Thackeray\", \"Browning\", \"Morris\", \"Century\", \"Ned\", \"Winsett\", \"Countess\", \"Olenska\", \"Wellands\", \"Bohemian\", \"Paul\", \"Bourget\", \"Huysmans\", \"Goncourt\", \"Julius\", \"Madame\", \"Etruscan\", \"Paris\", \"Carolus\", \"Duran\", \"Salon\", \"Skuytercliff\", \"Granny\", \"Delmonico\", \"Sunday\", \"Campanini\", \"Scalchi\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-541-005-02-3bab545b", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nAnd I worked myself up to such a pitch that I began to have a lump in my throat myself, and ... and all at once I stopped, sat up in dismay, and bending over apprehensively, began to listen with a beating heart. I had reason to be troubled.\nI had felt for some time that I was turning her soul upside down and rending her heart, and--and the more I was convinced of it, the more eagerly I desired to gain my object as quickly and as effectually as possible. It was the exercise of my skill that carried me away; yet it was not merely sport....\nI knew I was speaking stiffly, artificially, even bookishly, in fact, I could not speak except \"like a book.\" But that did not trouble me: I knew, I felt that I should be understood and that this very bookishness might be an assistance. But now, having attained my effect, I was suddenly panic-stricken. Never before had I witnessed such despair! She was lying on her face, thrusting her face into the pillow and clutching it in both hands. Her heart was being torn. Her youthful body was shuddering all over as though in convulsions. Suppressed sobs rent her bosom and suddenly burst out in weeping and wailing, then she pressed closer into the pillow: she did not want any one here, not a living soul, to know of her anguish and her tears. She bit the pillow, bit her hand till it bled (I saw that afterwards), or, thrusting her fingers into her dishevelled hair seemed rigid with the effort of restraint, holding her breath and clenching her teeth. I began saying something, begging her to calm herself, but felt that I did not dare; and all at once, in a sort of cold shiver, almost in terror, began fumbling in the dark, trying hurriedly to get dressed to go. It was dark: though I tried my best I could not finish dressing quickly. Suddenly I felt a box of matches and a candlestick with a whole candle in it. As soon as the room was lighted up, Liza sprang up, sat up in bed, and with a contorted face, with a half insane smile, looked at me almost senselessly. I sat down beside her and took her hands; she came to herself, made an impulsive movement towards me, would have caught hold of me, but did not dare, and slowly bowed her head before me.\n\"Liza, my dear, I was wrong ... forgive me, my dear,\" I began, but she squeezed my hand in her fingers so tightly that I felt I was saying the wrong thing and stopped.\n\"This is my address, Liza, come to me.\"\n\"I will come,\" she answered resolutely, her head still bowed.\n\"But now I am going, good-bye ... till we meet again.\"\nI got up; she, too, stood up and suddenly flushed all over, gave a shudder, snatched up a shawl that was lying on a chair and muffled herself in it to her chin. As she did this she gave another sickly smile, blushed and looked at me strangely. I felt wretched; I was in haste to get away--to disappear.\n\"Wait a minute,\" she said suddenly, in the passage just at the doorway, stopping me with her hand on my overcoat. She put down the candle in hot haste and ran off; evidently she had thought of something or wanted to show me something. As she ran away she flushed, her eyes shone, and there was a smile on her lips--what was the meaning of it? Against my will I waited: she came back a minute later with an expression that seemed to ask forgiveness for something. In fact, it was not the same face, not the same look as the evening before: sullen, mistrustful and obstinate. Her eyes now were imploring, soft, and at the same time trustful, caressing, timid. The expression with which children look at people they are very fond of, of whom they are asking a favour. Her eyes were a light hazel, they were lovely eyes, full of life, and capable of expressing love as well as sullen hatred.\nMaking no explanation, as though I, as a sort of higher being, must understand everything without explanations, she held out a piece of paper to me. Her whole face was positively beaming at that instant with naïve, almost childish, triumph. I unfolded it. It was a letter to her from a medical student or some one of that sort--a very high-flown and flowery, but extremely respectful, love-letter. I don't recall the words now, but I remember well that through the high-flown phrases there was apparent a genuine feeling, which cannot be feigned. When I had finished reading it I met her glowing, questioning, and childishly impatient eyes fixed upon me. She fastened her eyes upon my face and waited impatiently for what I should say. In a few words, hurriedly, but with a sort of joy and pride, she explained to me that she had been to a dance somewhere in a private house, a family of \"very nice people, who knew nothing, absolutely nothing, for she had only come here so lately and it had all happened ... and she hadn't made up her mind to stay and was certainly going away as soon as she had paid her debt ... and at that party there had been the student who had danced with her all the evening. He had talked to her, and it turned out that he had known her in old days at Riga when he was a child, they had played together, but a very long time ago--and he knew her parents, but about this he knew nothing, nothing whatever, and had no suspicion! And the day after the dance (three days ago) he had sent her that letter through the friend with whom she had gone to the party ... and ... well, that was all.\"\nShe dropped her shining eyes with a sort of bashfulness as she finished.\nThe poor girl was keeping that student's letter as a precious treasure, and had run to fetch it, her only treasure, because she did not want me to go away without knowing that she, too, was honestly and genuinely loved; that she, too, was addressed respectfully. No doubt that letter was destined to lie in her box and lead to nothing. But none the less, I am certain that she would keep it all her life as a precious treasure, as her pride and justification, and now at such a minute she had thought of that letter and brought it with naïve pride to raise herself in my eyes that I might see, that I, too, might think well of her. I said nothing, pressed her hand and went out. I so longed to get away.... I walked all the way home, in spite of the fact that the melting snow was still falling in heavy flakes. I was exhausted, shattered, in bewilderment. But behind the bewilderment the truth was already gleaming. The loathsome truth.", "chosen": "And, and, I, I, It, I, But, Never, She, Her, Her, Suppressed, She, I, It, Suddenly, As, I, Liza,, forgive, This, But, till, As, I, Wait, She, As, Against, In, Her, The, Her, Making, Her, I, It, I, When, She, In, and, and, He, And, and, well,, The, No, But, I, I, I, I, But, The", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nAnd, and, I, I, It, I, But, Never, She, Her, Her, Suppressed, She, I, It, Suddenly, As, I, Liza,, forgive, This, But, till, As, I, Wait, She, As, Against, In, Her, The, Her, Making, Her, I, It, I, When, She, In, and, and, He, And, and, well,, The, No, But, I, I, I, I, But, The\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-36034-008-01-6b559a44", "source": "pg-36034", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nIt was but some few days after encountering the Frenchman, that a most significant event befell the most insignificant of the Pequod's crew; an event most lamentable; and which ended in providing the sometimes madly merry and predestinated craft with a living and ever accompanying prophecy of whatever shattered sequel might prove her own.\nNow, in the whale ship, it is not every one that goes in the boats. Some few hands are reserved called ship-keepers, whose province it is to work the vessel while the boats are pursuing the whale. As a general thing, these ship-keepers are as hardy fellows as the men comprising the boats' crews. But if there happen to be an unduly slender, clumsy, or timorous wight in the ship, that wight is certain to be made a ship-keeper. It was so in the Pequod with the little negro Pippin by nick-name, Pip by abbreviation. Poor Pip! ye have heard of him before; ye must remember his tambourine on that dramatic midnight, so gloomy-jolly.\nIn outer aspect, Pip and Dough-Boy made a match, like a black pony and a white one, of equal developments, though of dissimilar colour, driven in one eccentric span. But while hapless Dough-Boy was by nature dull and torpid in his intellects, Pip, though over tender-hearted, was at bottom very bright, with that pleasant, genial, jolly brightness peculiar to his tribe; a tribe, which ever enjoy all holidays and festivities with finer, freer relish than any other race. For blacks, the year's calendar should show naught but three hundred and sixty-five Fourth of Julys and New Year's Days. Nor smile so, while I write that this little black was brilliant, for even blackness has its brilliancy; behold yon lustrous ebony, panelled in king's cabinets. But Pip loved life, and all life's peaceable securities; so that the panic-striking business in which he had somehow unaccountably become entrapped, had most sadly blurred his brightness; though, as ere long will be seen, what was thus temporarily subdued in him, in the end was destined to be luridly illumined by strange wild fires, that fictitiously showed him off to ten times the natural lustre with which in his native Tolland County in Connecticut, he had once enlivened many a fiddler's frolic on the green; and at melodious even-tide, with his gay ha-ha! had turned the round horizon into one star-belled tambourine. So, though in the clear air of day, suspended against a blue-veined neck, the pure-watered diamond drop will healthful glow; yet, when the cunning jeweller would show you the diamond in its most impressive lustre, he lays it against a gloomy ground, and then lights it up, not by the sun, but by some unnatural gases. Then come out those fiery effulgences, infernally superb; then the evil-blazing diamond, once the divinest symbol of the crystal skies, looks like some crown-jewel stolen from the King of Hell. But let us to the story.\nIt came to pass, that in the ambergris affair Stubb's after-oarsman chanced so to sprain his hand, as for a time to become quite maimed; and, temporarily, Pip was put into his place.\nThe first time Stubb lowered with him, Pip evinced much nervousness; but happily, for that time, escaped close contact with the whale; and therefore came off not altogether discreditably; though Stubb observing him, took care, afterwards, to exhort him to cherish his courageousness to the utmost, for he might often find it needful.\nNow upon the second lowering, the boat paddled upon the whale; and as the fish received the darted iron, it gave its customary rap, which happened, in this instance, to be right under poor Pip's seat. The involuntary consternation of the moment caused him to leap, paddle in hand, out of the boat; and in such a way, that part of the slack whale line coming against his chest, he breasted it overboard with him, so as to become entangled in it, when at last plumping into the water. That instant the stricken whale started on a fierce run, the line swiftly straightened; and presto! poor Pip came all foaming up to the chocks of the boat, remorselessly dragged there by the line, which had taken several turns around his chest and neck.\nTashtego stood in the bows. He was full of the fire of the hunt. He hated Pip for a poltroon. Snatching the boat-knife from its sheath, he suspended its sharp edge over the line, and turning towards Stubb, exclaimed interrogatively, \"Cut?\" Meantime Pip's blue, choked face plainly looked, Do, for God's sake! All passed in a flash. In less than half a minute, this entire thing happened.\n\"Damn him, cut!\" roared Stubb; and so the whale was lost and Pip was saved.\nSo soon as he recovered himself, the poor little negro was assailed by yells and execrations from the crew. Tranquilly permitting these irregular cursings to evaporate, Stubb then in a plain, business-like, but still half humorous manner, cursed Pip officially; and that done, unofficially gave him much wholesome advice. The substance was, Never jump from a boat, Pip, except—but all the rest was indefinite, as the soundest advice ever is. Now, in general, Stick to the boat, is your true motto in whaling; but cases will sometimes happen when Leap from the boat, is still better. Moreover, as if perceiving at last that if he should give undiluted conscientious advice to Pip, he would be leaving him too wide a margin to jump in for the future; Stubb suddenly dropped all advice, and concluded with a peremptory command, \"Stick to the boat, Pip, or by the Lord, I won't pick you up if you jump; mind that. We can't afford to lose whales by the likes of you; a whale would sell for thirty times what you would, Pip, in Alabama. Bear that in mind, and don't jump any more.\" Hereby perhaps Stubb indirectly hinted, that though man loved his fellow, yet man is a money-making animal, which propensity too often interferes with his benevolence.\nBut we are all in the hands of the Gods; and Pip jumped again. It was under very similar circumstances to the first performance; but this time he did not breast out the line; and hence, when the whale started to run, Pip was left behind on the sea, like a hurried traveller's trunk. Alas! Stubb was but too true to his word. It was a beautiful, bounteous, blue day; the spangled sea calm and cool, and flatly stretching away, all round, to the horizon, like gold-beater's skin hammered out to the extremest. Bobbing up and down in that sea, Pip's ebon head showed like a head of cloves. No boat-knife was lifted when he fell so rapidly astern. Stubb's inexorable back was turned upon him; and the whale was winged. In three minutes, a whole mile of shoreless ocean was between Pip and Stubb. Out from the centre of the sea, poor Pip turned his crisp, curling, black head to the sun, another lonely castaway, though the loftiest and the brightest.\nNow, in calm weather, to swim in the open ocean is as easy to the practised swimmer as to ride in a spring-carriage ashore. But the awful lonesomeness is intolerable. The intense concentration of self in the middle of such a heartless immensity, my God! who can tell it? Mark, how when sailors in a dead calm bathe in the open sea—mark how closely they hug their ship and only coast along her sides.\nBut had Stubb really abandoned the poor little negro to his fate? No; he did not mean to, at least. Because there were two boats in his wake, and he supposed, no doubt, that they would of course come up to Pip very quickly, and pick him up; though, indeed, such considerations towards oarsmen jeopardized through their own timidity, is not always manifested by the hunters in all similar instances; and such instances not unfrequently occur; almost invariably in the fishery, a coward, so called, is marked with the same ruthless detestation peculiar to military navies and armies.", "chosen": "55", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n55\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-082-00-72923790", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nTom presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an open window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom, breakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined. The balmy summer air, the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing murmur of the bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her knitting—for she had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in her lap. Her spectacles were propped up on her gray head for safety. She had thought that of course Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered at seeing him place himself in her power again in this intrepid way. He said: \"Mayn't I go and play now, aunt?\"\n\"What, a'ready? How much have you done?\"\n\"It's all done, aunt.\"\n\"Tom, don't lie to me—I can't bear it.\"\n\"I ain't, aunt; it is all done.\"\nAunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence. She went out to see for herself; and she would have been content to find twenty per cent. of Tom's statement true. When she found the entire fence white-washed, and not only whitewashed but elaborately coated and recoated, and even a streak added to the ground, her astonishment was almost unspeakable. She said:\n\"Well, I never! There's no getting round it, you can work when you're a mind to, Tom.\" And then she diluted the compliment by adding, \"But it's powerful seldom you're a mind to, I'm bound to say. Well, go 'long and play; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I'll tan you.\"\nShe was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took him into the closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to him, along with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor a treat took to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort. And while she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he \"hooked\" a doughnut.\nThen he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway that led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were handy and the air was full of them in a twinkling. They raged around Sid like a hail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her surprised faculties and sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken personal effect, and Tom was over the fence and gone. There was a gate, but as a general thing he was too crowded for time to make use of it. His soul was at peace, now that he had settled with Sid for calling attention to his black thread and getting him into trouble.\nTom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by the back of his aunt's cow-stable. He presently got safely beyond the reach of capture and punishment, and hastened toward the public square of the village, where two \"military\" companies of boys had met for conflict, according to previous appointment. Tom was General of one of these armies, Joe Harper (a bosom friend) General of the other. These two great commanders did not condescend to fight in person—that being better suited to the still smaller fry—but sat together on an eminence and conducted the field operations by orders delivered through aides-de-camp. Tom's army won a great victory, after a long and hard-fought battle. Then the dead were counted, prisoners exchanged, the terms of the next disagreement agreed upon, and the day for the necessary battle appointed; after which the armies fell into line and marched away, and Tom turned homeward alone.\nAs he was passing by the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a new girl in the garden—a lovely little blue-eyed creature with yellow hair plaited into two long-tails, white summer frock and embroidered pantalettes. The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a shot. A certain Amy Lawrence vanished out of his heart and left not even a memory of herself behind. He had thought he loved her to distraction; he had regarded his passion as adoration; and behold it was only a poor little evanescent partiality. He had been months winning her; she had confessed hardly a week ago; he had been the happiest and the proudest boy in the world only seven short days, and here in one instant of time she had gone out of his heart like a casual stranger whose visit is done.\nHe worshipped this new angel with furtive eye, till he saw that she had discovered him; then he pretended he did not know she was present, and began to \"show off\" in all sorts of absurd boyish ways, in order to win her admiration. He kept up this grotesque foolishness for some time; but by-and-by, while he was in the midst of some dangerous gymnastic performances, he glanced aside and saw that the little girl was wending her way toward the house. Tom came up to the fence and leaned on it, grieving, and hoping she would tarry yet awhile longer. She halted a moment on the steps and then moved toward the door. Tom heaved a great sigh as she put her foot on the threshold. But his face lit up, right away, for she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment before she disappeared.\nThe boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower, and then shaded his eyes with his hand and began to look down street as if he had discovered something of interest going on in that direction. Presently he picked up a straw and began trying to balance it on his nose, with his head tilted far back; and as he moved from side to side, in his efforts, he edged nearer and nearer toward the pansy; finally his bare foot rested upon it, his pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped away with the treasure and disappeared round the corner. But only for a minute—only while he could button the flower inside his jacket, next his heart—or next his stomach, possibly, for he was not much posted in anatomy, and not hypercritical, anyway.\nHe returned, now, and hung about the fence till nightfall, \"showing off,\" as before; but the girl never exhibited herself again, though Tom comforted himself a little with the hope that she had been near some window, meantime, and been aware of his attentions. Finally he strode home reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.\nAll through supper his spirits were so high that his aunt wondered \"what had got into the child.\" He took a good scolding about clodding Sid, and did not seem to mind it in the least. He tried to steal sugar under his aunt's very nose, and got his knuckles rapped for it. He said:\n\"Aunt, you don't whack Sid when he takes it.\"\n\"Well, Sid don't torment a body the way you do. You'd be always into that sugar if I warn't watching you.\"\nPresently she stepped into the kitchen, and Sid, happy in his immunity, reached for the sugar-bowl—a sort of glorying over Tom which was wellnigh unbearable. But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl dropped and broke. Tom was in ecstasies. In such ecstasies that he even controlled his tongue and was silent. He said to himself that he would not speak a word, even when his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly still till she asked who did the mischief; and then he would tell, and there would be nothing so good in the world as to see that pet model \"catch it.\" He was so brimful of exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old lady came back and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath from over her spectacles. He said to himself, \"Now it's coming!\" And the next instant he was sprawling on the floor! The potent palm was uplifted to strike again when Tom cried out:\n\"Hold on, now, what 'er you belting me for?—Sid broke it!\"\nAunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity. But when she got her tongue again, she only said:\n\"Umf! Well, you didn't get a lick amiss, I reckon. You been into some other audacious mischief when I wasn't around, like enough.\"", "chosen": "He said to himself that he would not speak a word, even when his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly still till she asked who did the mischief; and then he would tell, and there would be nothing so good in the world as to see that pet model \"catch it.\" He was so brimful of exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old lady came back and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath from over her spectacles.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nHe said to himself that he would not speak a word, even when his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly still till she asked who did the mischief; and then he would tell, and there would be nothing so good in the world as to see that pet model \"catch it.\" He was so brimful of exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old lady came back and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath from over her spectacles.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-74-003-00-7327d4c2", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHow good one feels when one is full—how satisfied with ourselves and with the world! People who have tried it, tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy and contented; but a full stomach does the business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more easily obtained. One feels so forgiving and generous after a substantial and well-digested meal—so noble-minded, so kindly-hearted.\nIt is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we cannot think, unless our stomach wills so. It dictates to us our emotions, our passions. After eggs and bacon, it says, \"Work!\" After beefsteak and porter, it says, \"Sleep!\" After a cup of tea (two spoonsful for each cup, and don't let it stand more than three minutes), it says to the brain, \"Now, rise, and show your strength. Be eloquent, and deep, and tender; see, with a clear eye, into Nature and into life; spread your white wings of quivering thought, and soar, a god-like spirit, over the whirling world beneath you, up through long lanes of flaming stars to the gates of eternity!\"\nAfter hot muffins, it says, \"Be dull and soulless, like a beast of the field—a brainless animal, with listless eye, unlit by any ray of fancy, or of hope, or fear, or love, or life.\" And after brandy, taken in sufficient quantity, it says, \"Now, come, fool, grin and tumble, that your fellow-men may laugh—drivel in folly, and splutter in senseless sounds, and show what a helpless ninny is poor man whose wit and will are drowned, like kittens, side by side, in half an inch of alcohol.\"\nWe are but the veriest, sorriest slaves of our stomach. Reach not after morality and righteousness, my friends; watch vigilantly your stomach, and diet it with care and judgment. Then virtue and contentment will come and reign within your heart, unsought by any effort of your own; and you will be a good citizen, a loving husband, and a tender father—a noble, pious man.\nBefore our supper, Harris and George and I were quarrelsome and snappy and ill-tempered; after our supper, we sat and beamed on one another, and we beamed upon the dog, too. We loved each other, we loved everybody. Harris, in moving about, trod on George's corn. Had this happened before supper, George would have expressed wishes and desires concerning Harris's fate in this world and the next that would have made a thoughtful man shudder.\nAs it was, he said: \"Steady, old man; 'ware wheat.\"\nAnd Harris, instead of merely observing, in his most unpleasant tones, that a fellow could hardly help treading on some bit of George's foot, if he had to move about at all within ten yards of where George was sitting, suggesting that George never ought to come into an ordinary sized boat with feet that length, and advising him to hang them over the side, as he would have done before supper, now said: \"Oh, I'm so sorry, old chap; I hope I haven't hurt you.\"\n[Picture: Smoking pipes] And George said: \"Not at all;\" that it was his fault; and Harris said no, it was his.\nIt was quite pretty to hear them.\nWe lit our pipes, and sat, looking out on the quiet night, and talked.\nGeorge said why could not we be always like this—away from the world, with its sin and temptation, leading sober, peaceful lives, and doing good. I said it was the sort of thing I had often longed for myself; and we discussed the possibility of our going away, we four, to some handy, well-fitted desert island, and living there in the woods.\nHarris said that the danger about desert islands, as far as he had heard, was that they were so damp: but George said no, not if properly drained.\nAnd then we got on to drains, and that put George in mind of a very funny thing that happened to his father once. He said his father was travelling with another fellow through Wales, and, one night, they stopped at a little inn, where there were some other fellows, and they joined the other fellows, and spent the evening with them.\nThey had a very jolly evening, and sat up late, and, by the time they came to go to bed, they (this was when George's father was a very young man) were slightly jolly, too. They (George's father and George's father's friend) were to sleep in the same room, but in different beds. They took the candle, and went up. The candle lurched up against the wall when they got into the room, and went out, and they had to undress and grope into bed in the dark. This they did; but, instead of getting into separate beds, as they thought they were doing, they both climbed into the same one without knowing it—one getting in with his head at the top, and the other crawling in from the opposite side of the compass, and lying with his feet on the pillow.\nThere was silence for a moment, and then George's father said:\n\"Joe!\"\n\"What's the matter, Tom?\" replied Joe's voice from the other end of the bed.\n\"Why, there's a man in my bed,\" said George's father; \"here's his feet on my pillow.\"\n\"Well, it's an extraordinary thing, Tom,\" answered the other; \"but I'm blest if there isn't a man in my bed, too!\"\n\"What are you going to do?\" asked George's father.\n\"Well, I'm going to chuck him out,\" replied Joe.\n\"So am I,\" said George's father, valiantly.\nThere was a brief struggle, followed by two heavy bumps on the floor, and then a rather doleful voice said:\n\"I say, Tom!\"\n\"Yes!\"\n\"How have you got on?\"\n\"Well, to tell you the truth, my man's chucked me out.\"\n\"So's mine! I say, I don't think much of this inn, do you?\"\n\"What was the name of that inn?\" said Harris.\n\"The Pig and Whistle,\" said George. \"Why?\"\n\"Ah, no, then it isn't the same,\" replied Harris.\n\"What do you mean?\" queried George.\n\"Why it's so curious,\" murmured Harris, \"but precisely that very same thing happened to my father once at a country inn. I've often heard him tell the tale. I thought it might have been the same inn.\"\nWe turned in at ten that night, and I thought I should sleep well, being tired; but I didn't. As a rule, I undress and put my head on the pillow, and then somebody bangs at the door, and says it is half-past eight: but, to-night, everything seemed against me; the novelty of it all, the hardness of the boat, the cramped position (I was lying with my feet under one seat, and my head on another), the sound of the lapping water round the boat, and the wind among the branches, kept me restless and disturbed.\nI did get to sleep for a few hours, and then some part of the boat which seemed to have grown up in the night—for it certainly was not there when we started, and it had disappeared by the morning—kept digging into my spine. I slept through it for a while, dreaming that I had swallowed a sovereign, and that they were cutting a hole in my back with a gimlet, so as to try and get it out. I thought it very unkind of them, and I told them I would owe them the money, and they should have it at the end of the month. But they would not hear of that, and said it would be much better if they had it then, because otherwise the interest would accumulate so. I got quite cross with them after a bit, and told them what I thought of them, and then they gave the gimlet such an excruciating wrench that I woke up.\nThe boat seemed stuffy, and my head ached; so I thought I would step out into the cool night-air. I slipped on what clothes I could find about—some of my own, and some of George's and Harris's—and crept under the canvas on to the bank.", "chosen": "[\"Work!\", \"Sleep!\", \"\\nAfter hot muffins, it says, \", \" And after brandy, taken in sufficient quantity, it says, \", \"Steady, old man; 'ware wheat.\", \"Oh, I'm so sorry, old chap; I hope I haven't hurt you.\", \"Not at all;\", \"Joe!\", \"What's the matter, Tom?\", \"Why, there's a man in my bed,\", \"here's his feet on my pillow.\", \"Well, it's an extraordinary thing, Tom,\", \"but I'm blest if there isn't a man in my bed, too!\", \"What are you going to do?\", \"Well, I'm going to chuck him out,\", \"So am I,\", \"I say, Tom!\", \"Yes!\", \"How have you got on?\", \"Well, to tell you the truth, my man's chucked me out.\", \"So's mine! I say, I don't think much of this inn, do you?\", \"What was the name of that inn?\", \"The Pig and Whistle,\", \"Why?\", \"Ah, no, then it isn't the same,\", \"What do you mean?\", \"Why it's so curious,\", \"but precisely that very same thing happened to my father once at a country inn. I've often heard him tell the tale. I thought it might have been the same inn.\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Work!\", \"Sleep!\", \"\\nAfter hot muffins, it says, \", \" And after brandy, taken in sufficient quantity, it says, \", \"Steady, old man; 'ware wheat.\", \"Oh, I'm so sorry, old chap; I hope I haven't hurt you.\", \"Not at all;\", \"Joe!\", \"What's the matter, Tom?\", \"Why, there's a man in my bed,\", \"here's his feet on my pillow.\", \"Well, it's an extraordinary thing, Tom,\", \"but I'm blest if there isn't a man in my bed, too!\", \"What are you going to do?\", \"Well, I'm going to chuck him out,\", \"So am I,\", \"I say, Tom!\", \"Yes!\", \"How have you got on?\", \"Well, to tell you the truth, my man's chucked me out.\", \"So's mine! I say, I don't think much of this inn, do you?\", \"What was the name of that inn?\", \"The Pig and Whistle,\", \"Why?\", \"Ah, no, then it isn't the same,\", \"What do you mean?\", \"Why it's so curious,\", \"but precisely that very same thing happened to my father once at a country inn. I've often heard him tell the tale. I thought it might have been the same inn.\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-308-010-01-ebdfd52c", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Yes. You see, this doing good to the world by driblets amounts to just nothing. I am for doing good to the world with a will. I am for doing good to the world once for all and having done with it. Do but think, my dear sir, of the eddies and maëlstroms of pagans in China. People here have no conception of it. Of a frosty morning in Hong Kong, pauper pagans are found dead in the streets like so many nipped peas in a bin of peas. To be an immortal being in China is no more distinction than to be a snow-flake in a snow-squall. What are a score or two of missionaries to such a people? A pinch of snuff to the kraken. I am for sending ten thousand missionaries in a body and converting the Chinese en masse within six months of the debarkation. The thing is then done, and turn to something else.\"\n\"I fear you are too enthusiastic.\"\n\"A philanthropist is necessarily an enthusiast; for without enthusiasm what was ever achieved but commonplace? But again: consider the poor in London. To that mob of misery, what is a joint here and a loaf there? I am for voting to them twenty thousand bullocks and one hundred thousand barrels of flour to begin with. They are then comforted, and no more hunger for one while among the poor of London. And so all round.\"\n\"Sharing the character of your general project, these things, I take it, are rather examples of wonders that were to be wished, than wonders that will happen.\"\n\"And is the age of wonders passed? Is the world too old? Is it barren? Think of Sarah.\"\n\"Then I am Abraham reviling the angel (with a smile). But still, as to your design at large, there seems a certain audacity.\"\n\"But if to the audacity of the design there be brought a commensurate circumspectness of execution, how then?\"\n\"Why, do you really believe that your world's charity will ever go into operation?\"\n\"I have confidence that it will.\"\n\"But may you not be over-confident?\"\n\"For a Christian to talk so!\"\n\"But think of the obstacles!\"\n\"Obstacles? I have confidence to remove obstacles, though mountains. Yes, confidence in the world's charity to that degree, that, as no better person offers to supply the place, I have nominated myself provisional treasurer, and will be happy to receive subscriptions, for the present to be devoted to striking off a million more of my prospectuses.\"\nThe talk went on; the man in gray revealed a spirit of benevolence which, mindful of the millennial promise, had gone abroad over all the countries of the globe, much as the diligent spirit of the husbandman, stirred by forethought of the coming seed-time, leads him, in March reveries at his fireside, over every field of his farm. The master chord of the man in gray had been touched, and it seemed as if it would never cease vibrating. A not unsilvery tongue, too, was his, with gestures that were a Pentecost of added ones, and persuasiveness before which granite hearts might crumble into gravel.\nStrange, therefore, how his auditor, so singularly good-hearted as he seemed, remained proof to such eloquence; though not, as it turned out, to such pleadings. For, after listening a while longer with pleasant incredulity, presently, as the boat touched his place of destination, the gentleman, with a look half humor, half pity, put another bank-note into his hands; charitable to the last, if only to the dreams of enthusiasm.", "chosen": "enthusiasm", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nenthusiasm\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-21816-007-02-b992d273", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nFirst of all, Alyosha went to his father. On the way he remembered that his father had insisted the day before that he should come without his brother Ivan seeing him. \"Why so?\" Alyosha wondered suddenly. \"Even if my father has something to say to me alone, why should I go in unseen? Most likely in his excitement yesterday he meant to say something different,\" he decided. Yet he was very glad when Marfa Ignatyevna, who opened the garden gate to him (Grigory, it appeared, was ill in bed in the lodge), told him in answer to his question that Ivan Fyodorovitch had gone out two hours ago.\n\"And my father?\"\n\"He is up, taking his coffee,\" Marfa answered somewhat dryly.\nAlyosha went in. The old man was sitting alone at the table wearing slippers and a little old overcoat. He was amusing himself by looking through some accounts, rather inattentively however. He was quite alone in the house, for Smerdyakov too had gone out marketing. Though he had got up early and was trying to put a bold face on it, he looked tired and weak. His forehead, upon which huge purple bruises had come out during the night, was bandaged with a red handkerchief; his nose too had swollen terribly in the night, and some smaller bruises covered it in patches, giving his whole face a peculiarly spiteful and irritable look. The old man was aware of this, and turned a hostile glance on Alyosha as he came in.\n\"The coffee is cold,\" he cried harshly; \"I won't offer you any. I've ordered nothing but a Lenten fish soup to-day, and I don't invite any one to share it. Why have you come?\"\n\"To find out how you are,\" said Alyosha.\n\"Yes. Besides, I told you to come yesterday. It's all of no consequence. You need not have troubled. But I knew you'd come poking in directly.\"\nHe said this with almost hostile feeling. At the same time he got up and looked anxiously in the looking-glass (perhaps for the fortieth time that morning) at his nose. He began, too, binding his red handkerchief more becomingly on his forehead.\n\"Red's better. It's just like the hospital in a white one,\" he observed sententiously. \"Well, how are things over there? How is your elder?\"\n\"He is very bad; he may die to-day,\" answered Alyosha. But his father had not listened, and had forgotten his own question at once.\n\"Ivan's gone out,\" he said suddenly. \"He is doing his utmost to carry off Mitya's betrothed. That's what he is staying here for,\" he added maliciously, and, twisting his mouth, looked at Alyosha.\n\"Surely he did not tell you so?\" asked Alyosha.\n\"Yes, he did, long ago. Would you believe it, he told me three weeks ago? You don't suppose he too came to murder me, do you? He must have had some object in coming.\"\n\"What do you mean? Why do you say such things?\" said Alyosha, troubled.\n\"He doesn't ask for money, it's true, but yet he won't get a farthing from me. I intend living as long as possible, you may as well know, my dear Alexey Fyodorovitch, and so I need every farthing, and the longer I live, the more I shall need it,\" he continued, pacing from one corner of the room to the other, keeping his hands in the pockets of his loose greasy overcoat made of yellow cotton material. \"I can still pass for a man at five and fifty, but I want to pass for one for another twenty years. As I get older, you know, I shan't be a pretty object. The wenches won't come to me of their own accord, so I shall want my money. So I am saving up more and more, simply for myself, my dear son Alexey Fyodorovitch. You may as well know. For I mean to go on in my sins to the end, let me tell you. For sin is sweet; all abuse it, but all men live in it, only others do it on the sly, and I openly. And so all the other sinners fall upon me for being so simple. And your paradise, Alexey Fyodorovitch, is not to my taste, let me tell you that; and it's not the proper place for a gentleman, your paradise, even if it exists. I believe that I fall asleep and don't wake up again, and that's all. You can pray for my soul if you like. And if you don't want to, don't, damn you! That's my philosophy. Ivan talked well here yesterday, though we were all drunk. Ivan is a conceited coxcomb, but he has no particular learning ... nor education either. He sits silent and smiles at one without speaking—that's what pulls him through.\"\nAlyosha listened to him in silence.\n\"Why won't he talk to me? If he does speak, he gives himself airs. Your Ivan is a scoundrel! And I'll marry Grushenka in a minute if I want to. For if you've money, Alexey Fyodorovitch, you have only to want a thing and you can have it. That's what Ivan is afraid of, he is on the watch to prevent me getting married and that's why he is egging on Mitya to marry Grushenka himself. He hopes to keep me from Grushenka by that (as though I should leave him my money if I don't marry her!). Besides if Mitya marries Grushenka, Ivan will carry off his rich betrothed, that's what he's reckoning on! He is a scoundrel, your Ivan!\"\n\"How cross you are! It's because of yesterday; you had better lie down,\" said Alyosha.\n\"There! you say that,\" the old man observed suddenly, as though it had struck him for the first time, \"and I am not angry with you. But if Ivan said it, I should be angry with him. It is only with you I have good moments, else you know I am an ill-natured man.\"\n\"You are not ill-natured, but distorted,\" said Alyosha with a smile.\n\"Listen. I meant this morning to get that ruffian Mitya locked up and I don't know now what I shall decide about it. Of course in these fashionable days fathers and mothers are looked upon as a prejudice, but even now the law does not allow you to drag your old father about by the hair, to kick him in the face in his own house, and brag of murdering him outright—all in the presence of witnesses. If I liked, I could crush him and could have him locked up at once for what he did yesterday.\"\n\"Then you don't mean to take proceedings?\"\n\"Ivan has dissuaded me. I shouldn't care about Ivan, but there's another thing.\"\nAnd bending down to Alyosha, he went on in a confidential half-whisper.\n\"If I send the ruffian to prison, she'll hear of it and run to see him at once. But if she hears that he has beaten me, a weak old man, within an inch of my life, she may give him up and come to me.... For that's her way, everything by contraries. I know her through and through! Won't you have a drop of brandy? Take some cold coffee and I'll pour a quarter of a glass of brandy into it, it's delicious, my boy.\"\n\"No, thank you. I'll take that roll with me if I may,\" said Alyosha, and taking a halfpenny French roll he put it in the pocket of his cassock. \"And you'd better not have brandy, either,\" he suggested apprehensively, looking into the old man's face.\n\"You are quite right, it irritates my nerves instead of soothing them. Only one little glass. I'll get it out of the cupboard.\"\nHe unlocked the cupboard, poured out a glass, drank it, then locked the cupboard and put the key back in his pocket.\n\"That's enough. One glass won't kill me.\"\n\"You see you are in a better humor now,\" said Alyosha, smiling.", "chosen": "[\"Alyosha\", \"Ivan\", \"Even\", \"Marfa\", \"Ignatyevna\", \"Grigory\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Lenten\", \"Red\", \"Mitya\", \"Surely\", \"Alexey\", \"Grushenka\", \"Listen\", \"French\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Alyosha\", \"Ivan\", \"Even\", \"Marfa\", \"Ignatyevna\", \"Grigory\", \"Fyodorovitch\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Lenten\", \"Red\", \"Mitya\", \"Surely\", \"Alexey\", \"Grushenka\", \"Listen\", \"French\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-026-00-d6111b69", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" he said at last in a weak voice, and suddenly bringing up his left leg from under the table, he began turning up his trouser leg. He was wearing long white stockings and slippers. Slowly he took off his garter and fumbled to the bottom of his stocking. Ivan gazed at him, and suddenly shuddered in a paroxysm of terror.\n\"He's mad!\" he cried, and rapidly jumping up, he drew back, so that he knocked his back against the wall and stood up against it, stiff and straight. He looked with insane terror at Smerdyakov, who, entirely unaffected by his terror, continued fumbling in his stocking, as though he were making an effort to get hold of something with his fingers and pull it out. At last he got hold of it and began pulling it out. Ivan saw that it was a piece of paper, or perhaps a roll of papers. Smerdyakov pulled it out and laid it on the table.\n\"Here,\" he said quietly.\n\"What is it?\" asked Ivan, trembling.\n\"Kindly look at it,\" Smerdyakov answered, still in the same low tone.\nIvan stepped up to the table, took up the roll of paper and began unfolding it, but suddenly he drew back his fingers, as though from contact with a loathsome reptile.\n\"Your hands keep twitching,\" observed Smerdyakov, and he deliberately unfolded the bundle himself. Under the wrapper were three packets of hundred-rouble notes.\n\"They are all here, all the three thousand roubles; you need not count them. Take them,\" Smerdyakov suggested to Ivan, nodding at the notes. Ivan sank back in his chair. He was as white as a handkerchief.\n\"You frightened me ... with your stocking,\" he said, with a strange grin.\n\"Can you really not have known till now?\" Smerdyakov asked once more.\n\"No, I did not know. I kept thinking of Dmitri. Brother, brother! Ach!\" He suddenly clutched his head in both hands.\n\"Listen. Did you kill him alone? With my brother's help or without?\"\n\"It was only with you, with your help, I killed him, and Dmitri Fyodorovitch is quite innocent.\"\n\"All right, all right. Talk about me later. Why do I keep on trembling? I can't speak properly.\"\n\"You were bold enough then. You said 'everything was lawful,' and how frightened you are now,\" Smerdyakov muttered in surprise. \"Won't you have some lemonade? I'll ask for some at once. It's very refreshing. Only I must hide this first.\"\nAnd again he motioned at the notes. He was just going to get up and call at the door to Marya Kondratyevna to make some lemonade and bring it them, but, looking for something to cover up the notes that she might not see them, he first took out his handkerchief, and as it turned out to be very dirty, took up the big yellow book that Ivan had noticed at first lying on the table, and put it over the notes. The book was The Sayings of the Holy Father Isaac the Syrian. Ivan read it mechanically.\n\"I won't have any lemonade,\" he said. \"Talk of me later. Sit down and tell me how you did it. Tell me all about it.\"\n\"You'd better take off your greatcoat, or you'll be too hot.\" Ivan, as though he'd only just thought of it, took off his coat, and, without getting up from his chair, threw it on the bench.\n\"Speak, please, speak.\"\nHe seemed calmer. He waited, feeling sure that Smerdyakov would tell him all about it.\n\"How it was done?\" sighed Smerdyakov. \"It was done in a most natural way, following your very words.\"\n\"Of my words later,\" Ivan broke in again, apparently with complete self-possession, firmly uttering his words, and not shouting as before. \"Only tell me in detail how you did it. Everything, as it happened. Don't forget anything. The details, above everything, the details, I beg you.\"\n\"You'd gone away, then I fell into the cellar.\"\n\"In a fit or in a sham one?\"\n\"A sham one, naturally. I shammed it all. I went quietly down the steps to the very bottom and lay down quietly, and as I lay down I gave a scream, and struggled, till they carried me out.\"\n\"Stay! And were you shamming all along, afterwards, and in the hospital?\"\n\"No, not at all. Next day, in the morning, before they took me to the hospital, I had a real attack and a more violent one than I've had for years. For two days I was quite unconscious.\"\n\"All right, all right. Go on.\"\n\"They laid me on the bed. I knew I'd be the other side of the partition, for whenever I was ill, Marfa Ignatyevna used to put me there, near them. She's always been very kind to me, from my birth up. At night I moaned, but quietly. I kept expecting Dmitri Fyodorovitch to come.\"\n\"Expecting him? To come to you?\"\n\"Not to me. I expected him to come into the house, for I'd no doubt that he'd come that night, for being without me and getting no news, he'd be sure to come and climb over the fence, as he used to, and do something.\"\n\"And if he hadn't come?\"\n\"Then nothing would have happened. I should never have brought myself to it without him.\"\n\"All right, all right ... speak more intelligibly, don't hurry; above all, don't leave anything out!\"\n\"I expected him to kill Fyodor Pavlovitch. I thought that was certain, for I had prepared him for it ... during the last few days.... He knew about the knocks, that was the chief thing. With his suspiciousness and the fury which had been growing in him all those days, he was bound to get into the house by means of those taps. That was inevitable, so I was expecting him.\"\n\"Stay,\" Ivan interrupted; \"if he had killed him, he would have taken the money and carried it away; you must have considered that. What would you have got by it afterwards? I don't see.\"\n\"But he would never have found the money. That was only what I told him, that the money was under the mattress. But that wasn't true. It had been lying in a box. And afterwards I suggested to Fyodor Pavlovitch, as I was the only person he trusted, to hide the envelope with the notes in the corner behind the ikons, for no one would have guessed that place, especially if they came in a hurry. So that's where the envelope lay, in the corner behind the ikons. It would have been absurd to keep it under the mattress; the box, anyway, could be locked. But all believe it was under the mattress. A stupid thing to believe. So if Dmitri Fyodorovitch had committed the murder, finding nothing, he would either have run away in a hurry, afraid of every sound, as always happens with murderers, or he would have been arrested. So I could always have clambered up to the ikons and have taken away the money next morning or even that night, and it would have all been put down to Dmitri Fyodorovitch. I could reckon upon that.\"\n\"But what if he did not kill him, but only knocked him down?\"\n\"If he did not kill him, of course, I would not have ventured to take the money, and nothing would have happened. But I calculated that he would beat him senseless, and I should have time to take it then, and then I'd make out to Fyodor Pavlovitch that it was no one but Dmitri Fyodorovitch who had taken the money after beating him.\"\n\"Stop ... I am getting mixed. Then it was Dmitri after all who killed him; you only took the money?\"", "chosen": "Wait, He, Slowly, Ivan, He's, He, At, Ivan, Smerdyakov, Here,\", What, Kindly, Ivan, Your, Under, They, Take, Ivan, He, You, with, Can, No,, I, Brother,, Ach!\", Listen., Did, With, Talk, Why, I, You, Won't, I'll, It's, Only, He, The, Ivan, I, Talk, Sit, Tell, Speak,, He, How, It, Only, Everything,, Don't, The, I, I, And, Next, For, Go, I, She's, At, I, To, I, I, speak, I, during, He, With, That, What, I, That, But, It, And, So, It, But, A, So, So, I, But, I, Then", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nWait, He, Slowly, Ivan, He's, He, At, Ivan, Smerdyakov, Here,\", What, Kindly, Ivan, Your, Under, They, Take, Ivan, He, You, with, Can, No,, I, Brother,, Ach!\", Listen., Did, With, Talk, Why, I, You, Won't, I'll, It's, Only, He, The, Ivan, I, Talk, Sit, Tell, Speak,, He, How, It, Only, Everything,, Don't, The, I, I, And, Next, For, Go, I, She's, At, I, To, I, I, speak, I, during, He, With, That, What, I, That, But, It, And, So, It, But, A, So, So, I, But, I, Then\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-075-01-20e5de7e", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nMarianne's illness, though weakening in its kind, had not been long enough to make her recovery slow; and with youth, natural strength, and her mother's presence in aid, it proceeded so smoothly as to enable her to remove, within four days after the arrival of the latter, into Mrs. Palmer's dressing-room. When there, at her own particular request, for she was impatient to pour forth her thanks to him for fetching her mother, Colonel Brandon was invited to visit her.\nHis emotion on entering the room, in seeing her altered looks, and in receiving the pale hand which she immediately held out to him, was such, as, in Elinor's conjecture, must arise from something more than his affection for Marianne, or the consciousness of its being known to others; and she soon discovered in his melancholy eye and varying complexion as he looked at her sister, the probable recurrence of many past scenes of misery to his mind, brought back by that resemblance between Marianne and Eliza already acknowledged, and now strengthened by the hollow eye, the sickly skin, the posture of reclining weakness, and the warm acknowledgment of peculiar obligation.\nMrs. Dashwood, not less watchful of what passed than her daughter, but with a mind very differently influenced, and therefore watching to very different effect, saw nothing in the Colonel's behaviour but what arose from the most simple and self-evident sensations, while in the actions and words of Marianne she persuaded herself to think that something more than gratitude already dawned.\nAt the end of another day or two, Marianne growing visibly stronger every twelve hours, Mrs. Dashwood, urged equally by her own and her daughter's wishes, began to talk of removing to Barton. On her measures depended those of her two friends; Mrs. Jennings could not quit Cleveland during the Dashwoods' stay; and Colonel Brandon was soon brought, by their united request, to consider his own abode there as equally determinate, if not equally indispensable. At his and Mrs. Jennings's united request in return, Mrs. Dashwood was prevailed on to accept the use of his carriage on her journey back, for the better accommodation of her sick child; and the Colonel, at the joint invitation of Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings, whose active good-nature made her friendly and hospitable for other people as well as herself, engaged with pleasure to redeem it by a visit at the cottage, in the course of a few weeks.\nThe day of separation and departure arrived; and Marianne, after taking so particular and lengthened a leave of Mrs. Jennings, one so earnestly grateful, so full of respect and kind wishes as seemed due to her own heart from a secret acknowledgment of past inattention, and bidding Colonel Brandon farewell with a cordiality of a friend, was carefully assisted by him into the carriage, of which he seemed anxious that she should engross at least half. Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor then followed, and the others were left by themselves, to talk of the travellers, and feel their own dullness, till Mrs. Jennings was summoned to her chaise to take comfort in the gossip of her maid for the loss of her two young companions; and Colonel Brandon immediately afterwards took his solitary way to Delaford.\nThe Dashwoods were two days on the road, and Marianne bore her journey on both, without essential fatigue. Every thing that the most zealous affection, the most solicitous care could do to render her comfortable, was the office of each watchful companion, and each found their reward in her bodily ease, and her calmness of spirits. To Elinor, the observation of the latter was particularly grateful. She, who had seen her week after week so constantly suffering, oppressed by anguish of heart which she had neither courage to speak of, nor fortitude to conceal, now saw with a joy, which no other could equally share, an apparent composure of mind, which, in being the result as she trusted of serious reflection, must eventually lead her to contentment and cheerfulness.\nAs they approached Barton, indeed, and entered on scenes of which every field and every tree brought some peculiar, some painful recollection, she grew silent and thoughtful, and turning away her face from their notice, sat earnestly gazing through the window. But here, Elinor could neither wonder nor blame; and when she saw, as she assisted Marianne from the carriage, that she had been crying, she saw only an emotion too natural in itself to raise any thing less tender than pity, and in its unobtrusiveness entitled to praise. In the whole of her subsequent manner, she traced the direction of a mind awakened to reasonable exertion; for no sooner had they entered their common sitting-room, than Marianne turned her eyes around it with a look of resolute firmness, as if determined at once to accustom herself to the sight of every object with which the remembrance of Willoughby could be connected. She said little, but every sentence aimed at cheerfulness, and though a sigh sometimes escaped her, it never passed away without the atonement of a smile. After dinner she would try her piano-forte. She went to it; but the music on which her eye first rested was an opera, procured for her by Willoughby, containing some of their favourite duets, and bearing on its outward leaf her own name in his hand-writing. That would not do. She shook her head, put the music aside, and after running over the keys for a minute, complained of feebleness in her fingers, and closed the instrument again; declaring however with firmness as she did so, that she should in future practice much.\nThe next morning produced no abatement in these happy symptoms. On the contrary, with a mind and body alike strengthened by rest, she looked and spoke with more genuine spirit, anticipating the pleasure of Margaret's return, and talking of the dear family party which would then be restored, of their mutual pursuits and cheerful society, as the only happiness worth a wish.\n\"When the weather is settled, and I have recovered my strength,\" said she, \"we will take long walks together every day. We will walk to the farm at the edge of the down, and see how the children go on; we will walk to Sir John's new plantations at Barton Cross, and the Abbeyland; and we will often go the old ruins of the Priory, and try to trace its foundations as far as we are told they once reached. I know we shall be happy. I know the summer will pass happily away. I mean never to be later in rising than six, and from that time till dinner I shall divide every moment between music and reading. I have formed my plan, and am determined to enter on a course of serious study. Our own library is too well known to me, to be resorted to for any thing beyond mere amusement. But there are many works well worth reading at the Park; and there are others of more modern production which I know I can borrow of Colonel Brandon. By reading only six hours a-day, I shall gain in the course of a twelvemonth a great deal of instruction which I now feel myself to want.\"\nElinor honoured her for a plan which originated so nobly as this; though smiling to see the same eager fancy which had been leading her to the extreme of languid indolence and selfish repining, now at work in introducing excess into a scheme of such rational employment and virtuous self-control. Her smile however changed to a sigh when she remembered that promise to Willoughby was yet unfulfilled, and feared she had that to communicate which might again unsettle the mind of Marianne, and ruin at least for a time this fair prospect of busy tranquillity. Willing therefore to delay the evil hour, she resolved to wait till her sister's health were more secure, before she appointed it. But the resolution was made only to be broken.", "chosen": "46", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n46\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-21839-046-00-63a75fae", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nAll of them paced on abreast of him, and he could perceive in the gloom that their faces were turned inquiringly upon his form. Then a whisper passed from one to another of them; then Chapman, who was the boldest, dropped immediately behind his heels, and followed there for some distance, taking close observations of his outline, after which the men grouped again and whispered. Thinking it best to let them pass on Swithin slackened his pace, and they went ahead of him, apparently without much reluctance.\nThere was no doubt that they had been impressed by the clothes he wore; and having no wish to provoke similar comments from his grandmother and Hannah, Swithin took the precaution, on arriving at Welland Bottom, to enter the homestead by the outhouse. Here he deposited the cap and coat in secure hiding, afterwards going round to the front and opening the door in the usual way.\nIn the entry he met Hannah, who said--\n'Only to hear what have been seed to-night, Mr. Swithin! The work-folk have dropped in to tell us!'\nIn the kitchen were the men who had outstripped him on the road. Their countenances, instead of wearing the usual knotty irregularities, had a smoothed-out expression of blank concern. Swithin's entrance was unobtrusive and quiet, as if he had merely come down from his study upstairs, and they only noticed him by enlarging their gaze, so as to include him in the audience.\n'We was in a deep talk at the moment,' continued Blore, 'and Natty had just brought up that story about old Jeremiah Paddock's crossing the park one night at one o'clock in the morning, and seeing Sir Blount a-shutting my lady out-o'-doors; and we was saying that it seemed a true return that he should perish in a foreign land; when we happened to look up, and there was Sir Blount a-walking along.'\n'Did it overtake you, or did you overtake it?' whispered Hannah sepulchrally.\n'I don't say 'twas it,' returned Sammy. 'God forbid that I should drag in a resurrection word about what perhaps was still solid manhood, and has to die! But he, or it, closed in upon us, as 'twere.'\n'Yes, closed in upon us!' said Haymoss.\n'And I said \"Good-night, strainger,\"' added Chapman.\n'Yes, \"Good-night, strainger,\"--that wez yer words, Natty. I support ye in it.'\n'And then he closed in upon us still more.'\n'We closed in upon he, rather,' said Chapman.\n'Well, well; 'tis the same thing in such matters! And the form was Sir Blount's. My nostrils told me, for--there, 'a smelled. Yes, I could smell'n, being to leeward.'\n'Lord, lord, what unwholesome scandal's this about the ghost of a respectable gentleman?' said Mrs. Martin, who had entered from the sitting-room.\n'Now, wait, ma'am. I don't say 'twere a low smell, mind ye. 'Twere a high smell, a sort of gamey flaviour, calling to mind venison and hare, just as you'd expect of a great squire,--not like a poor man's 'natomy, at all; and that was what strengthened my faith that 'twas Sir Blount.'\n('The skins that old coat was made of,' ruminated Swithin.)\n'Well, well; I've not held out against the figure o' starvation these five-and-twenty year, on nine shillings a week, to be afeard of a walking vapour, sweet or savoury,' said Hezzy. 'So here's home-along.'\n'Bide a bit longer, and I'm going too,' continued Fry. 'Well, when I found 'twas Sir Blount my spet dried up within my mouth; for neither hedge nor bush were there for refuge against any foul spring 'a might have made at us.'\n''Twas very curious; but we had likewise a-mentioned his name just afore, in talking of the confirmation that's shortly coming on,' said Hezzy.\n'Is there soon to be a confirmation?'\n'Yes. In this parish--the first time in Welland church for twenty years. As I say, I had told 'em that he was confirmed the same year that I went up to have it done, as I have very good cause to mind. When we went to be examined, the pa'son said to me, \"Rehearse the articles of thy belief.\" Mr. Blount (as he was then) was nighest me, and he whispered, \"Women and wine.\" \"Women and wine,\" says I to the pa'son: and for that I was sent back till next confirmation, Sir Blount never owning that he was the rascal.'\n'Confirmation was a sight different at that time,' mused Biles. 'The Bishops didn't lay it on so strong then as they do now. Now-a-days, yer Bishop gies both hands to every Jack-rag and Tom-straw that drops the knee afore him; but 'twas six chaps to one blessing when we was boys. The Bishop o' that time would stretch out his palms and run his fingers over our row of crowns as off-hand as a bank gentleman telling money. The great lords of the Church in them days wasn't particular to a soul or two more or less; and, for my part, I think living was easier for 't.'\n'The new Bishop, I hear, is a bachelor-man; or a widow gentleman is it?' asked Mrs. Martin.\n'Bachelor, I believe, ma'am. Mr. San Cleeve, making so bold, you've never faced him yet, I think?'\nMrs. Martin shook her head.\n'No; it was a piece of neglect. I hardly know how it happened,' she said.\n'I am going to, this time,' said Swithin, and turned the chat to other matters.", "chosen": "'We was in a deep talk at the moment,' continued Blore, 'and Natty had just brought up that story about old Jeremiah Paddock's crossing the park one night at one o'clock in the morning, and seeing Sir Blount a-shutting my lady out-o'-doors; and we was saying that it seemed a true return that he should perish in a foreign land; when we happened to look up, and there was Sir Blount a-walking along.'\n'Did it overtake you, or did you overtake it?' whispered Hannah sepulchrally.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n'We was in a deep talk at the moment,' continued Blore, 'and Natty had just brought up that story about old Jeremiah Paddock's crossing the park one night at one o'clock in the morning, and seeing Sir Blount a-shutting my lady out-o'-doors; and we was saying that it seemed a true return that he should perish in a foreign land; when we happened to look up, and there was Sir Blount a-walking along.'\n'Did it overtake you, or did you overtake it?' whispered Hannah sepulchrally.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-3146-021-01-5bda2445", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThen they go up the winding staircase of the great tower, toilsomely, turning and turning, and lowering their heads to avoid the stairs above, or the rough stone pivot around which they twist. Durdles has lighted his lantern, by drawing from the cold, hard wall a spark of that mysterious fire which lurks in everything, and, guided by this speck, they clamber up among the cobwebs and the dust. Their way lies through strange places. Twice or thrice they emerge into level, low-arched galleries, whence they can look down into the moonlit nave; and where Durdles, waving his lantern, waves the dim angels' heads upon the corbels of the roof, seeming to watch their progress. Anon they turn into narrower and steeper staircases, and the night-air begins to blow upon them, and the chirp of some startled jackdaw or frightened rook precedes the heavy beating of wings in a confined space, and the beating down of dust and straws upon their heads. At last, leaving their light behind a stair—for it blows fresh up here—they look down on Cloisterham, fair to see in the moonlight: its ruined habitations and sanctuaries of the dead, at the tower's base: its moss-softened red-tiled roofs and red-brick houses of the living, clustered beyond: its river winding down from the mist on the horizon, as though that were its source, and already heaving with a restless knowledge of its approach towards the sea.\nOnce again, an unaccountable expedition this! Jasper (always moving softly with no visible reason) contemplates the scene, and especially that stillest part of it which the Cathedral overshadows. But he contemplates Durdles quite as curiously, and Durdles is by times conscious of his watchful eyes.\nOnly by times, because Durdles is growing drowsy. As aëronauts lighten the load they carry, when they wish to rise, similarly Durdles has lightened the wicker bottle in coming up. Snatches of sleep surprise him on his legs, and stop him in his talk. A mild fit of calenture seizes him, in which he deems that the ground so far below, is on a level with the tower, and would as lief walk off the tower into the air as not. Such is his state when they begin to come down. And as aëronauts make themselves heavier when they wish to descend, similarly Durdles charges himself with more liquid from the wicker bottle, that he may come down the better.\nThe iron gate attained and locked—but not before Durdles has tumbled twice, and cut an eyebrow open once—they descend into the crypt again, with the intent of issuing forth as they entered. But, while returning among those lanes of light, Durdles becomes so very uncertain, both of foot and speech, that he half drops, half throws himself down, by one of the heavy pillars, scarcely less heavy than itself, and indistinctly appeals to his companion for forty winks of a second each.\n\"If you will have it so, or must have it so,\" replies Jasper, \"I'll not leave you here. Take them, while I walk to and fro.\"\nDurdles is asleep at once; and in his sleep he dreams a dream.\nIt is not much of a dream, considering the vast extent of the domains of dreamland, and their wonderful productions; it is only remarkable for being unusually restless and unusually real. He dreams of lying there, asleep, and yet counting his companion's footsteps as he walks to and fro. He dreams that the footsteps die away into distance of time and of space, and that something touches him, and that something falls from his hand. Then something clinks and gropes about, and he dreams that he is alone for so long a time, that the lanes of light take new directions as the moon advances in her course. From succeeding unconsciousness he passes into a dream of slow uneasiness from cold; and painfully awakes to a perception of the lanes of light—really changed, much as he had dreamed—and Jasper walking among them, beating his hands and feet.\n\"Holloa!\" Durdles cries out, unmeaningly alarmed.\n\"Awake at last?\" says Jasper, coming up to him. \"Do you know that your forties have stretched into thousands?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"They have though.\"\n\"What's the time?\"\n\"Hark! The bells are going in the Tower!\"\nThey strike four quarters, and then the great bell strikes.\n\"Two!\" cries Durdles, scrambling up; \"why didn't you try to wake me, Mister Jarsper?\"\n\"I did. I might as well have tried to wake the dead—your own family of dead, up in the corner there.\"\n\"Did you touch me?\"\n\"Touch you! Yes. Shook you.\"\nAs Durdles recalls that touching something in his dream, he looks down on the pavement, and sees the key of the crypt door lying close to where he himself lay.\n\"I dropped you, did I?\" he says, picking it up, and recalling that part of his dream. As he gathers himself up again into an upright position, or into a position as nearly upright as he ever maintains, he is again conscious of being watched by his companion.\n\"Well?\" says Jasper, smiling, \"are you quite ready? Pray don't hurry.\"\n\"Let me get my bundle right, Mister Jarsper, and I'm with you.\" As he ties it afresh, he is once more conscious that he is very narrowly observed.\n\"What do you suspect me of, Mister Jarsper?\" he asks, with drunken displeasure. \"Let them as has any suspicions of Durdles name 'em.\"\n\"I've no suspicions of you, my good Mr. Durdles; but I have suspicions that my bottle was filled with something stiffer than either of us supposed. And I also have suspicions,\" Jasper adds, taking it from the pavement and turning it bottom upwards, \"that it's empty.\"\nDurdles condescends to laugh at this. Continuing to chuckle when his laugh is over, as though remonstrant with himself on his drinking powers, he rolls to the door and unlocks it. They both pass out, and Durdles relocks it, and pockets his key.\n\"A thousand thanks for a curious and interesting night,\" says Jasper, giving him his hand; \"you can make your own way home?\"\n\"I should think so!\" answers Durdles. \"If you was to offer Durdles the affront to show him his way home, he wouldn't go home.\nDurdles wouldn't go home till morning; And then Durdles wouldn't go home,\nDurdles wouldn't.\" This with the utmost defiance.\n\"Good-night, then.\"\n\"Good-night, Mister Jarsper.\"\nEach is turning his own way, when a sharp whistle rends the silence, and the jargon is yelped out:\nWiddy widdy wen! I—ket—ches—Im—out—ar—ter—ten. Widdy widdy wy! Then—E—don't—go—then—I—shy— Widdy Widdy Wake-cock warning!\"\nInstantly afterwards, a rapid fire of stones rattles at the Cathedral wall, and the hideous small boy is beheld opposite, dancing in the moonlight.\n\"What! Is that baby-devil on the watch there!\" cries Jasper in a fury: so quickly roused, and so violent, that he seems an older devil himself. \"I shall shed the blood of that impish wretch! I know I shall do it!\" Regardless of the fire, though it hits him more than once, he rushes at Deputy, collars him, and tries to bring him across. But Deputy is not to be so easily brought across. With a diabolical insight into the strongest part of his position, he is no sooner taken by the throat than he curls up his legs, forces his assailant to hang him, as it were, and gurgles in his throat, and screws his body, and twists, as already undergoing the first agonies of strangulation. There is nothing for it but to drop him. He instantly gets himself together, backs over to Durdles, and cries to his assailant, gnashing the great gap in front of his mouth with rage and malice:\n\"I'll blind yer, s'elp me! I'll stone yer eyes out, s'elp me! If I don't have yer eyesight, bellows me!\" At the same time dodging behind Durdles, and snarling at Jasper, now from this side of him, and now from that: prepared, if pounced upon, to dart away in all manner of curvilinear directions, and, if run down after all, to grovel in the dust, and cry: \"Now, hit me when I'm down! Do it!\"\n\"Don't hurt the boy, Mister Jarsper,\" urges Durdles, shielding him. \"Recollect yourself.\"\n\"He followed us to-night, when we first came here!\"\n\"Yer lie, I didn't!\" replies Deputy, in his one form of polite contradiction.\n\"He has been prowling near us ever since!\"", "chosen": "since", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nsince\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-564-012-03-fe676402", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nMorning-room at the Manor House.\nGWENDOLEN. The fact that they did not follow us at once into the house, as any one else would have done, seems to me to show that they have some sense of shame left.\nCECILY. They have been eating muffins. That looks like repentance.\nGWENDOLEN. [After a pause.] They don't seem to notice us at all. Couldn't you cough?\nCECILY. But I haven't got a cough.\nGWENDOLEN. They're looking at us. What effrontery!\nCECILY. They're approaching. That's very forward of them.\nGWENDOLEN. Let us preserve a dignified silence.\nCECILY. Certainly. It's the only thing to do now. [Enter Jack followed by Algernon. They whistle some dreadful popular air from a British Opera.]\nGWENDOLEN. This dignified silence seems to produce an unpleasant effect.\nCECILY. A most distasteful one.\nGWENDOLEN. But we will not be the first to speak.\nCECILY. Certainly not.\nGWENDOLEN. Mr. Worthing, I have something very particular to ask you. Much depends on your reply.\nCECILY. Gwendolen, your common sense is invaluable. Mr. Moncrieff, kindly answer me the following question. Why did you pretend to be my guardian's brother?\nALGERNON. In order that I might have an opportunity of meeting you.\nCECILY. [To Gwendolen.] That certainly seems a satisfactory explanation, does it not?\nGWENDOLEN. Yes, dear, if you can believe him.\nCECILY. I don't. But that does not affect the wonderful beauty of his answer.\nGWENDOLEN. True. In matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity is the vital thing. Mr. Worthing, what explanation can you offer to me for pretending to have a brother? Was it in order that you might have an opportunity of coming up to town to see me as often as possible?\nJACK. Can you doubt it, Miss Fairfax?\nGWENDOLEN. I have the gravest doubts upon the subject. But I intend to crush them. This is not the moment for German scepticism. [Moving to Cecily.] Their explanations appear to be quite satisfactory, especially Mr. Worthing's. That seems to me to have the stamp of truth upon it.\nCECILY. I am more than content with what Mr. Moncrieff said. His voice alone inspires one with absolute credulity.\nGWENDOLEN. Then you think we should forgive them?\nCECILY. Yes. I mean no.\nGWENDOLEN. True! I had forgotten. There are principles at stake that one cannot surrender. Which of us should tell them? The task is not a pleasant one.\nCECILY. Could we not both speak at the same time?\nGWENDOLEN. An excellent idea! I nearly always speak at the same time as other people. Will you take the time from me?\nCECILY. Certainly. [Gwendolen beats time with uplifted finger.]\nGWENDOLEN and CECILY [Speaking together.] Your Christian names are still an insuperable barrier. That is all!\nJACK and ALGERNON [Speaking together.] Our Christian names! Is that all? But we are going to be christened this afternoon.\nGWENDOLEN. [To Jack.] For my sake you are prepared to do this terrible thing?\nJACK. I am.\nCECILY. [To Algernon.] To please me you are ready to face this fearful ordeal?\nALGERNON. I am!\nGWENDOLEN. How absurd to talk of the equality of the sexes! Where questions of self-sacrifice are concerned, men are infinitely beyond us.\nJACK. We are. [Clasps hands with Algernon.]\nCECILY. They have moments of physical courage of which we women know absolutely nothing.\nGWENDOLEN. [To Jack.] Darling!\nALGERNON. [To Cecily.] Darling! [They fall into each other's arms.]\nMERRIMAN. Ahem! Ahem! Lady Bracknell!\nJACK. Good heavens!\nLADY BRACKNELL. Gwendolen! What does this mean?\nGWENDOLEN. Merely that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Worthing, mamma.\nLADY BRACKNELL. Come here. Sit down. Sit down immediately. Hesitation of any kind is a sign of mental decay in the young, of physical weakness in the old. [Turns to Jack.] Apprised, sir, of my daughter's sudden flight by her trusty maid, whose confidence I purchased by means of a small coin, I followed her at once by a luggage train. Her unhappy father is, I am glad to say, under the impression that she is attending a more than usually lengthy lecture by the University Extension Scheme on the Influence of a permanent income on Thought. I do not propose to undeceive him. Indeed I have never undeceived him on any question. I would consider it wrong. But of course, you will clearly understand that all communication between yourself and my daughter must cease immediately from this moment. On this point, as indeed on all points, I am firm.\nJACK. I am engaged to be married to Gwendolen, Lady Bracknell!\nLADY BRACKNELL. You are nothing of the kind, sir. And now, as regards Algernon! . . . Algernon!\nALGERNON. Yes, Aunt Augusta.\nLADY BRACKNELL. May I ask if it is in this house that your invalid friend Mr. Bunbury resides?\nALGERNON. [Stammering.] Oh! No! Bunbury doesn't live here. Bunbury is somewhere else at present. In fact, Bunbury is dead.\nLADY BRACKNELL. Dead! When did Mr. Bunbury die? His death must have been extremely sudden.\nALGERNON. [Airily.] Oh! I killed Bunbury this afternoon. I mean poor Bunbury died this afternoon.\nLADY BRACKNELL. What did he die of?\nALGERNON. Bunbury? Oh, he was quite exploded.\nLADY BRACKNELL. Exploded! Was he the victim of a revolutionary outrage? I was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in social legislation. If so, he is well punished for his morbidity.\nALGERNON. My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out! The doctors found out that Bunbury could not live, that is what I mean—so Bunbury died.\nLADY BRACKNELL. He seems to have had great confidence in the opinion of his physicians. I am glad, however, that he made up his mind at the last to some definite course of action, and acted under proper medical advice. And now that we have finally got rid of this Mr. Bunbury, may I ask, Mr. Worthing, who is that young person whose hand my nephew Algernon is now holding in what seems to me a peculiarly unnecessary manner?\nJACK. That lady is Miss Cecily Cardew, my ward. [Lady Bracknell bows coldly to Cecily.]\nALGERNON. I am engaged to be married to Cecily, Aunt Augusta.\nLADY BRACKNELL. I beg your pardon?\nCECILY. Mr. Moncrieff and I are engaged to be married, Lady Bracknell.\nLADY BRACKNELL. [With a shiver, crossing to the sofa and sitting down.] I do not know whether there is anything peculiarly exciting in the air of this particular part of Hertfordshire, but the number of engagements that go on seems to me considerably above the proper average that statistics have laid down for our guidance. I think some preliminary inquiry on my part would not be out of place. Mr. Worthing, is Miss Cardew at all connected with any of the larger railway stations in London? I merely desire information. Until yesterday I had no idea that there were any families or persons whose origin was a Terminus. [Jack looks perfectly furious, but restrains himself.]\nJACK. [In a clear, cold voice.] Miss Cardew is the grand-daughter of the late Mr. Thomas Cardew of 149 Belgrave Square, S.W.; Gervase Park, Dorking, Surrey; and the Sporran, Fifeshire, N.B.\nLADY BRACKNELL. That sounds not unsatisfactory. Three addresses always inspire confidence, even in tradesmen. But what proof have I of their authenticity?\nJACK. I have carefully preserved the Court Guides of the period. They are open to your inspection, Lady Bracknell.\nLADY BRACKNELL. [Grimly.] I have known strange errors in that publication.\nJACK. Miss Cardew's family solicitors are Messrs. Markby, Markby, and Markby.\nLADY BRACKNELL. Markby, Markby, and Markby? A firm of the very highest position in their profession. Indeed I am told that one of the Mr. Markby's is occasionally to be seen at dinner parties. So far I am satisfied.\nJACK. [Very irritably.] How extremely kind of you, Lady Bracknell! I have also in my possession, you will be pleased to hear, certificates of Miss Cardew's birth, baptism, whooping cough, registration, vaccination, confirmation, and the measles; both the German and the English variety.\nLADY BRACKNELL. Ah! A life crowded with incident, I see; though perhaps somewhat too exciting for a young girl. I am not myself in favour of premature experiences. [Rises, looks at her watch.] Gwendolen! the time approaches for our departure. We have not a moment to lose. As a matter of form, Mr. Worthing, I had better ask you if Miss Cardew has any little fortune?", "chosen": "[\"Manor\", \"House\", \"Jack\", \"Algernon\", \"British\", \"Opera\", \"Gwendolen\", \"Fairfax\", \"German\", \"Cecily\", \"Their\", \"Your\", \"Christian\", \"Our\", \"Darling\", \"Bracknell\", \"Apprised\", \"University\", \"Extension\", \"Scheme\", \"Influence\", \"Thought\", \"Augusta\", \"Bunbury\", \"Cardew\", \"Hertfordshire\", \"London\", \"Terminus\", \"Belgrave\", \"Square\", \"Gervase\", \"Park\", \"Dorking\", \"Surrey\", \"Sporran\", \"Fifeshire\", \"Court\", \"Guides\", \"Messrs\", \"Markby\", \"English\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Manor\", \"House\", \"Jack\", \"Algernon\", \"British\", \"Opera\", \"Gwendolen\", \"Fairfax\", \"German\", \"Cecily\", \"Their\", \"Your\", \"Christian\", \"Our\", \"Darling\", \"Bracknell\", \"Apprised\", \"University\", \"Extension\", \"Scheme\", \"Influence\", \"Thought\", \"Augusta\", \"Bunbury\", \"Cardew\", \"Hertfordshire\", \"London\", \"Terminus\", \"Belgrave\", \"Square\", \"Gervase\", \"Park\", \"Dorking\", \"Surrey\", \"Sporran\", \"Fifeshire\", \"Court\", \"Guides\", \"Messrs\", \"Markby\", \"English\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-844-002-00-d1581dc8", "source": "pg-844", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe lamplighter now dotting the quiet Close with specks of light, and running at a great rate up and down his little ladder with that object—his little ladder under the sacred shadow of whose inconvenience generations had grown up, and which all Cloisterham would have stood aghast at the idea of abolishing—the Dean withdraws to his dinner, Mr. Tope to his tea, and Mr. Jasper to his piano. There, with no light but that of the fire, he sits chanting choir-music in a low and beautiful voice, for two or three hours; in short, until it has been for some time dark, and the moon is about to rise.\nThen he closes his piano softly, softly changes his coat for a pea-jacket, with a goodly wicker-cased bottle in its largest pocket, and putting on a low-crowned, flap-brimmed hat, goes softly out. Why does he move so softly to-night? No outward reason is apparent for it. Can there be any sympathetic reason crouching darkly within him?\nRepairing to Durdles's unfinished house, or hole in the city wall, and seeing a light within it, he softly picks his course among the gravestones, monuments, and stony lumber of the yard, already touched here and there, sidewise, by the rising moon. The two journeymen have left their two great saws sticking in their blocks of stone; and two skeleton journeymen out of the Dance of Death might be grinning in the shadow of their sheltering sentry-boxes, about to slash away at cutting out the gravestones of the next two people destined to die in Cloisterham. Likely enough, the two think little of that now, being alive, and perhaps merry. Curious, to make a guess at the two;—or say one of the two!\n\"Ho! Durdles!\"\nThe light moves, and he appears with it at the door. He would seem to have been \"cleaning himself\" with the aid of a bottle, jug, and tumbler; for no other cleansing instruments are visible in the bare brick room with rafters overhead and no plastered ceiling, into which he shows his visitor.\n\"Are you ready?\"\n\"I am ready, Mister Jarsper. Let the old 'uns come out if they dare, when we go among their tombs. My spirit is ready for 'em.\"\n\"Do you mean animal spirits, or ardent?\"\n\"The one's the t'other,\" answers Durdles, \"and I mean 'em both.\"\nHe takes a lantern from a hook, puts a match or two in his pocket wherewith to light it, should there be need; and they go out together, dinner-bundle and all.\nSurely an unaccountable sort of expedition! That Durdles himself, who is always prowling among old graves, and ruins, like a Ghoul—that he should be stealing forth to climb, and dive, and wander without an object, is nothing extraordinary; but that the Choir-Master or any one else should hold it worth his while to be with him, and to study moonlight effects in such company is another affair. Surely an unaccountable sort of expedition, therefore!\n\"'Ware that there mound by the yard-gate, Mister Jarsper.\"\n\"I see it. What is it?\"\n\"Lime.\"\nMr. Jasper stops, and waits for him to come up, for he lags behind. \"What you call quick-lime?\"\n\"Ay!\" says Durdles; \"quick enough to eat your boots. With a little handy stirring, quick enough to eat your bones.\"\nThey go on, presently passing the red windows of the Travellers' Twopenny, and emerging into the clear moonlight of the Monks' Vineyard. This crossed, they come to Minor Canon Corner: of which the greater part lies in shadow until the moon shall rise higher in the sky.\nThe sound of a closing house-door strikes their ears, and two men come out. These are Mr. Crisparkle and Neville. Jasper, with a strange and sudden smile upon his face, lays the palm of his hand upon the breast of Durdles, stopping him where he stands.\nAt that end of Minor Canon Corner the shadow is profound in the existing state of the light: at that end, too, there is a piece of old dwarf wall, breast high, the only remaining boundary of what was once a garden, but is now the thoroughfare. Jasper and Durdles would have turned this wall in another instant; but, stopping so short, stand behind it.\n\"Those two are only sauntering,\" Jasper whispers; \"they will go out into the moonlight soon. Let us keep quiet here, or they will detain us, or want to join us, or what not.\"\nDurdles nods assent, and falls to munching some fragments from his bundle. Jasper folds his arms upon the top of the wall, and, with his chin resting on them, watches. He takes no note whatever of the Minor Canon, but watches Neville, as though his eye were at the trigger of a loaded rifle, and he had covered him, and were going to fire. A sense of destructive power is so expressed in his face, that even Durdles pauses in his munching, and looks at him, with an unmunched something in his cheek.\nMeanwhile Mr. Crisparkle and Neville walk to and fro, quietly talking together. What they say, cannot be heard consecutively; but Mr. Jasper has already distinguished his own name more than once.\n\"This is the first day of the week,\" Mr. Crisparkle can be distinctly heard to observe, as they turn back; \"and the last day of the week is Christmas Eve.\"\n\"You may be certain of me, sir.\"\nThe echoes were favourable at those points, but as the two approach, the sound of their talking becomes confused again. The word \"confidence,\" shattered by the echoes, but still capable of being pieced together, is uttered by Mr. Crisparkle. As they draw still nearer, this fragment of a reply is heard: \"Not deserved yet, but shall be, sir.\" As they turn away again, Jasper again hears his own name, in connection with the words from Mr. Crisparkle: \"Remember that I said I answered for you confidently.\" Then the sound of their talk becomes confused again; they halting for a little while, and some earnest action on the part of Neville succeeding. When they move once more, Mr. Crisparkle is seen to look up at the sky, and to point before him. They then slowly disappear; passing out into the moonlight at the opposite end of the Corner.\nIt is not until they are gone, that Mr. Jasper moves. But then he turns to Durdles, and bursts into a fit of laughter. Durdles, who still has that suspended something in his cheek, and who sees nothing to laugh at, stares at him until Mr. Jasper lays his face down on his arms to have his laugh out. Then Durdles bolts the something, as if desperately resigning himself to indigestion.", "chosen": "The, Tope, Jasper, There,, Then, Why, No, Can, Repairing, The, Likely, Curious,, Ho!, Durdles!\", He, Are, Let, My, Surely, That, Surely, Ware, What, Jasper, What, With, This, The, These, Crisparkle, Jasper,, At, Jasper, Those, Let, Jasper, He, A, Meanwhile, Crisparkle, What, Jasper, This, Crisparkle, The, Crisparkle., As, Crisparkle:, When, Crisparkle, They, It, Jasper, But, Durdles,, Jasper, Then", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nThe, Tope, Jasper, There,, Then, Why, No, Can, Repairing, The, Likely, Curious,, Ho!, Durdles!\", He, Are, Let, My, Surely, That, Surely, Ware, What, Jasper, What, With, This, The, These, Crisparkle, Jasper,, At, Jasper, Those, Let, Jasper, He, A, Meanwhile, Crisparkle, What, Jasper, This, Crisparkle, The, Crisparkle., As, Crisparkle:, When, Crisparkle, They, It, Jasper, But, Durdles,, Jasper, Then\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-564-012-01-e4c579fb", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Comrades,\" began Gregory, in a low but penetrating voice, \"it is not necessary for me to tell you what is my policy, for it is your policy also. Our belief has been slandered, it has been disfigured, it has been utterly confused and concealed, but it has never been altered. Those who talk about anarchism and its dangers go everywhere and anywhere to get their information, except to us, except to the fountain head. They learn about anarchists from sixpenny novels; they learn about anarchists from tradesmen's newspapers; they learn about anarchists from Ally Sloper's Half-Holiday and the Sporting Times. They never learn about anarchists from anarchists. We have no chance of denying the mountainous slanders which are heaped upon our heads from one end of Europe to another. The man who has always heard that we are walking plagues has never heard our reply. I know that he will not hear it tonight, though my passion were to rend the roof. For it is deep, deep under the earth that the persecuted are permitted to assemble, as the Christians assembled in the Catacombs. But if, by some incredible accident, there were here tonight a man who all his life had thus immensely misunderstood us, I would put this question to him: 'When those Christians met in those Catacombs, what sort of moral reputation had they in the streets above? What tales were told of their atrocities by one educated Roman to another? Suppose' (I would say to him), 'suppose that we are only repeating that still mysterious paradox of history. Suppose we seem as shocking as the Christians because we are really as harmless as the Christians. Suppose we seem as mad as the Christians because we are really as meek.\"'\nThe applause that had greeted the opening sentences had been gradually growing fainter, and at the last word it stopped suddenly. In the abrupt silence, the man with the velvet jacket said, in a high, squeaky voice—\n\"I'm not meek!\"\n\"Comrade Witherspoon tells us,\" resumed Gregory, \"that he is not meek. Ah, how little he knows himself! His words are, indeed, extravagant; his appearance is ferocious, and even (to an ordinary taste) unattractive. But only the eye of a friendship as deep and delicate as mine can perceive the deep foundation of solid meekness which lies at the base of him, too deep even for himself to see. I repeat, we are the true early Christians, only that we come too late. We are simple, as they revere simple—look at Comrade Witherspoon. We are modest, as they were modest—look at me. We are merciful—\"\n\"No, no!\" called out Mr. Witherspoon with the velvet jacket.\n\"I say we are merciful,\" repeated Gregory furiously, \"as the early Christians were merciful. Yet this did not prevent their being accused of eating human flesh. We do not eat human flesh—\"\n\"Shame!\" cried Witherspoon. \"Why not?\"\n\"Comrade Witherspoon,\" said Gregory, with a feverish gaiety, \"is anxious to know why nobody eats him (laughter). In our society, at any rate, which loves him sincerely, which is founded upon love—\"\n\"No, no!\" said Witherspoon, \"down with love.\"\n\"Which is founded upon love,\" repeated Gregory, grinding his teeth, \"there will be no difficulty about the aims which we shall pursue as a body, or which I should pursue were I chosen as the representative of that body. Superbly careless of the slanders that represent us as assassins and enemies of human society, we shall pursue with moral courage and quiet intellectual pressure, the permanent ideals of brotherhood and simplicity.\"\nGregory resumed his seat and passed his hand across his forehead. The silence was sudden and awkward, but the chairman rose like an automaton, and said in a colourless voice—\n\"Does anyone oppose the election of Comrade Gregory?\"\nThe assembly seemed vague and sub-consciously disappointed, and Comrade Witherspoon moved restlessly on his seat and muttered in his thick beard. By the sheer rush of routine, however, the motion would have been put and carried. But as the chairman was opening his mouth to put it, Syme sprang to his feet and said in a small and quiet voice—\n\"Yes, Mr. Chairman, I oppose.\"\nThe most effective fact in oratory is an unexpected change in the voice. Mr. Gabriel Syme evidently understood oratory. Having said these first formal words in a moderated tone and with a brief simplicity, he made his next word ring and volley in the vault as if one of the guns had gone off.\n\"Comrades!\" he cried, in a voice that made every man jump out of his boots, \"have we come here for this? Do we live underground like rats in order to listen to talk like this? This is talk we might listen to while eating buns at a Sunday School treat. Do we line these walls with weapons and bar that door with death lest anyone should come and hear Comrade Gregory saying to us, 'Be good, and you will be happy,' 'Honesty is the best policy,' and 'Virtue is its own reward'? There was not a word in Comrade Gregory's address to which a curate could not have listened with pleasure (hear, hear). But I am not a curate (loud cheers), and I did not listen to it with pleasure (renewed cheers). The man who is fitted to make a good curate is not fitted to make a resolute, forcible, and efficient Thursday (hear, hear).\n\"Comrade Gregory has told us, in only too apologetic a tone, that we are not the enemies of society. But I say that we are the enemies of society, and so much the worse for society. We are the enemies of society, for society is the enemy of humanity, its oldest and its most pitiless enemy (hear, hear). Comrade Gregory has told us (apologetically again) that we are not murderers. There I agree. We are not murderers, we are executioners (cheers).\"\nEver since Syme had risen Gregory had sat staring at him, his face idiotic with astonishment. Now in the pause his lips of clay parted, and he said, with an automatic and lifeless distinctness—\n\"You damnable hypocrite!\"\nSyme looked straight into those frightful eyes with his own pale blue ones, and said with dignity—\n\"Comrade Gregory accuses me of hypocrisy. He knows as well as I do that I am keeping all my engagements and doing nothing but my duty. I do not mince words. I do not pretend to. I say that Comrade Gregory is unfit to be Thursday for all his amiable qualities. He is unfit to be Thursday because of his amiable qualities. We do not want the Supreme Council of Anarchy infected with a maudlin mercy (hear, hear). This is no time for ceremonial politeness, neither is it a time for ceremonial modesty. I set myself against Comrade Gregory as I would set myself against all the Governments of Europe, because the anarchist who has given himself to anarchy has forgotten modesty as much as he has forgotten pride (cheers). I am not a man at all. I am a cause (renewed cheers). I set myself against Comrade Gregory as impersonally and as calmly as I should choose one pistol rather than another out of that rack upon the wall; and I say that rather than have Gregory and his milk-and-water methods on the Supreme Council, I would offer myself for election—\"\nHis sentence was drowned in a deafening cataract of applause. The faces, that had grown fiercer and fiercer with approval as his tirade grew more and more uncompromising, were now distorted with grins of anticipation or cloven with delighted cries. At the moment when he announced himself as ready to stand for the post of Thursday, a roar of excitement and assent broke forth, and became uncontrollable, and at the same moment Gregory sprang to his feet, with foam upon his mouth, and shouted against the shouting.\n\"Stop, you blasted madmen!\" he cried, at the top of a voice that tore his throat. \"Stop, you—\"\nBut louder than Gregory's shouting and louder than the roar of the room came the voice of Syme, still speaking in a peal of pitiless thunder—", "chosen": "65", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n65\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-1695-003-01-4712a6d3", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Mr. Smith, forgive me!\" she said sweetly. \"I see now, though I did not at first, that what I have done seems like contempt for your skill. But, indeed, I did not mean it in that sense. I could not, upon my conscience, win a victory in those first and second games over one who fought at such a disadvantage and so manfully.\"\nHe drew a long breath, and murmured bitterly, \"Ah, you are cleverer than I. You can do everything—I can do nothing! O Miss Swancourt!\" he burst out wildly, his heart swelling in his throat, \"I must tell you how I love you! All these months of my absence I have worshipped you.\"\nHe leapt from his seat like the impulsive lad that he was, slid round to her side, and almost before she suspected it his arm was round her waist, and the two sets of curls intermingled.\nSo entirely new was full-blown love to Elfride, that she trembled as much from the novelty of the emotion as from the emotion itself. Then she suddenly withdrew herself and stood upright, vexed that she had submitted unresistingly even to his momentary pressure. She resolved to consider this demonstration as premature.\n\"You must not begin such things as those,\" she said with coquettish hauteur of a very transparent nature \"And—you must not do so again—and papa is coming.\"\n\"Let me kiss you—only a little one,\" he said with his usual delicacy, and without reading the factitiousness of her manner.\n\"No; not one.\"\n\"Only on your cheek?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Forehead?\"\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\"You care for somebody else, then? Ah, I thought so!\"\n\"I am sure I do not.\"\n\"Nor for me either?\"\n\"How can I tell?\" she said simply, the simplicity lying merely in the broad outlines of her manner and speech. There were the semitone of voice and half-hidden expression of eyes which tell the initiated how very fragile is the ice of reserve at these times.\nFootsteps were heard. Mr. Swancourt then entered the room, and their private colloquy ended.\nThe day after this partial revelation, Mr. Swancourt proposed a drive to the cliffs beyond Targan Bay, a distance of three or four miles.\nHalf an hour before the time of departure a crash was heard in the back yard, and presently Worm came in, saying partly to the world in general, partly to himself, and slightly to his auditors:\n\"Ay, ay, sure! That frying of fish will be the end of William Worm. They be at it again this morning—same as ever—fizz, fizz, fizz!\"\n\"Your head bad again, Worm?\" said Mr. Swancourt. \"What was that noise we heard in the yard?\"\n\"Ay, sir, a weak wambling man am I; and the frying have been going on in my poor head all through the long night and this morning as usual; and I was so dazed wi' it that down fell a piece of leg-wood across the shaft of the pony-shay, and splintered it off. 'Ay,' says I, 'I feel it as if 'twas my own shay; and though I've done it, and parish pay is my lot if I go from here, perhaps I am as independent as one here and there.'\"\n\"Dear me, the shaft of the carriage broken!\" cried Elfride. She was disappointed: Stephen doubly so. The vicar showed more warmth of temper than the accident seemed to demand, much to Stephen's uneasiness and rather to his surprise. He had not supposed so much latent sternness could co-exist with Mr. Swancourt's frankness and good-nature.\n\"You shall not be disappointed,\" said the vicar at length. \"It is almost too long a distance for you to walk. Elfride can trot down on her pony, and you shall have my old nag, Smith.\"\nElfride exclaimed triumphantly, \"You have never seen me on horseback—Oh, you must!\" She looked at Stephen and read his thoughts immediately. \"Ah, you don't ride, Mr. Smith?\"\n\"I am sorry to say I don't.\"\n\"Fancy a man not able to ride!\" said she rather pertly.\nThe vicar came to his rescue. \"That's common enough; he has had other lessons to learn. Now, I recommend this plan: let Elfride ride on horseback, and you, Mr. Smith, walk beside her.\"\nThe arrangement was welcomed with secret delight by Stephen. It seemed to combine in itself all the advantages of a long slow ramble with Elfride, without the contingent possibility of the enjoyment being spoilt by her becoming weary. The pony was saddled and brought round.\n\"Now, Mr. Smith,\" said the lady imperatively, coming downstairs, and appearing in her riding-habit, as she always did in a change of dress, like a new edition of a delightful volume, \"you have a task to perform to-day. These earrings are my very favourite darling ones; but the worst of it is that they have such short hooks that they are liable to be dropped if I toss my head about much, and when I am riding I can't give my mind to them. It would be doing me knight service if you keep your eyes fixed upon them, and remember them every minute of the day, and tell me directly I drop one. They have had such hairbreadth escapes, haven't they, Unity?\" she continued to the parlour-maid who was standing at the door.\n\"Yes, miss, that they have!\" said Unity with round-eyed commiseration.\n\"Once 'twas in the lane that I found one of them,\" pursued Elfride reflectively.\n\"And then 'twas by the gate into Eighteen Acres,\" Unity chimed in.\n\"And then 'twas on the carpet in my own room,\" rejoined Elfride merrily.\n\"And then 'twas dangling on the embroidery of your petticoat, miss; and then 'twas down your back, miss, wasn't it? And oh, what a way you was in, miss, wasn't you? my! until you found it!\"\nStephen took Elfride's slight foot upon his hand: \"One, two, three, and up!\" she said.\nUnfortunately not so. He staggered and lifted, and the horse edged round; and Elfride was ultimately deposited upon the ground rather more forcibly than was pleasant. Smith looked all contrition.\n\"Never mind,\" said the vicar encouragingly; \"try again! 'Tis a little accomplishment that requires some practice, although it looks so easy. Stand closer to the horse's head, Mr. Smith.\"\n\"Indeed, I shan't let him try again,\" said she with a microscopic look of indignation. \"Worm, come here, and help me to mount.\" Worm stepped forward, and she was in the saddle in a trice.\nThen they moved on, going for some distance in silence, the hot air of the valley being occasionally brushed from their faces by a cool breeze, which wound its way along ravines leading up from the sea.\n\"I suppose,\" said Stephen, \"that a man who can neither sit in a saddle himself nor help another person into one seems a useless incumbrance; but, Miss Swancourt, I'll learn to do it all for your sake; I will, indeed.\"\n\"What is so unusual in you,\" she said, in a didactic tone justifiable in a horsewoman's address to a benighted walker, \"is that your knowledge of certain things should be combined with your ignorance of certain other things.\"\nStephen lifted his eyes earnestly to hers.\n\"You know,\" he said, \"it is simply because there are so many other things to be learnt in this wide world that I didn't trouble about that particular bit of knowledge. I thought it would be useless to me; but I don't think so now. I will learn riding, and all connected with it, because then you would like me better. Do you like me much less for this?\"\nShe looked sideways at him with critical meditation tenderly rendered.\n\"Do I seem like LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI?\" she began suddenly, without replying to his question. \"Fancy yourself saying, Mr. Smith:\n'I sat her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A fairy's song, She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew;'\nand that's all she did.\"\n\"No, no,\" said the young man stilly, and with a rising colour.\n\"'And sure in language strange she said, I love thee true.'\"", "chosen": "\"I suppose,\" said Stephen, \"that a man who can neither sit in a saddle himself nor help another person into one seems a useless incumbrance; but, Miss Swancourt, I'll learn to do it all for your sake; I will, indeed.\"\n\"What is so unusual in you,\" she said, in a didactic tone justifiable in a horsewoman's address to a benighted walker, \"is that your knowledge of certain things should be combined with your ignorance of certain other things.\"\nStephen lifted his eyes earnestly to hers.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n\"I suppose,\" said Stephen, \"that a man who can neither sit in a saddle himself nor help another person into one seems a useless incumbrance; but, Miss Swancourt, I'll learn to do it all for your sake; I will, indeed.\"\n\"What is so unusual in you,\" she said, in a didactic tone justifiable in a horsewoman's address to a benighted walker, \"is that your knowledge of certain things should be combined with your ignorance of certain other things.\"\nStephen lifted his eyes earnestly to hers.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-006-01-2434c3c1", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"The fact is, mother,\" said Stephen impatiently, \"you don't know anything about it. I shall never go higher, because I don't want to, nor should I if I lived to be a hundred. As to you saying that she's after me, I don't like such a remark about her, for it implies a scheming woman, and a man worth scheming for, both of which are not only untrue, but ludicrously untrue, of this case. Isn't it so, father?\"\n\"I'm afraid I don't understand the matter well enough to gie my opinion,\" said his father, in the tone of the fox who had a cold and could not smell.\n\"She couldn't have been very backward anyhow, considering the short time you have known her,\" said his mother. \"Well I think that five years hence you'll be plenty young enough to think of such things. And really she can very well afford to wait, and will too, take my word. Living down in an out-step place like this, I am sure she ought to be very thankful that you took notice of her. She'd most likely have died an old maid if you hadn't turned up.\"\n\"All nonsense,\" said Stephen, but not aloud.\n\"A nice little thing she is,\" Mrs. Smith went on in a more complacent tone now that Stephen had been talked down; \"there's not a word to say against her, I'll own. I see her sometimes decked out like a horse going to fair, and I admire her for't. A perfect little lady. But people can't help their thoughts, and if she'd learnt to make figures instead of letters when she was at school 'twould have been better for her pocket; for as I said, there never were worse times for such as she than now.\"\n\"Now, now, mother!\" said Stephen with smiling deprecation.\n\"But I will!\" said his mother with asperity. \"I don't read the papers for nothing, and I know men all move up a stage by marriage. Men of her class, that is, parsons, marry squires' daughters; squires marry lords' daughters; lords marry dukes' daughters; dukes marry queens' daughters. All stages of gentlemen mate a stage higher; and the lowest stage of gentlewomen are left single, or marry out of their class.\"\n\"But you said just now, dear mother——\" retorted Stephen, unable to resist the temptation of showing his mother her inconsistency. Then he paused.\n\"Well, what did I say?\" And Mrs. Smith prepared her lips for a new campaign.\nStephen, regretting that he had begun, since a volcano might be the consequence, was obliged to go on.\n\"You said I wasn't out of her class just before.\"\n\"Yes, there, there! That's you; that's my own flesh and blood. I'll warrant that you'll pick holes in everything your mother says, if you can, Stephen. You are just like your father for that; take anybody's part but mine. Whilst I am speaking and talking and trying and slaving away for your good, you are waiting to catch me out in that way. So you are in her class, but 'tis what HER people would CALL marrying out of her class. Don't be so quarrelsome, Stephen!\"\nStephen preserved a discreet silence, in which he was imitated by his father, and for several minutes nothing was heard but the ticking of the green-faced case-clock against the wall.\n\"I'm sure,\" added Mrs. Smith in a more philosophic tone, and as a terminative speech, \"if there'd been so much trouble to get a husband in my time as there is in these days—when you must make a god-almighty of a man to get en to hae ye—I'd have trod clay for bricks before I'd ever have lowered my dignity to marry, or there's no bread in nine loaves.\"\nThe discussion now dropped, and as it was getting late, Stephen bade his parents farewell for the evening, his mother none the less warmly for their sparring; for although Mrs. Smith and Stephen were always contending, they were never at enmity.\n\"And possibly,\" said Stephen, \"I may leave here altogether to-morrow; I don't know. So that if I shouldn't call again before returning to London, don't be alarmed, will you?\"\n\"But didn't you come for a fortnight?\" said his mother. \"And haven't you a month's holiday altogether? They are going to turn you out, then?\"\n\"Not at all. I may stay longer; I may go. If I go, you had better say nothing about my having been here, for her sake. At what time of the morning does the carrier pass Endelstow lane?\"\n\"Seven o'clock.\"\nAnd then he left them. His thoughts were, that should the vicar permit him to become engaged, to hope for an engagement, or in any way to think of his beloved Elfride, he might stay longer. Should he be forbidden to think of any such thing, he resolved to go at once. And the latter, even to young hopefulness, seemed the more probable alternative.\nStephen walked back to the vicarage through the meadows, as he had come, surrounded by the soft musical purl of the water through little weirs, the modest light of the moon, the freshening smell of the dews out-spread around. It was a time when mere seeing is meditation, and meditation peace. Stephen was hardly philosopher enough to avail himself of Nature's offer. His constitution was made up of very simple particulars; was one which, rare in the spring-time of civilizations, seems to grow abundant as a nation gets older, individuality fades, and education spreads; that is, his brain had extraordinary receptive powers, and no great creativeness. Quickly acquiring any kind of knowledge he saw around him, and having a plastic adaptability more common in woman than in man, he changed colour like a chameleon as the society he found himself in assumed a higher and more artificial tone. He had not many original ideas, and yet there was scarcely an idea to which, under proper training, he could not have added a respectable co-ordinate.\nHe saw nothing outside himself to-night; and what he saw within was a weariness to his flesh. Yet to a dispassionate observer, his pretensions to Elfride, though rather premature, were far from absurd as marriages go, unless the accidental proximity of simple but honest parents could be said to make them so.\nThe clock struck eleven when he entered the house. Elfride had been waiting with scarcely a movement since he departed. Before he had spoken to her she caught sight of him passing into the study with her father. She saw that he had by some means obtained the private interview he desired.\nA nervous headache had been growing on the excitable girl during the absence of Stephen, and now she could do nothing beyond going up again to her room as she had done before. Instead of lying down she sat again in the darkness without closing the door, and listened with a beating heart to every sound from downstairs. The servants had gone to bed. She ultimately heard the two men come from the study and cross to the dining-room, where supper had been lingering for more than an hour. The door was left open, and she found that the meal, such as it was, passed off between her father and her lover without any remark, save commonplaces as to cucumbers and melons, their wholesomeness and culture, uttered in a stiff and formal way. It seemed to prefigure failure.", "chosen": "[\"The fact is, mother,\", \"I'm afraid I don't understand the matter well enough to gie my opinion,\", \"She couldn't have been very backward anyhow, considering the short time you have known her,\", \"All nonsense,\", \"A nice little thing she is,\", \"Now, now, mother!\", \"But I will!\", \"But you said just now, dear mother\\u2014\\u2014\", \"Well, what did I say?\", \"You said I wasn't out of her class just before.\", \"\\nStephen preserved a discreet silence, in which he was imitated by his father, and for several minutes nothing was heard but the ticking of the green-faced case-clock against the wall.\\n\", \" added Mrs. Smith in a more philosophic tone, and as a terminative speech, \", \"And possibly,\", \"I may leave here altogether to-morrow; I don't know. So that if I shouldn't call again before returning to London, don't be alarmed, will you?\", \"But didn't you come for a fortnight?\", \"And haven't you a month's holiday altogether? They are going to turn you out, then?\", \"Not at all. I may stay longer; I may go. If I go, you had better say nothing about my having been here, for her sake. At what time of the morning does the carrier pass Endelstow lane?\", \"Seven o'clock.\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"The fact is, mother,\", \"I'm afraid I don't understand the matter well enough to gie my opinion,\", \"She couldn't have been very backward anyhow, considering the short time you have known her,\", \"All nonsense,\", \"A nice little thing she is,\", \"Now, now, mother!\", \"But I will!\", \"But you said just now, dear mother\\u2014\\u2014\", \"Well, what did I say?\", \"You said I wasn't out of her class just before.\", \"\\nStephen preserved a discreet silence, in which he was imitated by his father, and for several minutes nothing was heard but the ticking of the green-faced case-clock against the wall.\\n\", \" added Mrs. Smith in a more philosophic tone, and as a terminative speech, \", \"And possibly,\", \"I may leave here altogether to-morrow; I don't know. So that if I shouldn't call again before returning to London, don't be alarmed, will you?\", \"But didn't you come for a fortnight?\", \"And haven't you a month's holiday altogether? They are going to turn you out, then?\", \"Not at all. I may stay longer; I may go. If I go, you had better say nothing about my having been here, for her sake. At what time of the morning does the carrier pass Endelstow lane?\", \"Seven o'clock.\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-224-009-01-97cb4386", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nHe did not in the least wish the future Mrs. Newland Archer to be a simpleton. He meant her (thanks to his enlightening companionship) to develop a social tact and readiness of wit enabling her to hold her own with the most popular married women of the \"younger set,\" in which it was the recognised custom to attract masculine homage while playfully discouraging it. If he had probed to the bottom of his vanity (as he sometimes nearly did) he would have found there the wish that his wife should be as worldly-wise and as eager to please as the married lady whose charms had held his fancy through two mildly agitated years; without, of course, any hint of the frailty which had so nearly marred that unhappy being's life, and had disarranged his own plans for a whole winter.\nHow this miracle of fire and ice was to be created, and to sustain itself in a harsh world, he had never taken the time to think out; but he was content to hold his view without analysing it, since he knew it was that of all the carefully-brushed, white-waistcoated, button-hole-flowered gentlemen who succeeded each other in the club box, exchanged friendly greetings with him, and turned their opera-glasses critically on the circle of ladies who were the product of the system. In matters intellectual and artistic Newland Archer felt himself distinctly the superior of these chosen specimens of old New York gentility; he had probably read more, thought more, and even seen a good deal more of the world, than any other man of the number. Singly they betrayed their inferiority; but grouped together they represented \"New York,\" and the habit of masculine solidarity made him accept their doctrine on all the issues called moral. He instinctively felt that in this respect it would be troublesome--and also rather bad form--to strike out for himself.\n\"Well--upon my soul!\" exclaimed Lawrence Lefferts, turning his opera-glass abruptly away from the stage. Lawrence Lefferts was, on the whole, the foremost authority on \"form\" in New York. He had probably devoted more time than any one else to the study of this intricate and fascinating question; but study alone could not account for his complete and easy competence. One had only to look at him, from the slant of his bald forehead and the curve of his beautiful fair moustache to the long patent-leather feet at the other end of his lean and elegant person, to feel that the knowledge of \"form\" must be congenital in any one who knew how to wear such good clothes so carelessly and carry such height with so much lounging grace. As a young admirer had once said of him: \"If anybody can tell a fellow just when to wear a black tie with evening clothes and when not to, it's Larry Lefferts.\" And on the question of pumps versus patent-leather \"Oxfords\" his authority had never been disputed.\n\"My God!\" he said; and silently handed his glass to old Sillerton Jackson.\nNewland Archer, following Lefferts's glance, saw with surprise that his exclamation had been occasioned by the entry of a new figure into old Mrs. Mingott's box. It was that of a slim young woman, a little less tall than May Welland, with brown hair growing in close curls about her temples and held in place by a narrow band of diamonds. The suggestion of this headdress, which gave her what was then called a \"Josephine look,\" was carried out in the cut of the dark blue velvet gown rather theatrically caught up under her bosom by a girdle with a large old-fashioned clasp. The wearer of this unusual dress, who seemed quite unconscious of the attention it was attracting, stood a moment in the centre of the box, discussing with Mrs. Welland the propriety of taking the latter's place in the front right-hand corner; then she yielded with a slight smile, and seated herself in line with Mrs. Welland's sister-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, who was installed in the opposite corner.\nMr. Sillerton Jackson had returned the opera-glass to Lawrence Lefferts. The whole of the club turned instinctively, waiting to hear what the old man had to say; for old Mr. Jackson was as great an authority on \"family\" as Lawrence Lefferts was on \"form.\" He knew all the ramifications of New York's cousinships; and could not only elucidate such complicated questions as that of the connection between the Mingotts (through the Thorleys) with the Dallases of South Carolina, and that of the relationship of the elder branch of Philadelphia Thorleys to the Albany Chiverses (on no account to be confused with the Manson Chiverses of University Place), but could also enumerate the leading characteristics of each family: as, for instance, the fabulous stinginess of the younger lines of Leffertses (the Long Island ones); or the fatal tendency of the Rushworths to make foolish matches; or the insanity recurring in every second generation of the Albany Chiverses, with whom their New York cousins had always refused to intermarry--with the disastrous exception of poor Medora Manson, who, as everybody knew ... but then her mother was a Rushworth.\nIn addition to this forest of family trees, Mr. Sillerton Jackson carried between his narrow hollow temples, and under his soft thatch of silver hair, a register of most of the scandals and mysteries that had smouldered under the unruffled surface of New York society within the last fifty years. So far indeed did his information extend, and so acutely retentive was his memory, that he was supposed to be the only man who could have told you who Julius Beaufort, the banker, really was, and what had become of handsome Bob Spicer, old Mrs. Manson Mingott's father, who had disappeared so mysteriously (with a large sum of trust money) less than a year after his marriage, on the very day that a beautiful Spanish dancer who had been delighting thronged audiences in the old Opera-house on the Battery had taken ship for Cuba. But these mysteries, and many others, were closely locked in Mr. Jackson's breast; for not only did his keen sense of honour forbid his repeating anything privately imparted, but he was fully aware that his reputation for discretion increased his opportunities of finding out what he wanted to know.\nThe club box, therefore, waited in visible suspense while Mr. Sillerton Jackson handed back Lawrence Lefferts's opera-glass. For a moment he silently scrutinised the attentive group out of his filmy blue eyes overhung by old veined lids; then he gave his moustache a thoughtful twist, and said simply: \"I didn't think the Mingotts would have tried it on.\"\nNewland Archer, during this brief episode, had been thrown into a strange state of embarrassment.\nIt was annoying that the box which was thus attracting the undivided attention of masculine New York should be that in which his betrothed was seated between her mother and aunt; and for a moment he could not identify the lady in the Empire dress, nor imagine why her presence created such excitement among the initiated. Then light dawned on him, and with it came a momentary rush of indignation. No, indeed; no one would have thought the Mingotts would have tried it on!", "chosen": "on", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\non\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-541-001-01-81529dab", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nSyme had gone quite red up to his yellow hair, and his eyes were burning feverishly. As he said he had an intuition, and it had risen to a sort of lightheaded certainty. Resuming his symbolic taps, he signalled to his friend, \"You scarcely realise how poetic my intuition is. It has that sudden quality we sometimes feel in the coming of spring.\"\nHe then studied the answer on his friend's fingers. The answer was, \"Go to hell!\"\nThe Professor then resumed his merely verbal monologue addressed to the Doctor.\n\"Perhaps I should rather say,\" said Syme on his fingers, \"that it resembles that sudden smell of the sea which may be found in the heart of lush woods.\"\nHis companion disdained to reply.\n\"Or yet again,\" tapped Syme, \"it is positive, as is the passionate red hair of a beautiful woman.\"\nThe Professor was continuing his speech, but in the middle of it Syme decided to act. He leant across the table, and said in a voice that could not be neglected—\n\"Dr. Bull!\"\nThe Doctor's sleek and smiling head did not move, but they could have sworn that under his dark glasses his eyes darted towards Syme.\n\"Dr. Bull,\" said Syme, in a voice peculiarly precise and courteous, \"would you do me a small favour? Would you be so kind as to take off your spectacles?\"\nThe Professor swung round on his seat, and stared at Syme with a sort of frozen fury of astonishment. Syme, like a man who has thrown his life and fortune on the table, leaned forward with a fiery face. The Doctor did not move.\nFor a few seconds there was a silence in which one could hear a pin drop, split once by the single hoot of a distant steamer on the Thames. Then Dr. Bull rose slowly, still smiling, and took off his spectacles.\nSyme sprang to his feet, stepping backwards a little, like a chemical lecturer from a successful explosion. His eyes were like stars, and for an instant he could only point without speaking.\nThe Professor had also started to his feet, forgetful of his supposed paralysis. He leant on the back of the chair and stared doubtfully at Dr. Bull, as if the Doctor had been turned into a toad before his eyes. And indeed it was almost as great a transformation scene.\nThe two detectives saw sitting in the chair before them a very boyish-looking young man, with very frank and happy hazel eyes, an open expression, cockney clothes like those of a city clerk, and an unquestionable breath about him of being very good and rather commonplace. The smile was still there, but it might have been the first smile of a baby.\n\"I knew I was a poet,\" cried Syme in a sort of ecstasy. \"I knew my intuition was as infallible as the Pope. It was the spectacles that did it! It was all the spectacles. Given those beastly black eyes, and all the rest of him his health and his jolly looks, made him a live devil among dead ones.\"\n\"It certainly does make a queer difference,\" said the Professor shakily. \"But as regards the project of Dr. Bull—\"\n\"Project be damned!\" roared Syme, beside himself. \"Look at him! Look at his face, look at his collar, look at his blessed boots! You don't suppose, do you, that that thing's an anarchist?\"\n\"Syme!\" cried the other in an apprehensive agony.\n\"Why, by God,\" said Syme, \"I'll take the risk of that myself! Dr. Bull, I am a police officer. There's my card,\" and he flung down the blue card upon the table.\nThe Professor still feared that all was lost; but he was loyal. He pulled out his own official card and put it beside his friend's. Then the third man burst out laughing, and for the first time that morning they heard his voice.\n\"I'm awfully glad you chaps have come so early,\" he said, with a sort of schoolboy flippancy, \"for we can all start for France together. Yes, I'm in the force right enough,\" and he flicked a blue card towards them lightly as a matter of form.\nClapping a brisk bowler on his head and resuming his goblin glasses, the Doctor moved so quickly towards the door, that the others instinctively followed him. Syme seemed a little distrait, and as he passed under the doorway he suddenly struck his stick on the stone passage so that it rang.\n\"But Lord God Almighty,\" he cried out, \"if this is all right, there were more damned detectives than there were damned dynamiters at the damned Council!\"\n\"We might have fought easily,\" said Bull; \"we were four against three.\"\nThe Professor was descending the stairs, but his voice came up from below.\n\"No,\" said the voice, \"we were not four against three—we were not so lucky. We were four against One.\"\nThe others went down the stairs in silence.\nThe young man called Bull, with an innocent courtesy characteristic of him, insisted on going last until they reached the street; but there his own robust rapidity asserted itself unconsciously, and he walked quickly on ahead towards a railway inquiry office, talking to the others over his shoulder.\n\"It is jolly to get some pals,\" he said. \"I've been half dead with the jumps, being quite alone. I nearly flung my arms round Gogol and embraced him, which would have been imprudent. I hope you won't despise me for having been in a blue funk.\"\n\"All the blue devils in blue hell,\" said Syme, \"contributed to my blue funk! But the worst devil was you and your infernal goggles.\"\nThe young man laughed delightedly.\n\"Wasn't it a rag?\" he said. \"Such a simple idea—not my own. I haven't got the brains. You see, I wanted to go into the detective service, especially the anti-dynamite business. But for that purpose they wanted someone to dress up as a dynamiter; and they all swore by blazes that I could never look like a dynamiter. They said my very walk was respectable, and that seen from behind I looked like the British Constitution. They said I looked too healthy and too optimistic, and too reliable and benevolent; they called me all sorts of names at Scotland Yard. They said that if I had been a criminal, I might have made my fortune by looking so like an honest man; but as I had the misfortune to be an honest man, there was not even the remotest chance of my assisting them by ever looking like a criminal. But at last I was brought before some old josser who was high up in the force, and who seemed to have no end of a head on his shoulders. And there the others all talked hopelessly. One asked whether a bushy beard would hide my nice smile; another said that if they blacked my face I might look like a negro anarchist; but this old chap chipped in with a most extraordinary remark. 'A pair of smoked spectacles will do it,' he said positively. 'Look at him now; he looks like an angelic office boy. Put him on a pair of smoked spectacles, and children will scream at the sight of him.' And so it was, by George! When once my eyes were covered, all the rest, smile and big shoulders and short hair, made me look a perfect little devil. As I say, it was simple enough when it was done, like miracles; but that wasn't the really miraculous part of it. There was one really staggering thing about the business, and my head still turns at it.\"\n\"What was that?\" asked Syme.\n\"I'll tell you,\" answered the man in spectacles. \"This big pot in the police who sized me up so that he knew how the goggles would go with my hair and socks—by God, he never saw me at all!\"\nSyme's eyes suddenly flashed on him.\n\"How was that?\" he asked. \"I thought you talked to him.\"\n\"So I did,\" said Bull brightly; \"but we talked in a pitch-dark room like a coalcellar. There, you would never have guessed that.\"\n\"I could not have conceived it,\" said Syme gravely.\n\"It is indeed a new idea,\" said the Professor.", "chosen": "[\"Professor\", \"Perhaps\", \"Syme\", \"Thames\", \"Pope\", \"Project\", \"Look\", \"God\", \"France\", \"Almighty\", \"Council\", \"Bull\", \"One\", \"Gogol\", \"All\", \"Wasn\", \"Such\", \"British\", \"Constitution\", \"Scotland\", \"Yard\", \"George\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Professor\", \"Perhaps\", \"Syme\", \"Thames\", \"Pope\", \"Project\", \"Look\", \"God\", \"France\", \"Almighty\", \"Council\", \"Bull\", \"One\", \"Gogol\", \"All\", \"Wasn\", \"Such\", \"British\", \"Constitution\", \"Scotland\", \"Yard\", \"George\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1695-009-02-5216db09", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"I bet you can't spell my name,\" says I.\n\"I bet you what you dare I can,\" says he.\n\"All right,\" says I, \"go ahead.\"\n\"G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n—there now,\" he says.\n\"Well,\" says I, \"you done it, but I didn't think you could. It ain't no slouch of a name to spell—right off without studying.\"\nI set it down, private, because somebody might want me to spell it next, and so I wanted to be handy with it and rattle it off like I was used to it.\nIt was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house, too. I hadn't seen no house out in the country before that was so nice and had so much style. It didn't have an iron latch on the front door, nor a wooden one with a buckskin string, but a brass knob to turn, the same as houses in town. There warn't no bed in the parlor, nor a sign of a bed; but heaps of parlors in towns has beds in them. There was a big fireplace that was bricked on the bottom, and the bricks was kept clean and red by pouring water on them and scrubbing them with another brick; sometimes they wash them over with red water-paint that they call Spanish-brown, same as they do in town. They had big brass dog-irons that could hold up a saw-log. There was a clock on the middle of the mantelpiece, with a picture of a town painted on the bottom half of the glass front, and a round place in the middle of it for the sun, and you could see the pendulum swinging behind it. It was beautiful to hear that clock tick; and sometimes when one of these peddlers had been along and scoured her up and got her in good shape, she would start in and strike a hundred and fifty before she got tuckered out. They wouldn't took any money for her.\nWell, there was a big outlandish parrot on each side of the clock, made out of something like chalk, and painted up gaudy. By one of the parrots was a cat made of crockery, and a crockery dog by the other; and when you pressed down on them they squeaked, but didn't open their mouths nor look different nor interested. They squeaked through underneath. There was a couple of big wild-turkey-wing fans spread out behind those things. On the table in the middle of the room was a kind of a lovely crockery basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and grapes piled up in it, which was much redder and yellower and prettier than real ones is, but they warn't real because you could see where pieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk, or whatever it was, underneath.\nThis table had a cover made out of beautiful oilcloth, with a red and blue spread-eagle painted on it, and a painted border all around. It come all the way from Philadelphia, they said. There was some books, too, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table. One was a big family Bible full of pictures. One was Pilgrim's Progress, about a man that left his family, it didn't say why. I read considerable in it now and then. The statements was interesting, but tough. Another was Friendship's Offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but I didn't read the poetry. Another was Henry Clay's Speeches, and another was Dr. Gunn's Family Medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body was sick or dead. There was a hymn book, and a lot of other books. And there was nice split-bottom chairs, and perfectly sound, too—not bagged down in the middle and busted, like an old basket.\nThey had pictures hung on the walls—mainly Washingtons and Lafayettes, and battles, and Highland Marys, and one called \"Signing the Declaration.\" There was some that they called crayons, which one of the daughters which was dead made her own self when she was only fifteen years old. They was different from any pictures I ever see before—blacker, mostly, than is common. One was a woman in a slim black dress, belted small under the armpits, with bulges like a cabbage in the middle of the sleeves, and a large black scoop-shovel bonnet with a black veil, and white slim ankles crossed about with black tape, and very wee black slippers, like a chisel, and she was leaning pensive on a tombstone on her right elbow, under a weeping willow, and her other hand hanging down her side holding a white handkerchief and a reticule, and underneath the picture it said \"Shall I Never See Thee More Alas.\" Another one was a young lady with her hair all combed up straight to the top of her head, and knotted there in front of a comb like a chair-back, and she was crying into a handkerchief and had a dead bird laying on its back in her other hand with its heels up, and underneath the picture it said \"I Shall Never Hear Thy Sweet Chirrup More Alas.\" There was one where a young lady was at a window looking up at the moon, and tears running down her cheeks; and she had an open letter in one hand with black sealing wax showing on one edge of it, and she was mashing a locket with a chain to it against her mouth, and underneath the picture it said \"And Art Thou Gone Yes Thou Art Gone Alas.\" These was all nice pictures, I reckon, but I didn't somehow seem to take to them, because if ever I was down a little they always give me the fan-tods. Everybody was sorry she died, because she had laid out a lot more of these pictures to do, and a body could see by what she had done what they had lost. But I reckoned that with her disposition she was having a better time in the graveyard. She was at work on what they said was her greatest picture when she took sick, and every day and every night it was her prayer to be allowed to live till she got it done, but she never got the chance. It was a picture of a young woman in a long white gown, standing on the rail of a bridge all ready to jump off, with her hair all down her back, and looking up to the moon, with the tears running down her face, and she had two arms folded across her breast, and two arms stretched out in front, and two more reaching up towards the moon—and the idea was to see which pair would look best, and then scratch out all the other arms; but, as I was saying, she died before she got her mind made up, and now they kept this picture over the head of the bed in her room, and every time her birthday come they hung flowers on it. Other times it was hid with a little curtain. The young woman in the picture had a kind of a nice sweet face, but there was so many arms it made her look too spidery, seemed to me.\nThis young girl kept a scrap-book when she was alive, and used to paste obituaries and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the Presbyterian Observer, and write poetry after them out of her own head. It was very good poetry. This is what she wrote about a boy by the name of Stephen Dowling Bots that fell down a well and was drownded:\nODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC'D\nAnd did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die? And did the sad hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry?\nNo; such was not the fate of Young Stephen Dowling Bots; Though sad hearts round him thickened, 'Twas not from sickness' shots.\nNo whooping-cough did rack his frame, Nor measles drear with spots; Not these impaired the sacred name Of Stephen Dowling Bots.\nDespised love struck not with woe That head of curly knots, Nor stomach troubles laid him low, Young Stephen Dowling Bots.\nO no. Then list with tearful eye, Whilst I his fate do tell. His soul did from this cold world fly By falling down a well.", "chosen": "I, I, All, Well,\", It, It, I, It, There, There, They, There, It, They, Well,, By, They, There, On, This, It, There, One, One, I, The, Another, Another, Gunn's, There, And, They, They, One, Everybody, But, She, It, Other, The, This, It, This, And, No;, No, Despised, O, Then, His", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nI, I, All, Well,\", It, It, I, It, There, There, They, There, It, They, Well,, By, They, There, On, This, It, There, One, One, I, The, Another, Another, Gunn's, There, And, They, They, One, Everybody, But, She, It, Other, The, This, It, This, And, No;, No, Despised, O, Then, His\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-017-01-2227f648", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nWe had been sitting huddled up in our rugs while George had been telling me this true story, and on his finishing it I set to work to wake up Harris with a scull. The third prod did it: and he turned over on the other side, and said he would be down in a minute, and that he would have his lace-up boots. We soon let him know where he was, however, by the aid of the hitcher, and he sat up suddenly, sending Montmorency, who had been sleeping the sleep of the just right on the middle of his chest, sprawling across the boat.\nThen we pulled up the canvas, and all four of us poked our heads out over the off-side, and looked down at the water and shivered. The idea, overnight, had been that we should get up early in the morning, fling off our rugs and shawls, and, throwing back the canvas, spring into the river with a joyous shout, and revel in a long delicious swim. Somehow, now the morning had come, the notion seemed less tempting. The water looked damp and chilly: the wind felt cold.\n\"Well, who's going to be first in?\" said Harris at last.\nThere was no rush for precedence. George settled the matter so far as he was concerned by retiring into the boat and pulling on his socks. Montmorency gave vent to an involuntary howl, as if merely thinking of the thing had given him the horrors; and Harris said it would be so difficult to get into the boat again, and went back and sorted out his trousers.\nI did not altogether like to give in, though I did not relish the plunge. There might be snags about, or weeds, I thought. I meant to compromise matters by going down to the edge and just throwing the water over myself; so I took a towel and crept out on the bank and wormed my way along on to the branch of a tree that dipped down into the water.\n[Picture: In the Thames] It was bitterly cold. The wind cut like a knife. I thought I would not throw the water over myself after all. I would go back into the boat and dress; and I turned to do so; and, as I turned, the silly branch gave way, and I and the towel went in together with a tremendous splash, and I was out mid-stream with a gallon of Thames water inside me before I knew what had happened.\n\"By Jove! old J.'s gone in,\" I heard Harris say, as I came blowing to the surface. \"I didn't think he'd have the pluck to do it. Did you?\"\n\"Is it all right?\" sung out George.\n\"Lovely,\" I spluttered back. \"You are duffers not to come in. I wouldn't have missed this for worlds. Why won't you try it? It only wants a little determination.\"\nBut I could not persuade them.\nRather an amusing thing happened while dressing that morning. I was very cold when I got back into the boat, and, in my hurry to get my shirt on, I accidentally jerked it into the water. It made me awfully wild, especially as George burst out laughing. I could not see anything to laugh at, and I told George so, and he only laughed the more. I never saw a man laugh so much. I quite lost my temper with him at last, and I pointed out to him what a drivelling maniac of an imbecile idiot he was; but he only roared the louder. And then, just as I was landing the shirt, I noticed that it was not my shirt at all, but George's, which I had mistaken for mine; whereupon the humour of the thing struck me for the first time, and I began to laugh. And the more I looked from George's wet shirt to George, roaring with laughter, the more I was amused, and I laughed so much that I had to let the shirt fall back into the water again.\n\"Ar'n't you—you—going to get it out?\" said George, between his shrieks.\nI could not answer him at all for a while, I was laughing so, but, at last, between my peals I managed to jerk out:\n\"It isn't my shirt—it's yours!\"\nI never saw a man's face change from lively to severe so suddenly in all my life before.\n\"What!\" he yelled, springing up. \"You silly cuckoo! Why can't you be more careful what you're doing? Why the deuce don't you go and dress on the bank? You're not fit to be in a boat, you're not. Gimme the hitcher.\"\nI tried to make him see the fun of the thing, but he could not. George is very dense at seeing a joke sometimes.\nHarris proposed that we should have scrambled eggs for breakfast. He said he would cook them. It seemed, from his account, that he was very good at doing scrambled eggs. He often did them at picnics and when out on yachts. He was quite famous for them. People who had once tasted his scrambled eggs, so we gathered from his conversation, never cared for any other food afterwards, but pined away and died when they could not get them.\nIt made our mouths water to hear him talk about the things, and we handed him out the stove and the frying-pan and all the eggs that had not smashed and gone over everything in the hamper, and begged him to begin.\nHe had some trouble in breaking the eggs—or rather not so much trouble in breaking them exactly as in getting them into the frying-pan when broken, and keeping them off his trousers, and preventing them from running up his sleeve; but he fixed some half-a-dozen into the pan at last, and then squatted down by the side of the stove and chivied them about with a fork.\nIt seemed harassing work, so far as George and I could judge. Whenever he went near the pan he burned himself, and then he would drop everything and dance round the stove, flicking his fingers about and cursing the things. Indeed, every time George and I looked round at him he was sure to be performing this feat. We thought at first that it was a necessary part of the culinary arrangements.\nWe did not know what scrambled eggs were, and we fancied that it must be some Red Indian or Sandwich Islands sort of dish that required dances and incantations for its proper cooking. Montmorency went and put his nose over it once, and the fat spluttered up and scalded him, and then he began dancing and cursing. Altogether it was one of the most interesting and exciting operations I have ever witnessed. George and I were both quite sorry when it was over.\nThe result was not altogether the success that Harris had anticipated. There seemed so little to show for the business. Six eggs had gone into the frying-pan, and all that came out was a teaspoonful of burnt and unappetizing looking mess.\nHarris said it was the fault of the frying-pan, and thought it would have gone better if we had had a fish-kettle and a gas-stove; and we decided not to attempt the dish again until we had those aids to housekeeping by us.\nThe sun had got more powerful by the time we had finished breakfast, and the wind had dropped, and it was as lovely a morning as one could desire. Little was in sight to remind us of the nineteenth century; and, as we looked out upon the river in the morning sunlight, we could almost fancy that the centuries between us and that ever-to-be-famous June morning of 1215 had been drawn aside, and that we, English yeomen's sons in homespun cloth, with dirk at belt, were waiting there to witness the writing of that stupendous page of history, the meaning whereof was to be translated to the common people some four hundred and odd years later by one Oliver Cromwell, who had deeply studied it.", "chosen": "66", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n66\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-308-011-01-dfe6c159", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"In regard to my epilepsy, sir, you had much better inquire of the doctors here. You can ask them whether it was a real fit or a sham; it's no use my saying any more about it.\"\n\"And the cellar? How could you know beforehand of the cellar?\"\n\"You don't seem able to get over that cellar! As I was going down to the cellar, I was in terrible dread and doubt. What frightened me most was losing you and being left without defense in all the world. So I went down into the cellar thinking, 'Here, it'll come on directly, it'll strike me down directly, shall I fall?' And it was through this fear that I suddenly felt the spasm that always comes ... and so I went flying. All that and all my previous conversation with you at the gate the evening before, when I told you how frightened I was and spoke of the cellar, I told all that to Doctor Herzenstube and Nikolay Parfenovitch, the investigating lawyer, and it's all been written down in the protocol. And the doctor here, Mr. Varvinsky, maintained to all of them that it was just the thought of it brought it on, the apprehension that I might fall. It was just then that the fit seized me. And so they've written it down, that it's just how it must have happened, simply from my fear.\"\nAs he finished, Smerdyakov drew a deep breath, as though exhausted.\n\"Then you have said all that in your evidence?\" said Ivan, somewhat taken aback. He had meant to frighten him with the threat of repeating their conversation, and it appeared that Smerdyakov had already reported it all himself.\n\"What have I to be afraid of? Let them write down the whole truth,\" Smerdyakov pronounced firmly.\n\"And have you told them every word of our conversation at the gate?\"\n\"No, not to say every word.\"\n\"And did you tell them that you can sham fits, as you boasted then?\"\n\"No, I didn't tell them that either.\"\n\"Tell me now, why did you send me then to Tchermashnya?\"\n\"I was afraid you'd go away to Moscow; Tchermashnya is nearer, anyway.\"\n\"You are lying; you suggested my going away yourself; you told me to get out of the way of trouble.\"\n\"That was simply out of affection and my sincere devotion to you, foreseeing trouble in the house, to spare you. Only I wanted to spare myself even more. That's why I told you to get out of harm's way, that you might understand that there would be trouble in the house, and would remain at home to protect your father.\"\n\"You might have said it more directly, you blockhead!\" Ivan suddenly fired up.\n\"How could I have said it more directly then? It was simply my fear that made me speak, and you might have been angry, too. I might well have been apprehensive that Dmitri Fyodorovitch would make a scene and carry away that money, for he considered it as good as his own; but who could tell that it would end in a murder like this? I thought that he would only carry off the three thousand that lay under the master's mattress in the envelope, and you see, he's murdered him. How could you guess it either, sir?\"\n\"But if you say yourself that it couldn't be guessed, how could I have guessed and stayed at home? You contradict yourself!\" said Ivan, pondering.\n\"You might have guessed from my sending you to Tchermashnya and not to Moscow.\"\n\"How could I guess it from that?\"\nSmerdyakov seemed much exhausted, and again he was silent for a minute.\n\"You might have guessed from the fact of my asking you not to go to Moscow, but to Tchermashnya, that I wanted to have you nearer, for Moscow's a long way off, and Dmitri Fyodorovitch, knowing you are not far off, would not be so bold. And if anything had happened, you might have come to protect me, too, for I warned you of Grigory Vassilyevitch's illness, and that I was afraid of having a fit. And when I explained those knocks to you, by means of which one could go in to the deceased, and that Dmitri Fyodorovitch knew them all through me, I thought that you would guess yourself that he would be sure to do something, and so wouldn't go to Tchermashnya even, but would stay.\"\n\"He talks very coherently,\" thought Ivan, \"though he does mumble; what's the derangement of his faculties that Herzenstube talked of?\"\n\"You are cunning with me, damn you!\" he exclaimed, getting angry.\n\"But I thought at the time that you quite guessed,\" Smerdyakov parried with the simplest air.\n\"If I'd guessed, I should have stayed,\" cried Ivan.\n\"Why, I thought that it was because you guessed, that you went away in such a hurry, only to get out of trouble, only to run away and save yourself in your fright.\"\n\"You think that every one is as great a coward as yourself?\"\n\"Forgive me, I thought you were like me.\"\n\"Of course, I ought to have guessed,\" Ivan said in agitation; \"and I did guess there was some mischief brewing on your part ... only you are lying, you are lying again,\" he cried, suddenly recollecting. \"Do you remember how you went up to the carriage and said to me, 'It's always worth while speaking to a clever man'? So you were glad I went away, since you praised me?\"\nSmerdyakov sighed again and again. A trace of color came into his face.\n\"If I was pleased,\" he articulated rather breathlessly, \"it was simply because you agreed not to go to Moscow, but to Tchermashnya. For it was nearer, anyway. Only when I said these words to you, it was not by way of praise, but of reproach. You didn't understand it.\"\n\"What reproach?\"\n\"Why, that foreseeing such a calamity you deserted your own father, and would not protect us, for I might have been taken up any time for stealing that three thousand.\"\n\"Damn you!\" Ivan swore again. \"Stay, did you tell the prosecutor and the investigating lawyer about those knocks?\"\n\"I told them everything just as it was.\"\nIvan wondered inwardly again.\n\"If I thought of anything then,\" he began again, \"it was solely of some wickedness on your part. Dmitri might kill him, but that he would steal—I did not believe that then.... But I was prepared for any wickedness from you. You told me yourself you could sham a fit. What did you say that for?\"\n\"It was just through my simplicity, and I never have shammed a fit on purpose in my life. And I only said so then to boast to you. It was just foolishness. I liked you so much then, and was open-hearted with you.\"\n\"My brother directly accuses you of the murder and theft.\"\n\"What else is left for him to do?\" said Smerdyakov, with a bitter grin. \"And who will believe him with all the proofs against him? Grigory Vassilyevitch saw the door open. What can he say after that? But never mind him! He is trembling to save himself.\"\nHe slowly ceased speaking; then suddenly, as though on reflection, added:\n\"And look here again. He wants to throw it on me and make out that it is the work of my hands—I've heard that already. But as to my being clever at shamming a fit: should I have told you beforehand that I could sham one, if I really had had such a design against your father? If I had been planning such a murder could I have been such a fool as to give such evidence against myself beforehand? And to his son, too! Upon my word! Is that likely? As if that could be, such a thing has never happened. No one hears this talk of ours now, except Providence itself, and if you were to tell of it to the prosecutor and Nikolay Parfenovitch you might defend me completely by doing so, for who would be likely to be such a criminal, if he is so open-hearted beforehand? Any one can see that.\"", "chosen": "\"And have you told them every word of our conversation at the gate?\"\n\"No, not to say every word.\"\n\"And did you tell them that you can sham fits, as you boasted then?\"\n\"No, I didn't tell them that either.\"\n\"Tell me now, why did you send me then to Tchermashnya?\"\n\"I was afraid you'd go away to Moscow; Tchermashnya is nearer, anyway.\"\n\"You are lying; you suggested my going away yourself; you told me to get out of the way of trouble.\"\n\"That was simply out of affection and my sincere devotion to you, foreseeing trouble in the house, to spare you.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n\"And have you told them every word of our conversation at the gate?\"\n\"No, not to say every word.\"\n\"And did you tell them that you can sham fits, as you boasted then?\"\n\"No, I didn't tell them that either.\"\n\"Tell me now, why did you send me then to Tchermashnya?\"\n\"I was afraid you'd go away to Moscow; Tchermashnya is nearer, anyway.\"\n\"You are lying; you suggested my going away yourself; you told me to get out of the way of trouble.\"\n\"That was simply out of affection and my sincere devotion to you, foreseeing trouble in the house, to spare you.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-073-01-b550c329", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Who? You mean the myth about that crazy idiot, the epileptic, Smerdyakov?\"\nAlyosha suddenly felt himself trembling all over.\n\"You know who,\" broke helplessly from him. He could scarcely breathe.\n\"Who? Who?\" Ivan cried almost fiercely. All his restraint suddenly vanished.\n\"I only know one thing,\" Alyosha went on, still almost in a whisper, \"it wasn't you killed father.\"\n\"'Not you'! What do you mean by 'not you'?\" Ivan was thunderstruck.\n\"It was not you killed father, not you!\" Alyosha repeated firmly.\nThe silence lasted for half a minute.\n\"I know I didn't. Are you raving?\" said Ivan, with a pale, distorted smile. His eyes were riveted on Alyosha. They were standing again under a lamp-post.\n\"No, Ivan. You've told yourself several times that you are the murderer.\"\n\"When did I say so? I was in Moscow.... When have I said so?\" Ivan faltered helplessly.\n\"You've said so to yourself many times, when you've been alone during these two dreadful months,\" Alyosha went on softly and distinctly as before. Yet he was speaking now, as it were, not of himself, not of his own will, but obeying some irresistible command. \"You have accused yourself and have confessed to yourself that you are the murderer and no one else. But you didn't do it: you are mistaken: you are not the murderer. Do you hear? It was not you! God has sent me to tell you so.\"\nThey were both silent. The silence lasted a whole long minute. They were both standing still, gazing into each other's eyes. They were both pale. Suddenly Ivan began trembling all over, and clutched Alyosha's shoulder.\n\"You've been in my room!\" he whispered hoarsely. \"You've been there at night, when he came.... Confess ... have you seen him, have you seen him?\"\n\"Whom do you mean—Mitya?\" Alyosha asked, bewildered.\n\"Not him, damn the monster!\" Ivan shouted, in a frenzy. \"Do you know that he visits me? How did you find out? Speak!\"\n\"Who is he! I don't know whom you are talking about,\" Alyosha faltered, beginning to be alarmed.\n\"Yes, you do know ... or how could you—? It's impossible that you don't know.\"\nSuddenly he seemed to check himself. He stood still and seemed to reflect. A strange grin contorted his lips.\n\"Brother,\" Alyosha began again, in a shaking voice, \"I have said this to you, because you'll believe my word, I know that. I tell you once and for all, it's not you. You hear, once for all! God has put it into my heart to say this to you, even though it may make you hate me from this hour.\"\nBut by now Ivan had apparently regained his self-control.\n\"Alexey Fyodorovitch,\" he said, with a cold smile, \"I can't endure prophets and epileptics—messengers from God especially—and you know that only too well. I break off all relations with you from this moment and probably for ever. I beg you to leave me at this turning. It's the way to your lodgings, too. You'd better be particularly careful not to come to me to-day! Do you hear?\"\nHe turned and walked on with a firm step, not looking back.\n\"Brother,\" Alyosha called after him, \"if anything happens to you to-day, turn to me before any one!\"\nBut Ivan made no reply. Alyosha stood under the lamp-post at the cross roads, till Ivan had vanished into the darkness. Then he turned and walked slowly homewards. Both Alyosha and Ivan were living in lodgings; neither of them was willing to live in Fyodor Pavlovitch's empty house. Alyosha had a furnished room in the house of some working people. Ivan lived some distance from him. He had taken a roomy and fairly comfortable lodge attached to a fine house that belonged to a well-to-do lady, the widow of an official. But his only attendant was a deaf and rheumatic old crone who went to bed at six o'clock every evening and got up at six in the morning. Ivan had become remarkably indifferent to his comforts of late, and very fond of being alone. He did everything for himself in the one room he lived in, and rarely entered any of the other rooms in his abode.\nHe reached the gate of the house and had his hand on the bell, when he suddenly stopped. He felt that he was trembling all over with anger. Suddenly he let go of the bell, turned back with a curse, and walked with rapid steps in the opposite direction. He walked a mile and a half to a tiny, slanting, wooden house, almost a hut, where Marya Kondratyevna, the neighbor who used to come to Fyodor Pavlovitch's kitchen for soup and to whom Smerdyakov had once sung his songs and played on the guitar, was now lodging. She had sold their little house, and was now living here with her mother. Smerdyakov, who was ill—almost dying—had been with them ever since Fyodor Pavlovitch's death. It was to him Ivan was going now, drawn by a sudden and irresistible prompting.", "chosen": "[\"Who? You mean the myth about that crazy idiot, the epileptic, Smerdyakov?\", \"You know who,\", \"Who? Who?\", \"I only know one thing,\", \"it wasn't you killed father.\", \"'Not you'! What do you mean by 'not you'?\", \"It was not you killed father, not you!\", \"I know I didn't. Are you raving?\", \"No, Ivan. You've told yourself several times that you are the murderer.\", \"When did I say so? I was in Moscow.... When have I said so?\", \"You've said so to yourself many times, when you've been alone during these two dreadful months,\", \"You've been in my room!\", \"You've been there at night, when he came.... Confess ... have you seen him, have you seen him?\", \"Whom do you mean\\u2014Mitya?\", \"Not him, damn the monster!\", \"Do you know that he visits me? How did you find out? Speak!\", \"Who is he! I don't know whom you are talking about,\", \"Yes, you do know ... or how could you\\u2014? It's impossible that you don't know.\", \"Brother,\", \"\\nBut by now Ivan had apparently regained his self-control.\\n\", \" he said, with a cold smile, \", \"\\nHe turned and walked on with a firm step, not looking back.\\n\", \" Alyosha called after him, \"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Who? You mean the myth about that crazy idiot, the epileptic, Smerdyakov?\", \"You know who,\", \"Who? Who?\", \"I only know one thing,\", \"it wasn't you killed father.\", \"'Not you'! What do you mean by 'not you'?\", \"It was not you killed father, not you!\", \"I know I didn't. Are you raving?\", \"No, Ivan. You've told yourself several times that you are the murderer.\", \"When did I say so? I was in Moscow.... When have I said so?\", \"You've said so to yourself many times, when you've been alone during these two dreadful months,\", \"You've been in my room!\", \"You've been there at night, when he came.... Confess ... have you seen him, have you seen him?\", \"Whom do you mean\\u2014Mitya?\", \"Not him, damn the monster!\", \"Do you know that he visits me? How did you find out? Speak!\", \"Who is he! I don't know whom you are talking about,\", \"Yes, you do know ... or how could you\\u2014? It's impossible that you don't know.\", \"Brother,\", \"\\nBut by now Ivan had apparently regained his self-control.\\n\", \" he said, with a cold smile, \", \"\\nHe turned and walked on with a firm step, not looking back.\\n\", \" Alyosha called after him, \"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-072-01-23f10bc1", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"They told you I would. Whoever told you's another lunatic. I never heard the beat of it. Who's they?\"\n\"Why, everybody. They all said so, m'am.\"\nIt was all she could do to hold in; and her eyes snapped, and her fingers worked like she wanted to scratch him; and she says:\n\"Who's 'everybody'? Out with their names, or ther'll be an idiot short.\"\nHe got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his hat, and says:\n\"I'm sorry, and I warn't expecting it. They told me to. They all told me to. They all said, kiss her; and said she'd like it. They all said it—every one of them. But I'm sorry, m'am, and I won't do it no more—I won't, honest.\"\n\"You won't, won't you? Well, I sh'd reckon you won't!\"\n\"No'm, I'm honest about it; I won't ever do it again—till you ask me.\"\n\"Till I ask you! Well, I never see the beat of it in my born days! I lay you'll be the Methusalem-numskull of creation before ever I ask you—or the likes of you.\"\n\"Well,\" he says, \"it does surprise me so. I can't make it out, somehow. They said you would, and I thought you would. But—\" He stopped and looked around slow, like he wished he could run across a friendly eye somewheres, and fetched up on the old gentleman's, and says, \"Didn't you think she'd like me to kiss her, sir?\"\n\"Why, no; I—I—well, no, I b'lieve I didn't.\"\nThen he looks on around the same way to me, and says:\n\"Tom, didn't you think Aunt Sally 'd open out her arms and say, 'Sid Sawyer—'\"\n\"My land!\" she says, breaking in and jumping for him, \"you impudent young rascal, to fool a body so—\" and was going to hug him, but he fended her off, and says:\n\"No, not till you've asked me first.\"\nSo she didn't lose no time, but asked him; and hugged him and kissed him over and over again, and then turned him over to the old man, and he took what was left. And after they got a little quiet again she says:\n\"Why, dear me, I never see such a surprise. We warn't looking for you at all, but only Tom. Sis never wrote to me about anybody coming but him.\"\n\"It's because it warn't intended for any of us to come but Tom,\" he says; \"but I begged and begged, and at the last minute she let me come, too; so, coming down the river, me and Tom thought it would be a first-rate surprise for him to come here to the house first, and for me to by-and-by tag along and drop in, and let on to be a stranger. But it was a mistake, Aunt Sally. This ain't no healthy place for a stranger to come.\"\n\"No—not impudent whelps, Sid. You ought to had your jaws boxed; I hain't been so put out since I don't know when. But I don't care, I don't mind the terms—I'd be willing to stand a thousand such jokes to have you here. Well, to think of that performance! I don't deny it, I was most putrified with astonishment when you give me that smack.\"\nWe had dinner out in that broad open passage betwixt the house and the kitchen; and there was things enough on that table for seven families—and all hot, too; none of your flabby, tough meat that's laid in a cupboard in a damp cellar all night and tastes like a hunk of old cold cannibal in the morning. Uncle Silas he asked a pretty long blessing over it, but it was worth it; and it didn't cool it a bit, neither, the way I've seen them kind of interruptions do lots of times. There was a considerable good deal of talk all the afternoon, and me and Tom was on the lookout all the time; but it warn't no use, they didn't happen to say nothing about any runaway nigger, and we was afraid to try to work up to it. But at supper, at night, one of the little boys says:\n\"Pa, mayn't Tom and Sid and me go to the show?\"\n\"No,\" says the old man, \"I reckon there ain't going to be any; and you couldn't go if there was; because the runaway nigger told Burton and me all about that scandalous show, and Burton said he would tell the people; so I reckon they've drove the owdacious loafers out of town before this time.\"\nSo there it was!—but I couldn't help it. Tom and me was to sleep in the same room and bed; so, being tired, we bid good-night and went up to bed right after supper, and clumb out of the window and down the lightning-rod, and shoved for the town; for I didn't believe anybody was going to give the king and the duke a hint, and so if I didn't hurry up and give them one they'd get into trouble sure.\nOn the road Tom he told me all about how it was reckoned I was murdered, and how pap disappeared pretty soon, and didn't come back no more, and what a stir there was when Jim run away; and I told Tom all about our Royal Nonesuch rapscallions, and as much of the raft voyage as I had time to; and as we struck into the town and up through the middle of it—it was as much as half-after eight, then—here comes a raging rush of people with torches, and an awful whooping and yelling, and banging tin pans and blowing horns; and we jumped to one side to let them go by; and as they went by I see they had the king and the duke astraddle of a rail—that is, I knowed it was the king and the duke, though they was all over tar and feathers, and didn't look like nothing in the world that was human—just looked like a couple of monstrous big soldier-plumes. Well, it made me sick to see it; and I was sorry for them poor pitiful rascals, it seemed like I couldn't ever feel any hardness against them any more in the world. It was a dreadful thing to see. Human beings can be awful cruel to one another.\nWe see we was too late—couldn't do no good. We asked some stragglers about it, and they said everybody went to the show looking very innocent; and laid low and kept dark till the poor old king was in the middle of his cavortings on the stage; then somebody give a signal, and the house rose up and went for them.\nSo we poked along back home, and I warn't feeling so brash as I was before, but kind of ornery, and humble, and to blame, somehow—though I hadn't done nothing. But that's always the way; it don't make no difference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain't got no sense, and just goes for him anyway. If I had a yaller dog that didn't know no more than a person's conscience does I would pison him. It takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides, and yet ain't no good, nohow. Tom Sawyer he says the same.", "chosen": "same", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nsame\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-033-01-abdc42d6", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nBut the sympathetic pair were thrown into still closer companionship, and much more exclusive connection.\n2. JULY THE TWENTY-NINTH\nIt was a sad time for Cytherea--the last day of Springrove's management at Gradfield's, and the last evening before his return from Budmouth to his father's house, previous to his departure for London.\nGraye had been requested by the architect to survey a plot of land nearly twenty miles off, which, with the journey to and fro, would occupy him the whole day, and prevent his returning till late in the evening. Cytherea made a companion of her landlady to the extent of sharing meals and sitting with her during the morning of her brother's absence. Mid-day found her restless and miserable under this arrangement. All the afternoon she sat alone, looking out of the window for she scarcely knew whom, and hoping she scarcely knew what. Half-past five o'clock came--the end of Springrove's official day. Two minutes later Springrove walked by.\nShe endured her solitude for another half-hour, and then could endure no longer. She had hoped--while affecting to fear--that Edward would have found some reason or other for calling, but it seemed that he had not. Hastily dressing herself she went out, when the farce of an accidental meeting was repeated. Edward came upon her in the street at the first turning, and, like the Great Duke Ferdinand in 'The Statue and the Bust'--\n'He looked at her as a lover can; She looked at him as one who awakes-- The past was a sleep, and her life began.'\n'Shall we have a boat?' he said impulsively.\nHow blissful it all is at first. Perhaps, indeed, the only bliss in the course of love which can truly be called Eden-like is that which prevails immediately after doubt has ended and before reflection has set in--at the dawn of the emotion, when it is not recognized by name, and before the consideration of what this love is, has given birth to the consideration of what difficulties it tends to create; when on the man's part, the mistress appears to the mind's eye in picturesque, hazy, and fresh morning lights, and soft morning shadows; when, as yet, she is known only as the wearer of one dress, which shares her own personality; as the stander in one special position, the giver of one bright particular glance, and the speaker of one tender sentence; when, on her part, she is timidly careful over what she says and does, lest she should be misconstrued or under-rated to the breadth of a shadow of a hair.\n'Shall we have a boat?' he said again, more softly, seeing that to his first question she had not answered, but looked uncertainly at the ground, then almost, but not quite, in his face, blushed a series of minute blushes, left off in the midst of them, and showed the usual signs of perplexity in a matter of the emotions.\nOwen had always been with her before, but there was now a force of habit in the proceeding, and with Arcadian innocence she assumed that a row on the water was, under any circumstances, a natural thing. Without another word being spoken on either side, they went down the steps. He carefully handed her in, took his seat, slid noiselessly off the sand, and away from the shore.\nThey thus sat facing each other in the graceful yellow cockle-shell, and his eyes frequently found a resting-place in the depths of hers. The boat was so small that at each return of the sculls, when his hands came forward to begin the pull, they approached so near to her that her vivid imagination began to thrill her with a fancy that he was going to clasp his arms round her. The sensation grew so strong that she could not run the risk of again meeting his eyes at those critical moments, and turned aside to inspect the distant horizon; then she grew weary of looking sideways, and was driven to return to her natural position again. At this instant he again leant forward to begin, and met her glance by an ardent fixed gaze. An involuntary impulse of girlish embarrassment caused her to give a vehement pull at the tiller-rope, which brought the boat's head round till they stood directly for shore.\nHis eyes, which had dwelt upon her form during the whole time of her look askance, now left her; he perceived the direction in which they were going.\n'Why, you have completely turned the boat, Miss Graye?' he said, looking over his shoulder. 'Look at our track on the water--a great semicircle, preceded by a series of zigzags as far as we can see.'\nShe looked attentively. 'Is it my fault or yours?' she inquired. 'Mine, I suppose?'\n'I can't help saying that it is yours.'\nShe dropped the ropes decisively, feeling the slightest twinge of vexation at the answer.\n'Why do you let go?'\n'I do it so badly.'\n'O no; you turned about for shore in a masterly way. Do you wish to return?'\n'Yes, if you please.'\n'Of course, then, I will at once.'\n'I fear what the people will think of us--going in such absurd directions, and all through my wretched steering.'\n'Never mind what the people think.' A pause. 'You surely are not so weak as to mind what the people think on such a matter as that?'\nThose words might almost be called too firm and hard to be given by him to her; but never mind. For almost the first time in her life she felt the charming sensation, although on such an insignificant subject, of being compelled into an opinion by a man she loved. Owen, though less yielding physically, and more practical, would not have had the intellectual independence to answer a woman thus. She replied quietly and honestly--as honestly as when she had stated the contrary fact a minute earlier--\n'I don't mind.'\n'I'll unship the tiller that you may have nothing to do going back but to hold your parasol,' he continued, and arose to perform the operation, necessarily leaning closely against her, to guard against the risk of capsizing the boat as he reached his hands astern. His warm breath touched and crept round her face like a caress; but he was apparently only concerned with his task. She looked guilty of something when he seated himself. He read in her face what that something was--she had experienced a pleasure from his touch. But he flung a practical glance over his shoulder, seized the oars, and they sped in a straight line towards the shore.\nCytherea saw that he noted in her face what had passed in her heart, and that noting it, he continued as decided as before. She was inwardly distressed. She had not meant him to translate her words about returning home so literally at the first; she had not intended him to learn her secret; but more than all she was not able to endure the perception of his learning it and continuing unmoved.\nThere was nothing but misery to come now. They would step ashore; he would say good-night, go to London to-morrow, and the miserable She would lose him for ever. She did not quite suppose what was the fact, that a parallel thought was simultaneously passing through his mind.\nThey were now within ten yards, now within five; he was only now waiting for a 'smooth' to bring the boat in. Sweet, sweet Love must not be slain thus, was the fair maid's reasoning. She was equal to the occasion--ladies are--and delivered the god--\n'Do you want very much to land, Mr. Springrove?' she said, letting her young violet eyes pine at him a very, very little.\n'I? Not at all,' said he, looking an astonishment at her inquiry which a slight twinkle of his eye half belied. 'But you do?'\n'I think that now we have come out, and it is such a pleasant evening,' she said gently and sweetly, 'I should like a little longer row if you don't mind? I'll try to steer better than before if it makes it easier for you. I'll try very hard.'", "chosen": "[\"Cytherea\", \"Springrove\", \"Gradfield\", \"Budmouth\", \"London\", \"Edward\", \"Great\", \"Duke\", \"Ferdinand\", \"Statue\", \"Bust\", \"Eden\", \"Arcadian\", \"Graye\", \"Love\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Cytherea\", \"Springrove\", \"Gradfield\", \"Budmouth\", \"London\", \"Edward\", \"Great\", \"Duke\", \"Ferdinand\", \"Statue\", \"Bust\", \"Eden\", \"Arcadian\", \"Graye\", \"Love\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-3044-003-02-564b6a60", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe President intervened, but Fetyukovitch declared he had no more questions to ask of the witness. Mr. Rakitin left the witness-box not absolutely without a stain upon his character. The effect left by the lofty idealism of his speech was somewhat marred, and Fetyukovitch's expression, as he watched him walk away, seemed to suggest to the public \"this is a specimen of the lofty-minded persons who accuse him.\" I remember that this incident, too, did not pass off without an outbreak from Mitya. Enraged by the tone in which Rakitin had referred to Grushenka, he suddenly shouted \"Bernard!\" When, after Rakitin's cross-examination, the President asked the prisoner if he had anything to say, Mitya cried loudly:\n\"Since I've been arrested, he has borrowed money from me! He is a contemptible Bernard and opportunist, and he doesn't believe in God; he took the bishop in!\"\nMitya, of course, was pulled up again for the intemperance of his language, but Rakitin was done for. Captain Snegiryov's evidence was a failure, too, but from quite a different reason. He appeared in ragged and dirty clothes, muddy boots, and in spite of the vigilance and expert observation of the police officers, he turned out to be hopelessly drunk. On being asked about Mitya's attack upon him, he refused to answer.\n\"God bless him. Ilusha told me not to. God will make it up to me yonder.\"\n\"Who told you not to tell? Of whom are you talking?\"\n\"Ilusha, my little son. 'Father, father, how he insulted you!' He said that at the stone. Now he is dying....\"\nThe captain suddenly began sobbing, and plumped down on his knees before the President. He was hurriedly led away amidst the laughter of the public. The effect prepared by the prosecutor did not come off at all.\nFetyukovitch went on making the most of every opportunity, and amazed people more and more by his minute knowledge of the case. Thus, for example, Trifon Borissovitch made a great impression, of course, very prejudicial to Mitya. He calculated almost on his fingers that on his first visit to Mokroe, Mitya must have spent three thousand roubles, \"or very little less. Just think what he squandered on those gypsy girls alone! And as for our lousy peasants, it wasn't a case of flinging half a rouble in the street, he made them presents of twenty-five roubles each, at least, he didn't give them less. And what a lot of money was simply stolen from him! And if any one did steal, he did not leave a receipt. How could one catch the thief when he was flinging his money away all the time? Our peasants are robbers, you know; they have no care for their souls. And the way he went on with the girls, our village girls! They're completely set up since then, I tell you, they used to be poor.\" He recalled, in fact, every item of expense and added it all up. So the theory that only fifteen hundred had been spent and the rest had been put aside in a little bag seemed inconceivable.\n\"I saw three thousand as clear as a penny in his hands, I saw it with my own eyes; I should think I ought to know how to reckon money,\" cried Trifon Borissovitch, doing his best to satisfy \"his betters.\"\nWhen Fetyukovitch had to cross-examine him, he scarcely tried to refute his evidence, but began asking him about an incident at the first carousal at Mokroe, a month before the arrest, when Timofey and another peasant called Akim had picked up on the floor in the passage a hundred roubles dropped by Mitya when he was drunk, and had given them to Trifon Borissovitch and received a rouble each from him for doing so. \"Well,\" asked the lawyer, \"did you give that hundred roubles back to Mr. Karamazov?\" Trifon Borissovitch shuffled in vain.... He was obliged, after the peasants had been examined, to admit the finding of the hundred roubles, only adding that he had religiously returned it all to Dmitri Fyodorovitch \"in perfect honesty, and it's only because his honor was in liquor at the time, he wouldn't remember it.\" But, as he had denied the incident of the hundred roubles till the peasants had been called to prove it, his evidence as to returning the money to Mitya was naturally regarded with great suspicion. So one of the most dangerous witnesses brought forward by the prosecution was again discredited.\nThe same thing happened with the Poles. They took up an attitude of pride and independence; they vociferated loudly that they had both been in the service of the Crown, and that \"Pan Mitya\" had offered them three thousand \"to buy their honor,\" and that they had seen a large sum of money in his hands. Pan Mussyalovitch introduced a terrible number of Polish words into his sentences, and seeing that this only increased his consequence in the eyes of the President and the prosecutor, grew more and more pompous, and ended by talking in Polish altogether. But Fetyukovitch caught them, too, in his snares. Trifon Borissovitch, recalled, was forced, in spite of his evasions, to admit that Pan Vrublevsky had substituted another pack of cards for the one he had provided, and that Pan Mussyalovitch had cheated during the game. Kalganov confirmed this, and both the Poles left the witness-box with damaged reputations, amidst laughter from the public.\nThen exactly the same thing happened with almost all the most dangerous witnesses. Fetyukovitch succeeded in casting a slur on all of them, and dismissing them with a certain derision. The lawyers and experts were lost in admiration, and were only at a loss to understand what good purpose could be served by it, for all, I repeat, felt that the case for the prosecution could not be refuted, but was growing more and more tragically overwhelming. But from the confidence of the \"great magician\" they saw that he was serene, and they waited, feeling that \"such a man\" had not come from Petersburg for nothing, and that he was not a man to return unsuccessful.", "chosen": "The, Mr., Rakitin, The, Enraged, He, Captain, He, On, God, Ilusha, God, Of, Father,, Now, He, The, Fetyukovitch, Thus,, He, Just, And, And, And, How, Our, And, They're, So, I, Well,\", Karamazov?\", He, So, The, They, Pan, But, Trifon, Kalganov, Then, Fetyukovitch, The, But", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nThe, Mr., Rakitin, The, Enraged, He, Captain, He, On, God, Ilusha, God, Of, Father,, Now, He, The, Fetyukovitch, Thus,, He, Just, And, And, And, How, Our, And, They're, So, I, Well,\", Karamazov?\", He, So, The, They, Pan, But, Trifon, Kalganov, Then, Fetyukovitch, The, But\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-079-02-9bd2741f", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nMonday morning found Tom Sawyer miserable. Monday morning always found him so—because it began another week's slow suffering in school. He generally began that day with wishing he had had no intervening holiday, it made the going into captivity and fetters again so much more odious.\nTom lay thinking. Presently it occurred to him that he wished he was sick; then he could stay home from school. Here was a vague possibility. He canvassed his system. No ailment was found, and he investigated again. This time he thought he could detect colicky symptoms, and he began to encourage them with considerable hope. But they soon grew feeble, and presently died wholly away. He reflected further. Suddenly he discovered something. One of his upper front teeth was loose. This was lucky; he was about to begin to groan, as a \"starter,\" as he called it, when it occurred to him that if he came into court with that argument, his aunt would pull it out, and that would hurt. So he thought he would hold the tooth in reserve for the present, and seek further. Nothing offered for some little time, and then he remembered hearing the doctor tell about a certain thing that laid up a patient for two or three weeks and threatened to make him lose a finger. So the boy eagerly drew his sore toe from under the sheet and held it up for inspection. But now he did not know the necessary symptoms. However, it seemed well worth while to chance it, so he fell to groaning with considerable spirit.\nBut Sid slept on unconscious.\nTom groaned louder, and fancied that he began to feel pain in the toe.\nNo result from Sid.\nTom was panting with his exertions by this time. He took a rest and then swelled himself up and fetched a succession of admirable groans.\nSid snored on.\nTom was aggravated. He said, \"Sid, Sid!\" and shook him. This course worked well, and Tom began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then brought himself up on his elbow with a snort, and began to stare at Tom. Tom went on groaning. Sid said:\n\"Tom! Say, Tom!\" [No response.] \"Here, Tom! TOM! What is the matter, Tom?\" And he shook him and looked in his face anxiously.\nTom moaned out:\n\"Oh, don't, Sid. Don't joggle me.\"\n\"Why, what's the matter, Tom? I must call auntie.\"\n\"No—never mind. It'll be over by and by, maybe. Don't call anybody.\"\n\"But I must! Don't groan so, Tom, it's awful. How long you been this way?\"\n\"Hours. Ouch! Oh, don't stir so, Sid, you'll kill me.\"\n\"Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner? Oh, Tom, don't! It makes my flesh crawl to hear you. Tom, what is the matter?\"\n\"I forgive you everything, Sid. [Groan.] Everything you've ever done to me. When I'm gone—\"\n\"Oh, Tom, you ain't dying, are you? Don't, Tom—oh, don't. Maybe—\"\n\"I forgive everybody, Sid. [Groan.] Tell 'em so, Sid. And Sid, you give my window-sash and my cat with one eye to that new girl that's come to town, and tell her—\"\nBut Sid had snatched his clothes and gone. Tom was suffering in reality, now, so handsomely was his imagination working, and so his groans had gathered quite a genuine tone.\nSid flew downstairs and said:\n\"Oh, Aunt Polly, come! Tom's dying!\"\n\"Dying!\"\n\"Yes'm. Don't wait—come quick!\"\n\"Rubbage! I don't believe it!\"\nBut she fled upstairs, nevertheless, with Sid and Mary at her heels. And her face grew white, too, and her lip trembled. When she reached the bedside she gasped out:\n\"You, Tom! Tom, what's the matter with you?\"\n\"Oh, auntie, I'm—\"\n\"What's the matter with you—what is the matter with you, child?\"\n\"Oh, auntie, my sore toe's mortified!\"\nThe old lady sank down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried a little, then did both together. This restored her and she said:\n\"Tom, what a turn you did give me. Now you shut up that nonsense and climb out of this.\"\nThe groans ceased and the pain vanished from the toe. The boy felt a little foolish, and he said:\n\"Aunt Polly, it seemed mortified, and it hurt so I never minded my tooth at all.\"\n\"Your tooth, indeed! What's the matter with your tooth?\"\n\"One of them's loose, and it aches perfectly awful.\"\n\"There, there, now, don't begin that groaning again. Open your mouth. Well—your tooth is loose, but you're not going to die about that. Mary, get me a silk thread, and a chunk of fire out of the kitchen.\"\nTom said:\n\"Oh, please, auntie, don't pull it out. It don't hurt any more. I wish I may never stir if it does. Please don't, auntie. I don't want to stay home from school.\"\n\"Oh, you don't, don't you? So all this row was because you thought you'd get to stay home from school and go a-fishing? Tom, Tom, I love you so, and you seem to try every way you can to break my old heart with your outrageousness.\" By this time the dental instruments were ready. The old lady made one end of the silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a loop and tied the other to the bedpost. Then she seized the chunk of fire and suddenly thrust it almost into the boy's face. The tooth hung dangling by the bedpost, now.\nBut all trials bring their compensations. As Tom wended to school after breakfast, he was the envy of every boy he met because the gap in his upper row of teeth enabled him to expectorate in a new and admirable way. He gathered quite a following of lads interested in the exhibition; and one that had cut his finger and had been a centre of fascination and homage up to this time, now found himself suddenly without an adherent, and shorn of his glory. His heart was heavy, and he said with a disdain which he did not feel that it wasn't anything to spit like Tom Sawyer; but another boy said, \"Sour grapes!\" and he wandered away a dismantled hero.\nShortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village, Huckleberry Finn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was cordially hated and dreaded by all the mothers of the town, because he was idle and lawless and vulgar and bad—and because all their children admired him so, and delighted in his forbidden society, and wished they dared to be like him. Tom was like the rest of the respectable boys, in that he envied Huckleberry his gaudy outcast condition, and was under strict orders not to play with him. So he played with him every time he got a chance. Huckleberry was always dressed in the cast-off clothes of full-grown men, and they were in perennial bloom and fluttering with rags. His hat was a vast ruin with a wide crescent lopped out of its brim; his coat, when he wore one, hung nearly to his heels and had the rearward buttons far down the back; but one suspender supported his trousers; the seat of the trousers bagged low and contained nothing, the fringed legs dragged in the dirt when not rolled up.\nHuckleberry came and went, at his own free will. He slept on doorsteps in fine weather and in empty hogsheads in wet; he did not have to go to school or to church, or call any being master or obey anybody; he could go fishing or swimming when and where he chose, and stay as long as it suited him; nobody forbade him to fight; he could sit up as late as he pleased; he was always the first boy that went barefoot in the spring and the last to resume leather in the fall; he never had to wash, nor put on clean clothes; he could swear wonderfully. In a word, everything that goes to make life precious that boy had. So thought every harassed, hampered, respectable boy in St. Petersburg.\nTom hailed the romantic outcast:\n\"Hello, Huckleberry!\"\n\"Hello yourself, and see how you like it.\"\n\"What's that you got?\"\n\"Dead cat.\"\n\"Lemme see him, Huck. My, he's pretty stiff. Where'd you get him?\"\n\"Bought him off'n a boy.\"\n\"What did you give?\"\n\"I give a blue ticket and a bladder that I got at the slaughter-house.\"\n\"Where'd you get the blue ticket?\"", "chosen": "94", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n94\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-74-006-00-2a78443f", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nHe did in fact find his father still at table. Though there was a dining-room in the house, the table was laid as usual in the drawing-room, which was the largest room, and furnished with old-fashioned ostentation. The furniture was white and very old, upholstered in old, red, silky material. In the spaces between the windows there were mirrors in elaborate white and gilt frames, of old-fashioned carving. On the walls, covered with white paper, which was torn in many places, there hung two large portraits—one of some prince who had been governor of the district thirty years before, and the other of some bishop, also long since dead. In the corner opposite the door there were several ikons, before which a lamp was lighted at nightfall ... not so much for devotional purposes as to light the room. Fyodor Pavlovitch used to go to bed very late, at three or four o'clock in the morning, and would wander about the room at night or sit in an arm-chair, thinking. This had become a habit with him. He often slept quite alone in the house, sending his servants to the lodge; but usually Smerdyakov remained, sleeping on a bench in the hall.\nWhen Alyosha came in, dinner was over, but coffee and preserves had been served. Fyodor Pavlovitch liked sweet things with brandy after dinner. Ivan was also at table, sipping coffee. The servants, Grigory and Smerdyakov, were standing by. Both the gentlemen and the servants seemed in singularly good spirits. Fyodor Pavlovitch was roaring with laughter. Before he entered the room, Alyosha heard the shrill laugh he knew so well, and could tell from the sound of it that his father had only reached the good-humored stage, and was far from being completely drunk.\n\"Here he is! Here he is!\" yelled Fyodor Pavlovitch, highly delighted at seeing Alyosha. \"Join us. Sit down. Coffee is a lenten dish, but it's hot and good. I don't offer you brandy, you're keeping the fast. But would you like some? No; I'd better give you some of our famous liqueur. Smerdyakov, go to the cupboard, the second shelf on the right. Here are the keys. Look sharp!\"\nAlyosha began refusing the liqueur.\n\"Never mind. If you won't have it, we will,\" said Fyodor Pavlovitch, beaming. \"But stay—have you dined?\"\n\"Yes,\" answered Alyosha, who had in truth only eaten a piece of bread and drunk a glass of kvas in the Father Superior's kitchen. \"Though I should be pleased to have some hot coffee.\"\n\"Bravo, my darling! He'll have some coffee. Does it want warming? No, it's boiling. It's capital coffee: Smerdyakov's making. My Smerdyakov's an artist at coffee and at fish patties, and at fish soup, too. You must come one day and have some fish soup. Let me know beforehand.... But, stay; didn't I tell you this morning to come home with your mattress and pillow and all? Have you brought your mattress? He he he!\"\n\"No, I haven't,\" said Alyosha, smiling, too.\n\"Ah, but you were frightened, you were frightened this morning, weren't you? There, my darling, I couldn't do anything to vex you. Do you know, Ivan, I can't resist the way he looks one straight in the face and laughs? It makes me laugh all over. I'm so fond of him. Alyosha, let me give you my blessing—a father's blessing.\"\nAlyosha rose, but Fyodor Pavlovitch had already changed his mind.\n\"No, no,\" he said. \"I'll just make the sign of the cross over you, for now. Sit still. Now we've a treat for you, in your own line, too. It'll make you laugh. Balaam's ass has begun talking to us here—and how he talks! How he talks!\"\nBalaam's ass, it appeared, was the valet, Smerdyakov. He was a young man of about four and twenty, remarkably unsociable and taciturn. Not that he was shy or bashful. On the contrary, he was conceited and seemed to despise everybody.\nBut we must pause to say a few words about him now. He was brought up by Grigory and Marfa, but the boy grew up \"with no sense of gratitude,\" as Grigory expressed it; he was an unfriendly boy, and seemed to look at the world mistrustfully. In his childhood he was very fond of hanging cats, and burying them with great ceremony. He used to dress up in a sheet as though it were a surplice, and sang, and waved some object over the dead cat as though it were a censer. All this he did on the sly, with the greatest secrecy. Grigory caught him once at this diversion and gave him a sound beating. He shrank into a corner and sulked there for a week. \"He doesn't care for you or me, the monster,\" Grigory used to say to Marfa, \"and he doesn't care for any one. Are you a human being?\" he said, addressing the boy directly. \"You're not a human being. You grew from the mildew in the bath-house.[2] That's what you are.\" Smerdyakov, it appeared afterwards, could never forgive him those words. Grigory taught him to read and write, and when he was twelve years old, began teaching him the Scriptures. But this teaching came to nothing. At the second or third lesson the boy suddenly grinned.\n\"What's that for?\" asked Grigory, looking at him threateningly from under his spectacles.\n\"Oh, nothing. God created light on the first day, and the sun, moon, and stars on the fourth day. Where did the light come from on the first day?\"\nGrigory was thunderstruck. The boy looked sarcastically at his teacher. There was something positively condescending in his expression. Grigory could not restrain himself. \"I'll show you where!\" he cried, and gave the boy a violent slap on the cheek. The boy took the slap without a word, but withdrew into his corner again for some days. A week later he had his first attack of the disease to which he was subject all the rest of his life—epilepsy. When Fyodor Pavlovitch heard of it, his attitude to the boy seemed changed at once. Till then he had taken no notice of him, though he never scolded him, and always gave him a copeck when he met him. Sometimes, when he was in good humor, he would send the boy something sweet from his table. But as soon as he heard of his illness, he showed an active interest in him, sent for a doctor, and tried remedies, but the disease turned out to be incurable. The fits occurred, on an average, once a month, but at various intervals. The fits varied too, in violence: some were light and some were very severe. Fyodor Pavlovitch strictly forbade Grigory to use corporal punishment to the boy, and began allowing him to come upstairs to him. He forbade him to be taught anything whatever for a time, too. One day when the boy was about fifteen, Fyodor Pavlovitch noticed him lingering by the bookcase, and reading the titles through the glass. Fyodor Pavlovitch had a fair number of books—over a hundred—but no one ever saw him reading. He at once gave Smerdyakov the key of the bookcase. \"Come, read. You shall be my librarian. You'll be better sitting reading than hanging about the courtyard. Come, read this,\" and Fyodor Pavlovitch gave him Evenings in a Cottage near Dikanka.\nHe read a little but didn't like it. He did not once smile, and ended by frowning.\n\"Why? Isn't it funny?\" asked Fyodor Pavlovitch.\nSmerdyakov did not speak.\n\"Answer, stupid!\"\n\"It's all untrue,\" mumbled the boy, with a grin.\n\"Then go to the devil! You have the soul of a lackey. Stay, here's Smaragdov's Universal History. That's all true. Read that.\"\nBut Smerdyakov did not get through ten pages of Smaragdov. He thought it dull. So the bookcase was closed again.\nShortly afterwards Marfa and Grigory reported to Fyodor Pavlovitch that Smerdyakov was gradually beginning to show an extraordinary fastidiousness. He would sit before his soup, take up his spoon and look into the soup, bend over it, examine it, take a spoonful and hold it to the light.\n\"What is it? A beetle?\" Grigory would ask.\n\"A fly, perhaps,\" observed Marfa.", "chosen": "On the walls, covered with white paper, which was torn in many places, there hung two large portraits—one of some prince who had been governor of the district thirty years before, and the other of some bishop, also long since dead.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nOn the walls, covered with white paper, which was torn in many places, there hung two large portraits—one of some prince who had been governor of the district thirty years before, and the other of some bishop, also long since dead.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-019-00-52375505", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nSo I set my face against the sea trip. Not, as I explained, upon my own account. I was never queer. But I was afraid for George. George said he should be all right, and would rather like it, but he would advise Harris and me not to think of it, as he felt sure we should both be ill. Harris said that, to himself, it was always a mystery how people managed to get sick at sea—said he thought people must do it on purpose, from affectation—said he had often wished to be, but had never been able.\nThen he told us anecdotes of how he had gone across the Channel when it was so rough that the passengers had to be tied into their berths, and he and the captain were the only two living souls on board who were not ill. Sometimes it was he and the second mate who were not ill; but it was generally he and one other man. If not he and another man, then it was he by himself.\nIt is a curious fact, but nobody ever is sea-sick—on land. At sea, you come across plenty of people very bad indeed, whole boat-loads of them; but I never met a man yet, on land, who had ever known at all what it was to be sea-sick. Where the thousands upon thousands of bad sailors that swarm in every ship hide themselves when they are on land is a mystery.\nIf most men were like a fellow I saw on the Yarmouth boat one day, I could account for the seeming enigma easily enough. It was just off Southend Pier, I recollect, and he was leaning out through one of the port-holes in a very dangerous position. I went up to him to try and save him.\n\"Hi! come further in,\" I said, shaking him by the shoulder. \"You'll be overboard.\"\n\"Oh my! I wish I was,\" was the only answer I could get; and there I had to leave him.\nThree weeks afterwards, I met him in the coffee-room of a Bath hotel, talking about his voyages, and explaining, with enthusiasm, how he loved the sea.\n\"Good sailor!\" he replied in answer to a mild young man's envious query; \"well, I did feel a little queer once, I confess. It was off Cape Horn. The vessel was wrecked the next morning.\"\nI said:\n\"Weren't you a little shaky by Southend Pier one day, and wanted to be thrown overboard?\"\n\"Southend Pier!\" he replied, with a puzzled expression.\n\"Yes; going down to Yarmouth, last Friday three weeks.\"\n\"Oh, ah—yes,\" he answered, brightening up; \"I remember now. I did have a headache that afternoon. It was the pickles, you know. They were the most disgraceful pickles I ever tasted in a respectable boat. Did you have any?\"\nFor myself, I have discovered an excellent preventive against sea-sickness, in balancing myself. You stand in the centre of the deck, and, as the ship heaves and pitches, you move your body about, so as to keep it always straight. When the front of the ship rises, you lean forward, till the deck almost touches your nose; and when its back end gets up, you lean backwards. This is all very well for an hour or two; but you can't balance yourself for a week.\nGeorge said:\n\"Let's go up the river.\"\nHe said we should have fresh air, exercise and quiet; the constant change of scene would occupy our minds (including what there was of Harris's); and the hard work would give us a good appetite, and make us sleep well.\nHarris said he didn't think George ought to do anything that would have a tendency to make him sleepier than he always was, as it might be dangerous. He said he didn't very well understand how George was going to sleep any more than he did now, seeing that there were only twenty-four hours in each day, summer and winter alike; but thought that if he did sleep any more, he might just as well be dead, and so save his board and lodging.\nHarris said, however, that the river would suit him to a \"T.\" I don't know what a \"T\" is (except a sixpenny one, which includes bread-and-butter and cake ad lib., and is cheap at the price, if you haven't had any dinner). It seems to suit everybody, however, which is greatly to its credit.\nIt suited me to a \"T\" too, and Harris and I both said it was a good idea of George's; and we said it in a tone that seemed to somehow imply that we were surprised that George should have come out so sensible.\n[Picture: Montmorency] The only one who was not struck with the suggestion was Montmorency. He never did care for the river, did Montmorency.\n\"It's all very well for you fellows,\" he says; \"you like it, but I don't. There's nothing for me to do. Scenery is not in my line, and I don't smoke. If I see a rat, you won't stop; and if I go to sleep, you get fooling about with the boat, and slop me overboard. If you ask me, I call the whole thing bally foolishness.\"\nWe were three to one, however, and the motion was carried.", "chosen": "carried", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\ncarried\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-308-001-02-ed2d359d", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"It is dreadfully dull for her when there is no company,\" said Mrs. Vincy, who was seated at the old lady's side. \"I am sure I thought so when Rosamond was ill, and I was staying with her. You know, Mrs. Farebrother, ours is a cheerful house. I am of a cheerful disposition myself, and Mr. Vincy always likes something to be going on. That is what Rosamond has been used to. Very different from a husband out at odd hours, and never knowing when he will come home, and of a close, proud disposition, I think\"—indiscreet Mrs. Vincy did lower her tone slightly with this parenthesis. \"But Rosamond always had an angel of a temper; her brothers used very often not to please her, but she was never the girl to show temper; from a baby she was always as good as good, and with a complexion beyond anything. But my children are all good-tempered, thank God.\"\nThis was easily credible to any one looking at Mrs. Vincy as she threw back her broad cap-strings, and smiled towards her three little girls, aged from seven to eleven. But in that smiling glance she was obliged to include Mary Garth, whom the three girls had got into a corner to make her tell them stories. Mary was just finishing the delicious tale of Rumpelstiltskin, which she had well by heart, because Letty was never tired of communicating it to her ignorant elders from a favorite red volume. Louisa, Mrs. Vincy's darling, now ran to her with wide-eyed serious excitement, crying, \"Oh mamma, mamma, the little man stamped so hard on the floor he couldn't get his leg out again!\"\n\"Bless you, my cherub!\" said mamma; \"you shall tell me all about it to-morrow. Go and listen!\" and then, as her eyes followed Louisa back towards the attractive corner, she thought that if Fred wished her to invite Mary again she would make no objection, the children being so pleased with her.\nBut presently the corner became still more animated, for Mr. Farebrother came in, and seating himself behind Louisa, took her on his lap; whereupon the girls all insisted that he must hear Rumpelstiltskin, and Mary must tell it over again. He insisted too, and Mary, without fuss, began again in her neat fashion, with precisely the same words as before. Fred, who had also seated himself near, would have felt unmixed triumph in Mary's effectiveness if Mr. Farebrother had not been looking at her with evident admiration, while he dramatized an intense interest in the tale to please the children.\n\"You will never care any more about my one-eyed giant, Loo,\" said Fred at the end.\n\"Yes, I shall. Tell about him now,\" said Louisa.\n\"Oh, I dare say; I am quite cut out. Ask Mr. Farebrother.\"\n\"Yes,\" added Mary; \"ask Mr. Farebrother to tell you about the ants whose beautiful house was knocked down by a giant named Tom, and he thought they didn't mind because he couldn't hear them cry, or see them use their pocket-handkerchiefs.\"\n\"Please,\" said Louisa, looking up at the Vicar.\n\"No, no, I am a grave old parson. If I try to draw a story out of my bag a sermon comes instead. Shall I preach you a sermon?\" said he, putting on his short-sighted glasses, and pursing up his lips.\n\"Yes,\" said Louisa, falteringly.\n\"Let me see, then. Against cakes: how cakes are bad things, especially if they are sweet and have plums in them.\"\nLouisa took the affair rather seriously, and got down from the Vicar's knee to go to Fred.\n\"Ah, I see it will not do to preach on New Year's Day,\" said Mr. Farebrother, rising and walking away. He had discovered of late that Fred had become jealous of him, and also that he himself was not losing his preference for Mary above all other women.\n\"A delightful young person is Miss Garth,\" said Mrs. Farebrother, who had been watching her son's movements.\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Vincy, obliged to reply, as the old lady turned to her expectantly. \"It is a pity she is not better-looking.\"\n\"I cannot say that,\" said Mrs. Farebrother, decisively. \"I like her countenance. We must not always ask for beauty, when a good God has seen fit to make an excellent young woman without it. I put good manners first, and Miss Garth will know how to conduct herself in any station.\"\nThe old lady was a little sharp in her tone, having a prospective reference to Mary's becoming her daughter-in-law; for there was this inconvenience in Mary's position with regard to Fred, that it was not suitable to be made public, and hence the three ladies at Lowick Parsonage were still hoping that Camden would choose Miss Garth.\nNew visitors entered, and the drawing-room was given up to music and games, while whist-tables were prepared in the quiet room on the other side of the hall. Mr. Farebrother played a rubber to satisfy his mother, who regarded her occasional whist as a protest against scandal and novelty of opinion, in which light even a revoke had its dignity. But at the end he got Mr. Chichely to take his place, and left the room. As he crossed the hall, Lydgate had just come in and was taking off his great-coat.\n\"You are the man I was going to look for,\" said the Vicar; and instead of entering the drawing-room, they walked along the hall and stood against the fireplace, where the frosty air helped to make a glowing bank. \"You see, I can leave the whist-table easily enough,\" he went on, smiling at Lydgate, \"now I don't play for money. I owe that to you, Mrs. Casaubon says.\"\n\"How?\" said Lydgate, coldly.\n\"Ah, you didn't mean me to know it; I call that ungenerous reticence. You should let a man have the pleasure of feeling that you have done him a good turn. I don't enter into some people's dislike of being under an obligation: upon my word, I prefer being under an obligation to everybody for behaving well to me.\"\n\"I can't tell what you mean,\" said Lydgate, \"unless it is that I once spoke of you to Mrs. Casaubon. But I did not think that she would break her promise not to mention that I had done so,\" said Lydgate, leaning his back against the corner of the mantel-piece, and showing no radiance in his face.\n\"It was Brooke who let it out, only the other day. He paid me the compliment of saying that he was very glad I had the living though you had come across his tactics, and had praised me up as a Ken and a Tillotson, and that sort of thing, till Mrs. Casaubon would hear of no one else.\"\n\"Oh, Brooke is such a leaky-minded fool,\" said Lydgate, contemptuously.\n\"Well, I was glad of the leakiness then. I don't see why you shouldn't like me to know that you wished to do me a service, my dear fellow. And you certainly have done me one. It's rather a strong check to one's self-complacency to find how much of one's right doing depends on not being in want of money. A man will not be tempted to say the Lord's Prayer backward to please the devil, if he doesn't want the devil's services. I have no need to hang on the smiles of chance now.\"\n\"I don't see that there's any money-getting without chance,\" said Lydgate; \"if a man gets it in a profession, it's pretty sure to come by chance.\"\nMr. Farebrother thought he could account for this speech, in striking contrast with Lydgate's former way of talking, as the perversity which will often spring from the moodiness of a man ill at ease in his affairs. He answered in a tone of good-humored admission—\n\"Ah, there's enormous patience wanted with the way of the world. But it is the easier for a man to wait patiently when he has friends who love him, and ask for nothing better than to help him through, so far as it lies in their power.\"\n\"Oh yes,\" said Lydgate, in a careless tone, changing his attitude and looking at his watch. \"People make much more of their difficulties than they need to do.\"", "chosen": "[\"Rosamond\", \"God\", \"Mary\", \"Garth\", \"Rumpelstiltskin\", \"Letty\", \"Bless\", \"Louisa\", \"Fred\", \"Loo\", \"Tom\", \"Please\", \"Vicar\", \"Let\", \"New\", \"Year\", \"Day\", \"Lowick\", \"Parsonage\", \"Camden\", \"Lydgate\", \"Brooke\", \"Ken\", \"Tillotson\", \"Prayer\", \"People\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Rosamond\", \"God\", \"Mary\", \"Garth\", \"Rumpelstiltskin\", \"Letty\", \"Bless\", \"Louisa\", \"Fred\", \"Loo\", \"Tom\", \"Please\", \"Vicar\", \"Let\", \"New\", \"Year\", \"Day\", \"Lowick\", \"Parsonage\", \"Camden\", \"Lydgate\", \"Brooke\", \"Ken\", \"Tillotson\", \"Prayer\", \"People\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-145-063-01-ec87cabc", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nPyotr Ilyitch Perhotin, whom we left knocking at the strong locked gates of the widow Morozov's house, ended, of course, by making himself heard. Fenya, who was still excited by the fright she had had two hours before, and too much \"upset\" to go to bed, was almost frightened into hysterics on hearing the furious knocking at the gate. Though she had herself seen him drive away, she fancied that it must be Dmitri Fyodorovitch knocking again, no one else could knock so savagely. She ran to the house-porter, who had already waked up and gone out to the gate, and began imploring him not to open it. But having questioned Pyotr Ilyitch, and learned that he wanted to see Fenya on very \"important business,\" the man made up his mind at last to open. Pyotr Ilyitch was admitted into Fenya's kitchen, but the girl begged him to allow the house-porter to be present, \"because of her misgivings.\" He began questioning her and at once learnt the most vital fact, that is, that when Dmitri Fyodorovitch had run out to look for Grushenka, he had snatched up a pestle from the mortar, and that when he returned, the pestle was not with him and his hands were smeared with blood.\n\"And the blood was simply flowing, dripping from him, dripping!\" Fenya kept exclaiming. This horrible detail was simply the product of her disordered imagination. But although not \"dripping,\" Pyotr Ilyitch had himself seen those hands stained with blood, and had helped to wash them. Moreover, the question he had to decide was not how soon the blood had dried, but where Dmitri Fyodorovitch had run with the pestle, or rather, whether it really was to Fyodor Pavlovitch's, and how he could satisfactorily ascertain. Pyotr Ilyitch persisted in returning to this point, and though he found out nothing conclusive, yet he carried away a conviction that Dmitri Fyodorovitch could have gone nowhere but to his father's house, and that therefore something must have happened there.\n\"And when he came back,\" Fenya added with excitement, \"I told him the whole story, and then I began asking him, 'Why have you got blood on your hands, Dmitri Fyodorovitch?' and he answered that that was human blood, and that he had just killed some one. He confessed it all to me, and suddenly ran off like a madman. I sat down and began thinking, where's he run off to now like a madman? He'll go to Mokroe, I thought, and kill my mistress there. I ran out to beg him not to kill her. I was running to his lodgings, but I looked at Plotnikov's shop, and saw him just setting off, and there was no blood on his hands then.\" (Fenya had noticed this and remembered it.) Fenya's old grandmother confirmed her evidence as far as she was capable. After asking some further questions, Pyotr Ilyitch left the house, even more upset and uneasy than he had been when he entered it.\nThe most direct and the easiest thing for him to do would have been to go straight to Fyodor Pavlovitch's, to find out whether anything had happened there, and if so, what; and only to go to the police captain, as Pyotr Ilyitch firmly intended doing, when he had satisfied himself of the fact. But the night was dark, Fyodor Pavlovitch's gates were strong, and he would have to knock again. His acquaintance with Fyodor Pavlovitch was of the slightest, and what if, after he had been knocking, they opened to him, and nothing had happened? Then Fyodor Pavlovitch in his jeering way would go telling the story all over the town, how a stranger, called Perhotin, had broken in upon him at midnight to ask if any one had killed him. It would make a scandal. And scandal was what Pyotr Ilyitch dreaded more than anything in the world.\nYet the feeling that possessed him was so strong, that though he stamped his foot angrily and swore at himself, he set off again, not to Fyodor Pavlovitch's but to Madame Hohlakov's. He decided that if she denied having just given Dmitri Fyodorovitch three thousand roubles, he would go straight to the police captain, but if she admitted having given him the money, he would go home and let the matter rest till next morning.\nIt is, of course, perfectly evident that there was even more likelihood of causing scandal by going at eleven o'clock at night to a fashionable lady, a complete stranger, and perhaps rousing her from her bed to ask her an amazing question, than by going to Fyodor Pavlovitch. But that is just how it is, sometimes, especially in cases like the present one, with the decisions of the most precise and phlegmatic people. Pyotr Ilyitch was by no means phlegmatic at that moment. He remembered all his life how a haunting uneasiness gradually gained possession of him, growing more and more painful and driving him on, against his will. Yet he kept cursing himself, of course, all the way for going to this lady, but \"I will get to the bottom of it, I will!\" he repeated for the tenth time, grinding his teeth, and he carried out his intention.\nIt was exactly eleven o'clock when he entered Madame Hohlakov's house. He was admitted into the yard pretty quickly, but, in response to his inquiry whether the lady was still up, the porter could give no answer, except that she was usually in bed by that time.\n\"Ask at the top of the stairs. If the lady wants to receive you, she'll receive you. If she won't, she won't.\"\nPyotr Ilyitch went up, but did not find things so easy here. The footman was unwilling to take in his name, but finally called a maid. Pyotr Ilyitch politely but insistently begged her to inform her lady that an official, living in the town, called Perhotin, had called on particular business, and that if it were not of the greatest importance he would not have ventured to come. \"Tell her in those words, in those words exactly,\" he asked the girl.\nShe went away. He remained waiting in the entry. Madame Hohlakov herself was already in her bedroom, though not yet asleep. She had felt upset ever since Mitya's visit, and had a presentiment that she would not get through the night without the sick headache which always, with her, followed such excitement. She was surprised on hearing the announcement from the maid. She irritably declined to see him, however, though the unexpected visit at such an hour, of an \"official living in the town,\" who was a total stranger, roused her feminine curiosity intensely. But this time Pyotr Ilyitch was as obstinate as a mule. He begged the maid most earnestly to take another message in these very words:\n\"That he had come on business of the greatest importance, and that Madame Hohlakov might have cause to regret it later, if she refused to see him now.\"\n\"I plunged headlong,\" he described it afterwards.\nThe maid, gazing at him in amazement, went to take his message again. Madame Hohlakov was impressed. She thought a little, asked what he looked like, and learned that he was \"very well dressed, young and so polite.\" We may note, parenthetically, that Pyotr Ilyitch was a rather good-looking young man, and well aware of the fact. Madame Hohlakov made up her mind to see him. She was in her dressing-gown and slippers, but she flung a black shawl over her shoulders. \"The official\" was asked to walk into the drawing-room, the very room in which Mitya had been received shortly before. The lady came to meet her visitor, with a sternly inquiring countenance, and, without asking him to sit down, began at once with the question:\n\"What do you want?\"\n\"I have ventured to disturb you, madam, on a matter concerning our common acquaintance, Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov,\" Perhotin began.\nBut he had hardly uttered the name, when the lady's face showed signs of acute irritation. She almost shrieked, and interrupted him in a fury:", "chosen": "Pyotr, Fenya,, Though, She, But, Pyotr, And, This, But, Moreover,, Pyotr, And, He, I, He'll, I, I, After, The, But, His, Then, It, And, Yet, He, It, But, Pyotr, He, Yet, It, He, Ask, If, If, The, Pyotr, Tell, She, He, Madame, She, She, She, But, He, The, Madame, She, Madame, She, The, The, But, She", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nPyotr, Fenya,, Though, She, But, Pyotr, And, This, But, Moreover,, Pyotr, And, He, I, He'll, I, I, After, The, But, His, Then, It, And, Yet, He, It, But, Pyotr, He, Yet, It, He, Ask, If, If, The, Pyotr, Tell, She, He, Madame, She, She, She, But, He, The, Madame, She, Madame, She, The, The, But, She\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-052-00-f6c9ae5e", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"In the right of it too,\" said the Rector. \"Garth is an independent fellow: an original, simple-minded fellow. One day, when he was doing some valuation for me, he told me point-blank that clergymen seldom understood anything about business, and did mischief when they meddled; but he said it as quietly and respectfully as if he had been talking to me about sailors. He would make a different parish of Tipton, if Brooke would let him manage. I wish, by the help of the 'Trumpet,' you could bring that round.\"\n\"If Dorothea had kept near her uncle, there would have been some chance,\" said Sir James. \"She might have got some power over him in time, and she was always uneasy about the estate. She had wonderfully good notions about such things. But now Casaubon takes her up entirely. Celia complains a good deal. We can hardly get her to dine with us, since he had that fit.\" Sir James ended with a look of pitying disgust, and Mrs. Cadwallader shrugged her shoulders as much as to say that she was not likely to see anything new in that direction.\n\"Poor Casaubon!\" the Rector said. \"That was a nasty attack. I thought he looked shattered the other day at the Archdeacon's.\"\n\"In point of fact,\" resumed Sir James, not choosing to dwell on \"fits,\" \"Brooke doesn't mean badly by his tenants or any one else, but he has got that way of paring and clipping at expenses.\"\n\"Come, that's a blessing,\" said Mrs. Cadwallader. \"That helps him to find himself in a morning. He may not know his own opinions, but he does know his own pocket.\"\n\"I don't believe a man is in pocket by stinginess on his land,\" said Sir James.\n\"Oh, stinginess may be abused like other virtues: it will not do to keep one's own pigs lean,\" said Mrs. Cadwallader, who had risen to look out of the window. \"But talk of an independent politician and he will appear.\"\n\"What! Brooke?\" said her husband.\n\"Yes. Now, you ply him with the 'Trumpet,' Humphrey; and I will put the leeches on him. What will you do, Sir James?\"\n\"The fact is, I don't like to begin about it with Brooke, in our mutual position; the whole thing is so unpleasant. I do wish people would behave like gentlemen,\" said the good baronet, feeling that this was a simple and comprehensive programme for social well-being.\n\"Here you all are, eh?\" said Mr. Brooke, shuffling round and shaking hands. \"I was going up to the Hall by-and-by, Chettam. But it's pleasant to find everybody, you know. Well, what do you think of things?—going on a little fast! It was true enough, what Lafitte said—'Since yesterday, a century has passed away:'—they're in the next century, you know, on the other side of the water. Going on faster than we are.\"\n\"Why, yes,\" said the Rector, taking up the newspaper. \"Here is the 'Trumpet' accusing you of lagging behind—did you see?\"\n\"Eh? no,\" said Mr. Brooke, dropping his gloves into his hat and hastily adjusting his eye-glass. But Mr. Cadwallader kept the paper in his hand, saying, with a smile in his eyes—\n\"Look here! all this is about a landlord not a hundred miles from Middlemarch, who receives his own rents. They say he is the most retrogressive man in the county. I think you must have taught them that word in the 'Pioneer.'\"\n\"Oh, that is Keck—an illiterate fellow, you know. Retrogressive, now! Come, that's capital. He thinks it means destructive: they want to make me out a destructive, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke, with that cheerfulness which is usually sustained by an adversary's ignorance.\n\"I think he knows the meaning of the word. Here is a sharp stroke or two. If we had to describe a man who is retrogressive in the most evil sense of the word—we should say, he is one who would dub himself a reformer of our constitution, while every interest for which he is immediately responsible is going to decay: a philanthropist who cannot bear one rogue to be hanged, but does not mind five honest tenants being half-starved: a man who shrieks at corruption, and keeps his farms at rack-rent: who roars himself red at rotten boroughs, and does not mind if every field on his farms has a rotten gate: a man very open-hearted to Leeds and Manchester, no doubt; he would give any number of representatives who will pay for their seats out of their own pockets: what he objects to giving, is a little return on rent-days to help a tenant to buy stock, or an outlay on repairs to keep the weather out at a tenant's barn-door or make his house look a little less like an Irish cottier's. But we all know the wag's definition of a philanthropist: a man whose charity increases directly as the square of the distance. And so on. All the rest is to show what sort of legislator a philanthropist is likely to make,\" ended the Rector, throwing down the paper, and clasping his hands at the back of his head, while he looked at Mr. Brooke with an air of amused neutrality.\n\"Come, that's rather good, you know,\" said Mr. Brooke, taking up the paper and trying to bear the attack as easily as his neighbor did, but coloring and smiling rather nervously; \"that about roaring himself red at rotten boroughs—I never made a speech about rotten boroughs in my life. And as to roaring myself red and that kind of thing—these men never understand what is good satire. Satire, you know, should be true up to a certain point. I recollect they said that in 'The Edinburgh' somewhere—it must be true up to a certain point.\"\n\"Well, that is really a hit about the gates,\" said Sir James, anxious to tread carefully. \"Dagley complained to me the other day that he hadn't got a decent gate on his farm. Garth has invented a new pattern of gate—I wish you would try it. One ought to use some of one's timber in that way.\"\n\"You go in for fancy farming, you know, Chettam,\" said Mr. Brooke, appearing to glance over the columns of the \"Trumpet.\" \"That's your hobby, and you don't mind the expense.\"\n\"I thought the most expensive hobby in the world was standing for Parliament,\" said Mrs. Cadwallader. \"They said the last unsuccessful candidate at Middlemarch—Giles, wasn't his name?—spent ten thousand pounds and failed because he did not bribe enough. What a bitter reflection for a man!\"\n\"Somebody was saying,\" said the Rector, laughingly, \"that East Retford was nothing to Middlemarch, for bribery.\"\n\"Nothing of the kind,\" said Mr. Brooke. \"The Tories bribe, you know: Hawley and his set bribe with treating, hot codlings, and that sort of thing; and they bring the voters drunk to the poll. But they are not going to have it their own way in future—not in future, you know. Middlemarch is a little backward, I admit—the freemen are a little backward. But we shall educate them—we shall bring them on, you know. The best people there are on our side.\"\n\"Hawley says you have men on your side who will do you harm,\" remarked Sir James. \"He says Bulstrode the banker will do you harm.\"\n\"And that if you got pelted,\" interposed Mrs. Cadwallader, \"half the rotten eggs would mean hatred of your committee-man. Good heavens! Think what it must be to be pelted for wrong opinions. And I seem to remember a story of a man they pretended to chair and let him fall into a dust-heap on purpose!\"\n\"Pelting is nothing to their finding holes in one's coat,\" said the Rector. \"I confess that's what I should be afraid of, if we parsons had to stand at the hustings for preferment. I should be afraid of their reckoning up all my fishing days. Upon my word, I think the truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with.\"\n\"The fact is,\" said Sir James, \"if a man goes into public life he must be prepared for the consequences. He must make himself proof against calumny.\"", "chosen": "78", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n78\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-038-01-b98df7ca", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nFor instance, when the Mississippi was first seen by a white man, less than a quarter of a century had elapsed since Francis I.'s defeat at Pavia; the death of Raphael; the death of Bayard, Sans Peur Et Sans Reproche; the driving out of the Knights-Hospitallers from Rhodes by the Turks; and the placarding of the Ninety-Five Propositions,--the act which began the Reformation. When De Soto took his glimpse of the river, Ignatius Loyola was an obscure name; the order of the Jesuits was not yet a year old; Michael Angelo's paint was not yet dry on the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel; Mary Queen of Scots was not yet born, but would be before the year closed. Catherine de Medici was a child; Elizabeth of England was not yet in her teens; Calvin, Benvenuto Cellini, and the Emperor Charles V. were at the top of their fame, and each was manufacturing history after his own peculiar fashion; Margaret of Navarre was writing the 'Heptameron' and some religious books,--the first survives, the others are forgotten, wit and indelicacy being sometimes better literature preservers than holiness; lax court morals and the absurd chivalry business were in full feather, and the joust and the tournament were the frequent pastime of titled fine gentlemen who could fight better than they could spell, while religion was the passion of their ladies, and classifying their offspring into children of full rank and children by brevet their pastime.\nIn fact, all around, religion was in a peculiarly blooming condition: the Council of Trent was being called; the Spanish Inquisition was roasting, and racking, and burning, with a free hand; elsewhere on the continent the nations were being persuaded to holy living by the sword and fire; in England, Henry VIII. had suppressed the monasteries, burnt Fisher and another bishop or two, and was getting his English reformation and his harem effectively started. When De Soto stood on the banks of the Mississippi, it was still two years before Luther's death; eleven years before the burning of Servetus; thirty years before the St. Bartholomew slaughter; Rabelais was not yet published; 'Don Quixote' was not yet written; Shakespeare was not yet born; a hundred long years must still elapse before Englishmen would hear the name of Oliver Cromwell.\nUnquestionably the discovery of the Mississippi is a datable fact which considerably mellows and modifies the shiny newness of our country, and gives her a most respectable outside-aspect of rustiness and antiquity.\nDe Soto merely glimpsed the river, then died and was buried in it by his priests and soldiers. One would expect the priests and the soldiers to multiply the river's dimensions by ten--the Spanish custom of the day--and thus move other adventurers to go at once and explore it. On the contrary, their narratives when they reached home, did not excite that amount of curiosity. The Mississippi was left unvisited by whites during a term of years which seems incredible in our energetic days. One may 'sense' the interval to his mind, after a fashion, by dividing it up in this way: After De Soto glimpsed the river, a fraction short of a quarter of a century elapsed, and then Shakespeare was born; lived a trifle more than half a century, then died; and when he had been in his grave considerably more than half a century, the _second _white man saw the Mississippi. In our day we don't allow a hundred and thirty years to elapse between glimpses of a marvel. If somebody should discover a creek in the county next to the one that the North Pole is in, Europe and America would start fifteen costly expeditions thither: one to explore the creek, and the other fourteen to hunt for each other.\nFor more than a hundred and fifty years there had been white settlements on our Atlantic coasts. These people were in intimate communication with the Indians: in the south the Spaniards were robbing, slaughtering, enslaving and converting them; higher up, the English were trading beads and blankets to them for a consideration, and throwing in civilization and whiskey, 'for lagniappe;' and in Canada the French were schooling them in a rudimentary way, missionarying among them, and drawing whole populations of them at a time to Quebec, and later to Montreal, to buy furs of them. Necessarily, then, these various clusters of whites must have heard of the great river of the far west; and indeed, they did hear of it vaguely,--so vaguely and indefinitely, that its course, proportions, and locality were hardly even guessable. The mere mysteriousness of the matter ought to have fired curiosity and compelled exploration; but this did not occur. Apparently nobody happened to want such a river, nobody needed it, nobody was curious about it; so, for a century and a half the Mississippi remained out of the market and undisturbed. When De Soto found it, he was not hunting for a river, and had no present occasion for one; consequently he did not value it or even take any particular notice of it.\nBut at last La Salle the Frenchman conceived the idea of seeking out that river and exploring it. It always happens that when a man seizes upon a neglected and important idea, people inflamed with the same notion crop up all around. It happened so in this instance.\nNaturally the question suggests itself, Why did these people want the river now when nobody had wanted it in the five preceding generations? Apparently it was because at this late day they thought they had discovered a way to make it useful; for it had come to be believed that the Mississippi emptied into the Gulf of California, and therefore afforded a short cut from Canada to China. Previously the supposition had been that it emptied into the Atlantic, or Sea of Virginia.", "chosen": "were at the top of their fame, and each was manufacturing history after his own peculiar fashion; Margaret of Navarre was writing the 'Heptameron' and some religious books,--the first survives, the others are forgotten, wit and indelicacy being sometimes better literature preservers than holiness; lax court morals and the absurd chivalry business were in full feather, and the joust and the tournament were the frequent pastime of titled fine gentlemen who could fight better than they could spell, while religion was the passion of their ladies, and classifying their offspring into children of full rank and children by brevet their pastime.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nwere at the top of their fame, and each was manufacturing history after his own peculiar fashion; Margaret of Navarre was writing the 'Heptameron' and some religious books,--the first survives, the others are forgotten, wit and indelicacy being sometimes better literature preservers than holiness; lax court morals and the absurd chivalry business were in full feather, and the joust and the tournament were the frequent pastime of titled fine gentlemen who could fight better than they could spell, while religion was the passion of their ladies, and classifying their offspring into children of full rank and children by brevet their pastime.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-245-002-01-a82af2c3", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Yes, a grand feast the night before. Damn it all, gentlemen! Do make haste and finish it. I meant to shoot myself not far from here, beyond the village, and I'd planned to do it at five o'clock in the morning. And I had a note in my pocket already. I wrote it at Perhotin's when I loaded my pistols. Here's the letter. Read it! It's not for you I tell it,\" he added contemptuously. He took it from his waistcoat pocket and flung it on the table. The lawyers read it with curiosity, and, as is usual, added it to the papers connected with the case.\n\"And you didn't even think of washing your hands at Perhotin's? You were not afraid then of arousing suspicion?\"\n\"What suspicion? Suspicion or not, I should have galloped here just the same, and shot myself at five o'clock, and you wouldn't have been in time to do anything. If it hadn't been for what's happened to my father, you would have known nothing about it, and wouldn't have come here. Oh, it's the devil's doing. It was the devil murdered father, it was through the devil that you found it out so soon. How did you manage to get here so quick? It's marvelous, a dream!\"\n\"Mr. Perhotin informed us that when you came to him, you held in your hands ... your blood-stained hands ... your money ... a lot of money ... a bundle of hundred-rouble notes, and that his servant-boy saw it too.\"\n\"That's true, gentlemen. I remember it was so.\"\n\"Now, there's one little point presents itself. Can you inform us,\" Nikolay Parfenovitch began, with extreme gentleness, \"where did you get so much money all of a sudden, when it appears from the facts, from the reckoning of time, that you had not been home?\"\nThe prosecutor's brows contracted at the question being asked so plainly, but he did not interrupt Nikolay Parfenovitch.\n\"No, I didn't go home,\" answered Mitya, apparently perfectly composed, but looking at the floor.\n\"Allow me then to repeat my question,\" Nikolay Parfenovitch went on as though creeping up to the subject. \"Where were you able to procure such a sum all at once, when by your own confession, at five o'clock the same day you—\"\n\"I was in want of ten roubles and pledged my pistols with Perhotin, and then went to Madame Hohlakov to borrow three thousand which she wouldn't give me, and so on, and all the rest of it,\" Mitya interrupted sharply. \"Yes, gentlemen, I was in want of it, and suddenly thousands turned up, eh? Do you know, gentlemen, you're both afraid now 'what if he won't tell us where he got it?' That's just how it is. I'm not going to tell you, gentlemen. You've guessed right. You'll never know,\" said Mitya, chipping out each word with extraordinary determination. The lawyers were silent for a moment.\n\"You must understand, Mr. Karamazov, that it is of vital importance for us to know,\" said Nikolay Parfenovitch, softly and suavely.\n\"I understand; but still I won't tell you.\"\nThe prosecutor, too, intervened, and again reminded the prisoner that he was at liberty to refuse to answer questions, if he thought it to his interest, and so on. But in view of the damage he might do himself by his silence, especially in a case of such importance as—\n\"And so on, gentlemen, and so on. Enough! I've heard that rigmarole before,\" Mitya interrupted again. \"I can see for myself how important it is, and that this is the vital point, and still I won't say.\"\n\"What is it to us? It's not our business, but yours. You are doing yourself harm,\" observed Nikolay Parfenovitch nervously.\n\"You see, gentlemen, joking apart\"—Mitya lifted his eyes and looked firmly at them both—\"I had an inkling from the first that we should come to loggerheads at this point. But at first when I began to give my evidence, it was all still far away and misty; it was all floating, and I was so simple that I began with the supposition of mutual confidence existing between us. Now I can see for myself that such confidence is out of the question, for in any case we were bound to come to this cursed stumbling-block. And now we've come to it! It's impossible and there's an end of it! But I don't blame you. You can't believe it all simply on my word. I understand that, of course.\"\nHe relapsed into gloomy silence.\n\"Couldn't you, without abandoning your resolution to be silent about the chief point, could you not, at the same time, give us some slight hint as to the nature of the motives which are strong enough to induce you to refuse to answer, at a crisis so full of danger to you?\"\nMitya smiled mournfully, almost dreamily.\n\"I'm much more good-natured than you think, gentlemen. I'll tell you the reason why and give you that hint, though you don't deserve it. I won't speak of that, gentlemen, because it would be a stain on my honor. The answer to the question where I got the money would expose me to far greater disgrace than the murder and robbing of my father, if I had murdered and robbed him. That's why I can't tell you. I can't for fear of disgrace. What, gentlemen, are you going to write that down?\"\n\"Yes, we'll write it down,\" lisped Nikolay Parfenovitch.\n\"You ought not to write that down about 'disgrace.' I only told you that in the goodness of my heart. I needn't have told you. I made you a present of it, so to speak, and you pounce upon it at once. Oh, well, write—write what you like,\" he concluded, with scornful disgust. \"I'm not afraid of you and I can still hold up my head before you.\"\n\"And can't you tell us the nature of that disgrace?\" Nikolay Parfenovitch hazarded.\nThe prosecutor frowned darkly.\n\"No, no, c'est fini, don't trouble yourselves. It's not worth while soiling one's hands. I have soiled myself enough through you as it is. You're not worth it—no one is ... Enough, gentlemen. I'm not going on.\"\nThis was said too peremptorily. Nikolay Parfenovitch did not insist further, but from Ippolit Kirillovitch's eyes he saw that he had not given up hope.\n\"Can you not, at least, tell us what sum you had in your hands when you went into Mr. Perhotin's—how many roubles exactly?\"\n\"I can't tell you that.\"\n\"You spoke to Mr. Perhotin, I believe, of having received three thousand from Madame Hohlakov.\"\n\"Perhaps I did. Enough, gentlemen. I won't say how much I had.\"\n\"Will you be so good then as to tell us how you came here and what you have done since you arrived?\"\n\"Oh! you might ask the people here about that. But I'll tell you if you like.\"\nHe proceeded to do so, but we won't repeat his story. He told it dryly and curtly. Of the raptures of his love he said nothing, but told them that he abandoned his determination to shoot himself, owing to \"new factors in the case.\" He told the story without going into motives or details. And this time the lawyers did not worry him much. It was obvious that there was no essential point of interest to them here.\n\"We shall verify all that. We will come back to it during the examination of the witnesses, which will, of course, take place in your presence,\" said Nikolay Parfenovitch in conclusion. \"And now allow me to request you to lay on the table everything in your possession, especially all the money you still have about you.\"\n\"My money, gentlemen? Certainly. I understand that that is necessary. I'm surprised, indeed, that you haven't inquired about it before. It's true I couldn't get away anywhere. I'm sitting here where I can be seen. But here's my money—count it—take it. That's all, I think.\"\nHe turned it all out of his pockets; even the small change—two pieces of twenty copecks—he pulled out of his waistcoat pocket. They counted the money, which amounted to eight hundred and thirty-six roubles, and forty copecks.\n\"And is that all?\" asked the investigating lawyer.\n\"Yes.\"", "chosen": "Yes", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nYes\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-056-02-773a170c", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nShe was wild to be at home--to hear, to see, to be upon the spot to share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a family so deranged; a father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, and requiring constant attendance; and though almost persuaded that nothing could be done for Lydia, her uncle's interference seemed of the utmost importance, and till he entered the room the misery of her impatience was severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm, supposing, by the servant's account, that their niece was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them instantly on that head, she eagerly communicated the cause of their summons, reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling on the postscript of the last with trembling energy. Though Lydia had never been a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but be deeply affected. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and after the first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner readily promised every assistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting no less, thanked him with tears of gratitude; and all three being actuated by one spirit, everything relating to their journey was speedily settled. They were to be off as soon as possible. \"But what is to be done about Pemberley?\" cried Mrs. Gardiner. \"John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us;--was it so?\"\n\"Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement. That is all settled.\"\n\"What is all settled?\" repeated the other, as she ran into her room to prepare. \"And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real truth? Oh, that I knew how it was!\"\nBut wishes were vain; or, at best, could serve only to amuse her in the hurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure to be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was impossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share of business as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to be written to all their friends at Lambton, with false excuses for their sudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole completed; and Mr. Gardiner, meanwhile, having settled his account at the inn, nothing remained to be done but to go; and Elizabeth, after all the misery of the morning, found herself, in a shorter space of time than she could have supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.", "chosen": "[\"Jane\", \"Lydia\", \"Pemberley\", \"John\", \"Elizabeth\", \"Lambton\", \"Longbourn\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Jane\", \"Lydia\", \"Pemberley\", \"John\", \"Elizabeth\", \"Lambton\", \"Longbourn\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1342-046-02-065f94c1", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Our deeds still travel with us from afar, And what we have been makes us what we are.\"\nBulstrode's first object after Lydgate had left Stone Court was to examine Raffles's pockets, which he imagined were sure to carry signs in the shape of hotel-bills of the places he had stopped in, if he had not told the truth in saying that he had come straight from Liverpool because he was ill and had no money. There were various bills crammed into his pocketbook, but none of a later date than Christmas at any other place, except one, which bore date that morning. This was crumpled up with a hand-bill about a horse-fair in one of his tail-pockets, and represented the cost of three days' stay at an inn at Bilkley, where the fair was held—a town at least forty miles from Middlemarch. The bill was heavy, and since Raffles had no luggage with him, it seemed probable that he had left his portmanteau behind in payment, in order to save money for his travelling fare; for his purse was empty, and he had only a couple of sixpences and some loose pence in his pockets.\nBulstrode gathered a sense of safety from these indications that Raffles had really kept at a distance from Middlemarch since his memorable visit at Christmas. At a distance and among people who were strangers to Bulstrode, what satisfaction could there be to Raffles's tormenting, self-magnifying vein in telling old scandalous stories about a Middlemarch banker? And what harm if he did talk? The chief point now was to keep watch over him as long as there was any danger of that intelligible raving, that unaccountable impulse to tell, which seemed to have acted towards Caleb Garth; and Bulstrode felt much anxiety lest some such impulse should come over him at the sight of Lydgate. He sat up alone with him through the night, only ordering the housekeeper to lie down in her clothes, so as to be ready when he called her, alleging his own indisposition to sleep, and his anxiety to carry out the doctor's orders. He did carry them out faithfully, although Raffles was incessantly asking for brandy, and declaring that he was sinking away—that the earth was sinking away from under him. He was restless and sleepless, but still quailing and manageable. On the offer of the food ordered by Lydgate, which he refused, and the denial of other things which he demanded, he seemed to concentrate all his terror on Bulstrode, imploringly deprecating his anger, his revenge on him by starvation, and declaring with strong oaths that he had never told any mortal a word against him. Even this Bulstrode felt that he would not have liked Lydgate to hear; but a more alarming sign of fitful alternation in his delirium was, that in-the morning twilight Raffles suddenly seemed to imagine a doctor present, addressing him and declaring that Bulstrode wanted to starve him to death out of revenge for telling, when he never had told.\nBulstrode's native imperiousness and strength of determination served him well. This delicate-looking man, himself nervously perturbed, found the needed stimulus in his strenuous circumstances, and through that difficult night and morning, while he had the air of an animated corpse returned to movement without warmth, holding the mastery by its chill impassibility, his mind was intensely at work thinking of what he had to guard against and what would win him security. Whatever prayers he might lift up, whatever statements he might inwardly make of this man's wretched spiritual condition, and the duty he himself was under to submit to the punishment divinely appointed for him rather than to wish for evil to another—through all this effort to condense words into a solid mental state, there pierced and spread with irresistible vividness the images of the events he desired. And in the train of those images came their apology. He could not but see the death of Raffles, and see in it his own deliverance. What was the removal of this wretched creature? He was impenitent—but were not public criminals impenitent?—yet the law decided on their fate. Should Providence in this case award death, there was no sin in contemplating death as the desirable issue—if he kept his hands from hastening it—if he scrupulously did what was prescribed. Even here there might be a mistake: human prescriptions were fallible things: Lydgate had said that treatment had hastened death,—why not his own method of treatment? But of course intention was everything in the question of right and wrong.\nAnd Bulstrode set himself to keep his intention separate from his desire. He inwardly declared that he intended to obey orders. Why should he have got into any argument about the validity of these orders? It was only the common trick of desire—which avails itself of any irrelevant scepticism, finding larger room for itself in all uncertainty about effects, in every obscurity that looks like the absence of law. Still, he did obey the orders.\nHis anxieties continually glanced towards Lydgate, and his remembrance of what had taken place between them the morning before was accompanied with sensibilities which had not been roused at all during the actual scene. He had then cared but little about Lydgate's painful impressions with regard to the suggested change in the Hospital, or about the disposition towards himself which what he held to be his justifiable refusal of a rather exorbitant request might call forth. He recurred to the scene now with a perception that he had probably made Lydgate his enemy, and with an awakened desire to propitiate him, or rather to create in him a strong sense of personal obligation. He regretted that he had not at once made even an unreasonable money-sacrifice. For in case of unpleasant suspicions, or even knowledge gathered from the raving of Raffles, Bulstrode would have felt that he had a defence in Lydgate's mind by having conferred a momentous benefit on him. But the regret had perhaps come too late.\nStrange, piteous conflict in the soul of this unhappy man, who had longed for years to be better than he was—who had taken his selfish passions into discipline and clad them in severe robes, so that he had walked with them as a devout choir, till now that a terror had risen among them, and they could chant no longer, but threw out their common cries for safety.\nIt was nearly the middle of the day before Lydgate arrived: he had meant to come earlier, but had been detained, he said; and his shattered looks were noticed by Balstrode. But he immediately threw himself into the consideration of the patient, and inquired strictly into all that had occurred. Raffles was worse, would take hardly any food, was persistently wakeful and restlessly raving; but still not violent. Contrary to Bulstrode's alarmed expectation, he took little notice of Lydgate's presence, and continued to talk or murmur incoherently.\n\"What do you think of him?\" said Bulstrode, in private.\n\"The symptoms are worse.\"\n\"You are less hopeful?\"\n\"No; I still think he may come round. Are you going to stay here yourself?\" said Lydgate, looking at Bulstrode with an abrupt question, which made him uneasy, though in reality it was not due to any suspicious conjecture.\n\"Yes, I think so,\" said Bulstrode, governing himself and speaking with deliberation. \"Mrs. Bulstrode is advised of the reasons which detain me. Mrs. Abel and her husband are not experienced enough to be left quite alone, and this kind of responsibility is scarcely included in their service of me. You have some fresh instructions, I presume.\"\nThe chief new instruction that Lydgate had to give was on the administration of extremely moderate doses of opium, in case of the sleeplessness continuing after several hours. He had taken the precaution of bringing opium in his pocket, and he gave minute directions to Bulstrode as to the doses, and the point at which they should cease. He insisted on the risk of not ceasing; and repeated his order that no alcohol should be given.\n\"From what I see of the case,\" he ended, \"narcotism is the only thing I should be much afraid of. He may wear through even without much food. There's a good deal of strength in him.\"", "chosen": "Our, There, This, The, Bulstrode, At, And, The, He, He, He, On, Even, Bulstrode's, This, Whatever, And, He, What, He, Should, Even, But, And, He, Why, It, Still,, His, He, He, He, For, But, Strange,, It, But, Raffles, Contrary, What, The, Are, Yes,, Mrs., Bulstrode, Mrs., Abel, You, He, He, From, He, There's", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nOur, There, This, The, Bulstrode, At, And, The, He, He, He, On, Even, Bulstrode's, This, Whatever, And, He, What, He, Should, Even, But, And, He, Why, It, Still,, His, He, He, He, For, But, Strange,, It, But, Raffles, Contrary, What, The, Are, Yes,, Mrs., Bulstrode, Mrs., Abel, You, He, He, From, He, There's\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-070-00-eac16e0c", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nAs Queequeg and I are now fairly embarked in this business of whaling; and as this business of whaling has somehow come to be regarded among landsmen as a rather unpoetical and disreputable pursuit; therefore, I am all anxiety to convince ye, ye landsmen, of the injustice hereby done to us hunters of whales.\nIn the first place, it may be deemed almost superfluous to establish the fact, that among people at large, the business of whaling is not accounted on a level with what are called the liberal professions. If a stranger were introduced into any miscellaneous metropolitan society, it would but slightly advance the general opinion of his merits, were he presented to the company as a harpooneer, say; and if in emulation of the naval officers he should append the initials S.W.F. (Sperm Whale Fishery) to his visiting card, such a procedure would be deemed pre-eminently presuming and ridiculous.\nDoubtless one leading reason why the world declines honoring us whalemen, is this: they think that, at best, our vocation amounts to a butchering sort of business; and that when actively engaged therein, we are surrounded by all manner of defilements. Butchers we are, that is true. But butchers, also, and butchers of the bloodiest badge have been all Martial Commanders whom the world invariably delights to honor. And as for the matter of the alleged uncleanliness of our business, ye shall soon be initiated into certain facts hitherto pretty generally unknown, and which, upon the whole, will triumphantly plant the sperm whale-ship at least among the cleanliest things of this tidy earth. But even granting the charge in question to be true; what disordered slippery decks of a whale-ship are comparable to the unspeakable carrion of those battle-fields from which so many soldiers return to drink in all ladies' plaudits? And if the idea of peril so much enhances the popular conceit of the soldier's profession; let me assure ye that many a veteran who has freely marched up to a battery, would quickly recoil at the apparition of the sperm whale's vast tail, fanning into eddies the air over his head. For what are the comprehensible terrors of man compared with the interlinked terrors and wonders of God!\nBut, though the world scouts at us whale hunters, yet does it unwittingly pay us the profoundest homage; yea, an all-abounding adoration! for almost all the tapers, lamps, and candles that burn round the globe, burn, as before so many shrines, to our glory!\nBut look at this matter in other lights; weigh it in all sorts of scales; see what we whalemen are, and have been.\nWhy did the Dutch in De Witt's time have admirals of their whaling fleets? Why did Louis XVI. of France, at his own personal expense, fit out whaling ships from Dunkirk, and politely invite to that town some score or two of families from our own island of Nantucket? Why did Britain between the years 1750 and 1788 pay to her whalemen in bounties upwards of £1,000,000? And lastly, how comes it that we whalemen of America now outnumber all the rest of the banded whalemen in the world; sail a navy of upwards of seven hundred vessels; manned by eighteen thousand men; yearly consuming 4,000,000 of dollars; the ships worth, at the time of sailing, $20,000,000! and every year importing into our harbors a well reaped harvest of $7,000,000. How comes all this, if there be not something puissant in whaling?\nBut this is not the half; look again.\nI freely assert, that the cosmopolite philosopher cannot, for his life, point out one single peaceful influence, which within the last sixty years has operated more potentially upon the whole broad world, taken in one aggregate, than the high and mighty business of whaling. One way and another, it has begotten events so remarkable in themselves, and so continuously momentous in their sequential issues, that whaling may well be regarded as that Egyptian mother, who bore offspring themselves pregnant from her womb. It would be a hopeless, endless task to catalogue all these things. Let a handful suffice. For many years past the whale-ship has been the pioneer in ferreting out the remotest and least known parts of the earth. She has explored seas and archipelagoes which had no chart, where no Cook or Vancouver had ever sailed. If American and European men-of-war now peacefully ride in once savage harbors, let them fire salutes to the honor and glory of the whale-ship, which originally showed them the way, and first interpreted between them and the savages. They may celebrate as they will the heroes of Exploring Expeditions, your Cooks, your Krusensterns; but I say that scores of anonymous Captains have sailed out of Nantucket, that were as great, and greater than your Cook and your Krusenstern. For in their succourless empty-handedness, they, in the heathenish sharked waters, and by the beaches of unrecorded, javelin islands, battled with virgin wonders and terrors that Cook with all his marines and muskets would not willingly have dared. All that is made such a flourish of in the old South Sea Voyages, those things were but the life-time commonplaces of our heroic Nantucketers. Often, adventures which Vancouver dedicates three chapters to, these men accounted unworthy of being set down in the ship's common log. Ah, the world! Oh, the world!\nUntil the whale fishery rounded Cape Horn, no commerce but colonial, scarcely any intercourse but colonial, was carried on between Europe and the long line of the opulent Spanish provinces on the Pacific coast. It was the whaleman who first broke through the jealous policy of the Spanish crown, touching those colonies; and, if space permitted, it might be distinctly shown how from those whalemen at last eventuated the liberation of Peru, Chili, and Bolivia from the yoke of Old Spain, and the establishment of the eternal democracy in those parts.\nThat great America on the other side of the sphere, Australia, was given to the enlightened world by the whaleman. After its first blunder-born discovery by a Dutchman, all other ships long shunned those shores as pestiferously barbarous; but the whale-ship touched there. The whale-ship is the true mother of that now mighty colony. Moreover, in the infancy of the first Australian settlement, the emigrants were several times saved from starvation by the benevolent biscuit of the whale-ship luckily dropping an anchor in their waters. The uncounted isles of all Polynesia confess the same truth, and do commercial homage to the whale-ship, that cleared the way for the missionary and the merchant, and in many cases carried the primitive missionaries to their first destinations. If that double-bolted land, Japan, is ever to become hospitable, it is the whale-ship alone to whom the credit will be due; for already she is on the threshold.\nBut if, in the face of all this, you still declare that whaling has no æsthetically noble associations connected with it, then am I ready to shiver fifty lances with you there, and unhorse you with a split helmet every time.\nThe whale has no famous author, and whaling no famous chronicler, you will say.\nThe whale no famous author, and whaling no famous chronicler? Who wrote the first account of our Leviathan? Who but mighty Job! And who composed the first narrative of a whaling-voyage? Who, but no less a prince than Alfred the Great, who, with his own royal pen, took down the words from Other, the Norwegian whale-hunter of those times! And who pronounced our glowing eulogy in Parliament? Who, but Edmund Burke!\nTrue enough, but then whalemen themselves are poor devils; they have no good blood in their veins.\nNo good blood in their veins? They have something better than royal blood there. The grandmother of Benjamin Franklin was Mary Morrel; afterwards, by marriage, Mary Folger, one of the old settlers of Nantucket, and the ancestress to a long line of Folgers and harpooneers—all kith and kin to noble Benjamin—this day darting the barbed iron from one side of the world to the other.\nGood again; but then all confess that somehow whaling is not respectable.\nWhaling not respectable? Whaling is imperial! By old English statutory law, the whale is declared \"a royal fish.\" *\nOh, that's only nominal! The whale himself has never figured in any grand imposing way.", "chosen": "61", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n61\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-2701-023-00-518bc9ac", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nIn the outer room Toodles, who had been waiting perched on the edge of a table, advanced to meet him, subduing his natural buoyancy.\n\"Well? Satisfactory?\" he asked, with airy importance.\n\"Perfectly. You've earned my undying gratitude,\" answered the Assistant Commissioner, whose long face looked wooden in contrast with the peculiar character of the other's gravity, which seemed perpetually ready to break into ripples and chuckles.\n\"That's all right. But seriously, you can't imagine how irritated he is by the attacks on his Bill for the Nationalisation of Fisheries. They call it the beginning of social revolution. Of course, it is a revolutionary measure. But these fellows have no decency. The personal attacks—\"\n\"I read the papers,\" remarked the Assistant Commissioner.\n\"Odious? Eh? And you have no notion what a mass of work he has got to get through every day. He does it all himself. Seems unable to trust anyone with these Fisheries.\"\n\"And yet he's given a whole half hour to the consideration of my very small sprat,\" interjected the Assistant Commissioner.\n\"Small! Is it? I'm glad to hear that. But it's a pity you didn't keep away, then. This fight takes it out of him frightfully. The man's getting exhausted. I feel it by the way he leans on my arm as we walk over. And, I say, is he safe in the streets? Mullins has been marching his men up here this afternoon. There's a constable stuck by every lamp-post, and every second person we meet between this and Palace Yard is an obvious 'tec.' It will get on his nerves presently. I say, these foreign scoundrels aren't likely to throw something at him—are they? It would be a national calamity. The country can't spare him.\"\n\"Not to mention yourself. He leans on your arm,\" suggested the Assistant Commissioner soberly. \"You would both go.\"\n\"It would be an easy way for a young man to go down into history? Not so many British Ministers have been assassinated as to make it a minor incident. But seriously now—\"\n\"I am afraid that if you want to go down into history you'll have to do something for it. Seriously, there's no danger whatever for both of you but from overwork.\"\nThe sympathetic Toodles welcomed this opening for a chuckle.\n\"The Fisheries won't kill me. I am used to late hours,\" he declared, with ingenuous levity. But, feeling an instant compunction, he began to assume an air of statesman-like moodiness, as one draws on a glove. \"His massive intellect will stand any amount of work. It's his nerves that I am afraid of. The reactionary gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman at their head, insult him every night.\"\n\"If he will insist on beginning a revolution!\" murmured the Assistant Commissioner.\n\"The time has come, and he is the only man great enough for the work,\" protested the revolutionary Toodles, flaring up under the calm, speculative gaze of the Assistant Commissioner. Somewhere in a corridor a distant bell tinkled urgently, and with devoted vigilance the young man pricked up his ears at the sound. \"He's ready to go now,\" he exclaimed in a whisper, snatched up his hat, and vanished from the room.\nThe Assistant Commissioner went out by another door in a less elastic manner. Again he crossed the wide thoroughfare, walked along a narrow street, and re-entered hastily his own departmental buildings. He kept up this accelerated pace to the door of his private room. Before he had closed it fairly his eyes sought his desk. He stood still for a moment, then walked up, looked all round on the floor, sat down in his chair, rang a bell, and waited.\n\"Chief Inspector Heat gone yet?\"\n\"Yes, sir. Went away half-an-hour ago.\"\nHe nodded. \"That will do.\" And sitting still, with his hat pushed off his forehead, he thought that it was just like Heat's confounded cheek to carry off quietly the only piece of material evidence. But he thought this without animosity. Old and valued servants will take liberties. The piece of overcoat with the address sewn on was certainly not a thing to leave about. Dismissing from his mind this manifestation of Chief Inspector Heat's mistrust, he wrote and despatched a note to his wife, charging her to make his apologies to Michaelis' great lady, with whom they were engaged to dine that evening.\nThe short jacket and the low, round hat he assumed in a sort of curtained alcove containing a washstand, a row of wooden pegs and a shelf, brought out wonderfully the length of his grave, brown face. He stepped back into the full light of the room, looking like the vision of a cool, reflective Don Quixote, with the sunken eyes of a dark enthusiast and a very deliberate manner. He left the scene of his daily labours quickly like an unobtrusive shadow. His descent into the street was like the descent into a slimy aquarium from which the water had been run off. A murky, gloomy dampness enveloped him. The walls of the houses were wet, the mud of the roadway glistened with an effect of phosphorescence, and when he emerged into the Strand out of a narrow street by the side of Charing Cross Station the genius of the locality assimilated him. He might have been but one more of the queer foreign fish that can be seen of an evening about there flitting round the dark corners.\nHe came to a stand on the very edge of the pavement, and waited. His exercised eyes had made out in the confused movements of lights and shadows thronging the roadway the crawling approach of a hansom. He gave no sign; but when the low step gliding along the curbstone came to his feet he dodged in skilfully in front of the big turning wheel, and spoke up through the little trap door almost before the man gazing supinely ahead from his perch was aware of having been boarded by a fare.\nIt was not a long drive. It ended by signal abruptly, nowhere in particular, between two lamp-posts before a large drapery establishment—a long range of shops already lapped up in sheets of corrugated iron for the night. Tendering a coin through the trap door the fare slipped out and away, leaving an effect of uncanny, eccentric ghastliness upon the driver's mind. But the size of the coin was satisfactory to his touch, and his education not being literary, he remained untroubled by the fear of finding it presently turned to a dead leaf in his pocket. Raised above the world of fares by the nature of his calling, he contemplated their actions with a limited interest. The sharp pulling of his horse right round expressed his philosophy.\nMeantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his order to a waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the corner—one of those traps for the hungry, long and narrow, baited with a perspective of mirrors and white napery; without air, but with an atmosphere of their own—an atmosphere of fraudulent cookery mocking an abject mankind in the most pressing of its miserable necessities. In this immoral atmosphere the Assistant Commissioner, reflecting upon his enterprise, seemed to lose some more of his identity. He had a sense of loneliness, of evil freedom. It was rather pleasant. When, after paying for his short meal, he stood up and waited for his change, he saw himself in the sheet of glass, and was struck by his foreign appearance. He contemplated his own image with a melancholy and inquisitive gaze, then by sudden inspiration raised the collar of his jacket. This arrangement appeared to him commendable, and he completed it by giving an upward twist to the ends of his black moustache. He was satisfied by the subtle modification of his personal aspect caused by these small changes. \"That'll do very well,\" he thought. \"I'll get a little wet, a little splashed—\"\nHe became aware of the waiter at his elbow and of a small pile of silver coins on the edge of the table before him. The waiter kept one eye on it, while his other eye followed the long back of a tall, not very young girl, who passed up to a distant table looking perfectly sightless and altogether unapproachable. She seemed to be a habitual customer.", "chosen": "Meantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his order to a waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the corner—one of those traps for the hungry, long and narrow, baited with a perspective of mirrors and white napery; without air, but with an atmosphere of their own—an atmosphere of fraudulent cookery mocking an abject mankind in the most pressing of its miserable necessities.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nMeantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his order to a waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the corner—one of those traps for the hungry, long and narrow, baited with a perspective of mirrors and white napery; without air, but with an atmosphere of their own—an atmosphere of fraudulent cookery mocking an abject mankind in the most pressing of its miserable necessities.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-974-005-02-4cbe30d9", "source": "pg-974", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Why, whoever rubs the lamp or the ring. They belong to whoever rubs the lamp or the ring, and they've got to do whatever he says. If he tells them to build a palace forty miles long out of di'monds, and fill it full of chewing-gum, or whatever you want, and fetch an emperor's daughter from China for you to marry, they've got to do it—and they've got to do it before sun-up next morning, too. And more: they've got to waltz that palace around over the country wherever you want it, you understand.\"\n\"Well,\" says I, \"I think they are a pack of flat-heads for not keeping the palace themselves 'stead of fooling them away like that. And what's more—if I was one of them I would see a man in Jericho before I would drop my business and come to him for the rubbing of an old tin lamp.\"\n\"How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you'd have to come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to or not.\"\n\"What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church? All right, then; I would come; but I lay I'd make that man climb the highest tree there was in the country.\"\n\"Shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, Huck Finn. You don't seem to know anything, somehow—perfect saphead.\"\nI thought all this over for two or three days, and then I reckoned I would see if there was anything in it. I got an old tin lamp and an iron ring, and went out in the woods and rubbed and rubbed till I sweat like an Injun, calculating to build a palace and sell it; but it warn't no use, none of the genies come. So then I judged that all that stuff was only just one of Tom Sawyer's lies. I reckoned he believed in the A-rabs and the elephants, but as for me I think different. It had all the marks of a Sunday-school.", "chosen": "[\"Well,\", \"How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you'd have to come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to or not.\", \"What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church? All right, then; I would come; but I lay I'd make that man climb the highest tree there was in the country.\", \"Shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, Huck Finn. You don't seem to know anything, somehow\\u2014perfect saphead.\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Well,\", \"How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you'd have to come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to or not.\", \"What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church? All right, then; I would come; but I lay I'd make that man climb the highest tree there was in the country.\", \"Shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, Huck Finn. You don't seem to know anything, somehow\\u2014perfect saphead.\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-76-003-01-daff8707", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"At that point one of the lawyers asked him, as it were incidentally, the most simple question, 'Wasn't it Smerdyakov killed him?' Then, as we expected, he was horribly angry at our having anticipated him and caught him unawares, before he had time to pave the way to choose and snatch the moment when it would be most natural to bring in Smerdyakov's name. He rushed at once to the other extreme, as he always does, and began to assure us that Smerdyakov could not have killed him, was not capable of it. But don't believe him, that was only his cunning; he didn't really give up the idea of Smerdyakov; on the contrary, he meant to bring him forward again; for, indeed, he had no one else to bring forward, but he would do that later, because for the moment that line was spoiled for him. He would bring him forward perhaps next day, or even a few days later, choosing an opportunity to cry out to us, 'You know I was more skeptical about Smerdyakov than you, you remember that yourselves, but now I am convinced. He killed him, he must have done!' And for the present he falls back upon a gloomy and irritable denial. Impatience and anger prompted him, however, to the most inept and incredible explanation of how he looked into his father's window and how he respectfully withdrew. The worst of it was that he was unaware of the position of affairs, of the evidence given by Grigory.\n\"We proceeded to search him. The search angered, but encouraged him, the whole three thousand had not been found on him, only half of it. And no doubt only at that moment of angry silence, the fiction of the little bag first occurred to him. No doubt he was conscious himself of the improbability of the story and strove painfully to make it sound more likely, to weave it into a romance that would sound plausible. In such cases the first duty, the chief task of the investigating lawyers, is to prevent the criminal being prepared, to pounce upon him unexpectedly so that he may blurt out his cherished ideas in all their simplicity, improbability and inconsistency. The criminal can only be made to speak by the sudden and apparently incidental communication of some new fact, of some circumstance of great importance in the case, of which he had no previous idea and could not have foreseen. We had such a fact in readiness—that was Grigory's evidence about the open door through which the prisoner had run out. He had completely forgotten about that door and had not even suspected that Grigory could have seen it.\n\"The effect of it was amazing. He leapt up and shouted to us, 'Then Smerdyakov murdered him, it was Smerdyakov!' and so betrayed the basis of the defense he was keeping back, and betrayed it in its most improbable shape, for Smerdyakov could only have committed the murder after he had knocked Grigory down and run away. When we told him that Grigory saw the door was open before he fell down, and had heard Smerdyakov behind the screen as he came out of his bedroom—Karamazov was positively crushed. My esteemed and witty colleague, Nikolay Parfenovitch, told me afterwards that he was almost moved to tears at the sight of him. And to improve matters, the prisoner hastened to tell us about the much-talked-of little bag—so be it, you shall hear this romance!\n\"Gentlemen of the jury, I have told you already why I consider this romance not only an absurdity, but the most improbable invention that could have been brought forward in the circumstances. If one tried for a bet to invent the most unlikely story, one could hardly find anything more incredible. The worst of such stories is that the triumphant romancers can always be put to confusion and crushed by the very details in which real life is so rich and which these unhappy and involuntary story-tellers neglect as insignificant trifles. Oh, they have no thought to spare for such details, their minds are concentrated on their grand invention as a whole, and fancy any one daring to pull them up for a trifle! But that's how they are caught. The prisoner was asked the question, 'Where did you get the stuff for your little bag and who made it for you?' 'I made it myself.' 'And where did you get the linen?' The prisoner was positively offended, he thought it almost insulting to ask him such a trivial question, and would you believe it, his resentment was genuine! But they are all like that. 'I tore it off my shirt.' 'Then we shall find that shirt among your linen to-morrow, with a piece torn off.' And only fancy, gentlemen of the jury, if we really had found that torn shirt (and how could we have failed to find it in his chest of drawers or trunk?) that would have been a fact, a material fact in support of his statement! But he was incapable of that reflection. 'I don't remember, it may not have been off my shirt, I sewed it up in one of my landlady's caps.' 'What sort of a cap?' 'It was an old cotton rag of hers lying about.' 'And do you remember that clearly?' 'No, I don't.' And he was angry, very angry, and yet imagine not remembering it! At the most terrible moments of man's life, for instance when he is being led to execution, he remembers just such trifles. He will forget anything but some green roof that has flashed past him on the road, or a jackdaw on a cross—that he will remember. He concealed the making of that little bag from his household, he must have remembered his humiliating fear that some one might come in and find him needle in hand, how at the slightest sound he slipped behind the screen (there is a screen in his lodgings).\n\"But, gentlemen of the jury, why do I tell you all this, all these details, trifles?\" cried Ippolit Kirillovitch suddenly. \"Just because the prisoner still persists in these absurdities to this moment. He has not explained anything since that fatal night two months ago, he has not added one actual illuminating fact to his former fantastic statements; all those are trivialities. 'You must believe it on my honor.' Oh, we are glad to believe it, we are eager to believe it, even if only on his word of honor! Are we jackals thirsting for human blood? Show us a single fact in the prisoner's favor and we shall rejoice; but let it be a substantial, real fact, and not a conclusion drawn from the prisoner's expression by his own brother, or that when he beat himself on the breast he must have meant to point to the little bag, in the darkness, too. We shall rejoice at the new fact, we shall be the first to repudiate our charge, we shall hasten to repudiate it. But now justice cries out and we persist, we cannot repudiate anything.\"\nIppolit Kirillovitch passed to his final peroration. He looked as though he was in a fever, he spoke of the blood that cried for vengeance, the blood of the father murdered by his son, with the base motive of robbery! He pointed to the tragic and glaring consistency of the facts.", "chosen": "facts", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nfacts\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-086-02-cd46235f", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe conversation which arose between the Bishop and Lady Constantine was of that lively and reproductive kind which cannot be ended during any reasonable halt of two people going in opposite directions. He turned, and walked with her along the laurel-screened lane that bordered the churchyard, till their voices died away in the distance. Swithin then aroused himself from his thoughtful regard of them, and went out of the churchyard by another gate.\nSeeing himself now to be left alone on the scene, Louis Glanville descended from his post of observation in the arbour. He came through the private doorway, and on to that spot among the graves where the Bishop and St. Cleeve had conversed. On the tombstone still lay the coral bracelet which Dr. Helmsdale had flung down there in his indignation; for the agitated, introspective mood into which Swithin had been thrown had banished from his mind all thought of securing the trinket and putting it in his pocket.\nLouis picked up the little red scandal-breeding thing, and while walking on with it in his hand he observed Tabitha Lark approaching the church, in company with the young blower whom she had gone in search of to inspire her organ-practising within. Louis immediately put together, with that rare diplomatic keenness of which he was proud, the little scene he had witnessed between Tabitha and Swithin during the confirmation, and the Bishop's stern statement as to where he had found the bracelet. He had no longer any doubt that it belonged to her.\n'Poor girl!' he said to himself, and sang in an undertone--\n'Tra deri, dera, L'histoire n'est pas nouvelle!'\nWhen she drew nearer Louis called her by name. She sent the boy into the church, and came forward, blushing at having been called by so fine a gentleman. Louis held out the bracelet.\n'Here is something I have found, or somebody else has found,' he said to her. 'I won't state where. Put it away, and say no more about it. I will not mention it either. Now go on into the church where you are going, and may Heaven have mercy on your soul, my dear.'\n'Thank you, sir,' said Tabitha, with some perplexity, yet inclined to be pleased, and only recognizing in the situation the fact that Lady Constantine's humorous brother was making her a present.\n'You are much obliged to me?'\n'O yes!'\n'Well, Miss Lark, I've discovered a secret, you see.'\n'What may that be, Mr. Glanville?'\n'That you are in love.'\n'I don't admit it, sir. Who told you so?'\n'Nobody. Only I put two and two together. Now take my advice. Beware of lovers! They are a bad lot, and bring young women to tears.'\n'Some do, I dare say. But some don't.'\n'And you think that in your particular case the latter alternative will hold good? We generally think we shall be lucky ourselves, though all the world before us, in the same situation, have been otherwise.'\n'O yes, or we should die outright of despair.'\n'Well, I don't think you will be lucky in your case.'\n'Please how do you know so much, since my case has not yet arrived?' asked Tabitha, tossing her head a little disdainfully, but less than she might have done if he had not obtained a charter for his discourse by giving her the bracelet.\n'Fie, Tabitha!'\n'I tell you it has not arrived!' she said, with some anger. 'I have not got a lover, and everybody knows I haven't, and it's an insinuating thing for you to say so!'\nLouis laughed, thinking how natural it was that a girl should so emphatically deny circumstances that would not bear curious inquiry.\n'Why, of course I meant myself,' he said soothingly. 'So, then, you will not accept me?'\n'I didn't know you meant yourself,' she replied. 'But I won't accept you. And I think you ought not to jest on such subjects.'\n'Well, perhaps not. However, don't let the Bishop see your bracelet, and all will be well. But mind, lovers are deceivers.'\nTabitha laughed, and they parted, the girl entering the church. She had been feeling almost certain that, having accidentally found the bracelet somewhere, he had presented it in a whim to her as the first girl he met. Yet now she began to have momentary doubts whether he had not been labouring under a mistake, and had imagined her to be the owner. The bracelet was not valuable; it was, in fact, a mere toy,--the pair of which this was one being a little present made to Lady Constantine by Swithin on the day of their marriage; and she had not worn them with sufficient frequency out of doors for Tabitha to recognize either as positively her ladyship's. But when, out of sight of the blower, the girl momentarily tried it on, in a corner by the organ, it seemed to her that the ornament was possibly Lady Constantine's. Now that the pink beads shone before her eyes on her own arm she remembered having seen a bracelet with just such an effect gracing the wrist of Lady Constantine upon one occasion. A temporary self-surrender to the sophism that if Mr. Louis Glanville chose to give away anything belonging to his sister, she, Tabitha, had a right to take it without question, was soon checked by a resolve to carry the tempting strings of coral to her ladyship that evening, and inquire the truth about them. This decided on she slipped the bracelet into her pocket, and played her voluntaries with a light heart.\nBishop Helmsdale did not tear himself away from Welland till about two o'clock that afternoon, which was three hours later than he had intended to leave. It was with a feeling of relief that Swithin, looking from the top of the tower, saw the carriage drive out from the vicarage into the turnpike road, and whirl the right reverend gentleman again towards Warborne. The coast being now clear of him Swithin meditated how to see Viviette, and explain what had happened. With this in view he waited where he was till evening came on.\nMeanwhile Lady Constantine and her brother dined by themselves at Welland House. They had not met since the morning, and as soon as they were left alone Louis said, 'You have done very well so far; but you might have been a little warmer.'\n'Done well?' she asked, with surprise.\n'Yes, with the Bishop. The difficult question is how to follow up our advantage. How are you to keep yourself in sight of him?'\n'Heavens, Louis! You don't seriously mean that the Bishop of Melchester has any feelings for me other than friendly?'\n'Viviette, this is affectation. You know he has as well as I do.'\nShe sighed. 'Yes,' she said. 'I own I had a suspicion of the same thing. What a misfortune!'\n'A misfortune? Surely the world is turned upside down! You will drive me to despair about our future if you see things so awry. Exert yourself to do something, so as to make of this accident a stepping-stone to higher things. The gentleman will give us the slip if we don't pursue the friendship at once.'\n'I cannot have you talk like this,' she cried impatiently. 'I have no more thought of the Bishop than I have of the Pope. I would much rather not have had him here to lunch at all. You said it would be necessary to do it, and an opportunity, and I thought it my duty to show some hospitality when he was coming so near, Mr. Torkingham's house being so small. But of course I understood that the opportunity would be one for you in getting to know him, your prospects being so indefinite at present; not one for me.'\n'If you don't follow up this chance of being spiritual queen of Melchester, you will never have another of being anything. Mind this, Viviette: you are not so young as you were. You are getting on to be a middle-aged woman, and your black hair is precisely of the sort which time quickly turns grey. You must make up your mind to grizzled bachelors or widowers. Young marriageable men won't look at you; or if they do just now, in a year or two more they'll despise you as an antiquated party.'", "chosen": "[\"Bishop\", \"Constantine\", \"Louis\", \"Glanville\", \"Swithin\", \"Tabitha\", \"Lark\", \"Heaven\", \"Helmsdale\", \"Welland\", \"Warborne\", \"Viviette\", \"House\", \"Melchester\", \"Pope\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Bishop\", \"Constantine\", \"Louis\", \"Glanville\", \"Swithin\", \"Tabitha\", \"Lark\", \"Heaven\", \"Helmsdale\", \"Welland\", \"Warborne\", \"Viviette\", \"House\", \"Melchester\", \"Pope\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-3146-027-00-43bb1cd9", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nBut Mitya did not hear. He was frantically praying and muttering to himself.\n\"Lord, receive me, with all my lawlessness, and do not condemn me. Let me pass by Thy judgment ... do not condemn me, for I have condemned myself, do not condemn me, for I love Thee, O Lord. I am a wretch, but I love Thee. If Thou sendest me to hell, I shall love Thee there, and from there I shall cry out that I love Thee for ever and ever.... But let me love to the end.... Here and now for just five hours ... till the first light of Thy day ... for I love the queen of my soul ... I love her and I cannot help loving her. Thou seest my whole heart.... I shall gallop up, I shall fall before her and say, 'You are right to pass on and leave me. Farewell and forget your victim ... never fret yourself about me!'\"\n\"Mokroe!\" cried Andrey, pointing ahead with his whip.\nThrough the pale darkness of the night loomed a solid black mass of buildings, flung down, as it were, in the vast plain. The village of Mokroe numbered two thousand inhabitants, but at that hour all were asleep, and only here and there a few lights still twinkled.\n\"Drive on, Andrey, I come!\" Mitya exclaimed, feverishly.\n\"They're not asleep,\" said Andrey again, pointing with his whip to the Plastunovs' inn, which was at the entrance to the village. The six windows, looking on the street, were all brightly lighted up.\n\"They're not asleep,\" Mitya repeated joyously. \"Quicker, Andrey! Gallop! Drive up with a dash! Set the bells ringing! Let all know that I have come. I'm coming! I'm coming, too!\"\nAndrey lashed his exhausted team into a gallop, drove with a dash and pulled up his steaming, panting horses at the high flight of steps.\nMitya jumped out of the cart just as the innkeeper, on his way to bed, peeped out from the steps curious to see who had arrived.\n\"Trifon Borissovitch, is that you?\"\nThe innkeeper bent down, looked intently, ran down the steps, and rushed up to the guest with obsequious delight.\n\"Dmitri Fyodorovitch, your honor! Do I see you again?\"\nTrifon Borissovitch was a thick-set, healthy peasant, of middle height, with a rather fat face. His expression was severe and uncompromising, especially with the peasants of Mokroe, but he had the power of assuming the most obsequious countenance, when he had an inkling that it was to his interest. He dressed in Russian style, with a shirt buttoning down on one side, and a full-skirted coat. He had saved a good sum of money, but was for ever dreaming of improving his position. More than half the peasants were in his clutches, every one in the neighborhood was in debt to him. From the neighboring landowners he bought and rented lands which were worked by the peasants, in payment of debts which they could never shake off. He was a widower, with four grown-up daughters. One of them was already a widow and lived in the inn with her two children, his grandchildren, and worked for him like a charwoman. Another of his daughters was married to a petty official, and in one of the rooms of the inn, on the wall could be seen, among the family photographs, a miniature photograph of this official in uniform and official epaulettes. The two younger daughters used to wear fashionable blue or green dresses, fitting tight at the back, and with trains a yard long, on Church holidays or when they went to pay visits. But next morning they would get up at dawn, as usual, sweep out the rooms with a birch-broom, empty the slops, and clean up after lodgers.\nIn spite of the thousands of roubles he had saved, Trifon Borissovitch was very fond of emptying the pockets of a drunken guest, and remembering that not a month ago he had, in twenty-four hours, made two if not three hundred roubles out of Dmitri, when he had come on his escapade with Grushenka, he met him now with eager welcome, scenting his prey the moment Mitya drove up to the steps.\n\"Dmitri Fyodorovitch, dear sir, we see you once more!\"\n\"Stay, Trifon Borissovitch,\" began Mitya, \"first and foremost, where is she?\"\n\"Agrafena Alexandrovna?\" The inn-keeper understood at once, looking sharply into Mitya's face. \"She's here, too ...\"\n\"With whom? With whom?\"\n\"Some strangers. One is an official gentleman, a Pole, to judge from his speech. He sent the horses for her from here; and there's another with him, a friend of his, or a fellow traveler, there's no telling. They're dressed like civilians.\"\n\"Well, are they feasting? Have they money?\"\n\"Poor sort of a feast! Nothing to boast of, Dmitri Fyodorovitch.\"\n\"Nothing to boast of? And who are the others?\"\n\"They're two gentlemen from the town.... They've come back from Tcherny, and are putting up here. One's quite a young gentleman, a relative of Mr. Miüsov, he must be, but I've forgotten his name ... and I expect you know the other, too, a gentleman called Maximov. He's been on a pilgrimage, so he says, to the monastery in the town. He's traveling with this young relation of Mr. Miüsov.\"\n\"Is that all?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Stay, listen, Trifon Borissovitch. Tell me the chief thing: What of her? How is she?\"\n\"Oh, she's only just come. She's sitting with them.\"\n\"Is she cheerful? Is she laughing?\"\n\"No, I think she's not laughing much. She's sitting quite dull. She's combing the young gentleman's hair.\"\n\"The Pole—the officer?\"\n\"He's not young, and he's not an officer, either. Not him, sir. It's the young gentleman that's Mr. Miüsov's relation ... I've forgotten his name.\"\n\"Kalganov.\"\n\"That's it, Kalganov!\"\n\"All right. I'll see for myself. Are they playing cards?\"\n\"They have been playing, but they've left off. They've been drinking tea, the official gentleman asked for liqueurs.\"\n\"Stay, Trifon Borissovitch, stay, my good soul, I'll see for myself. Now answer one more question: are the gypsies here?\"\n\"You can't have the gypsies now, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. The authorities have sent them away. But we've Jews that play the cymbals and the fiddle in the village, so one might send for them. They'd come.\"\n\"Send for them. Certainly send for them!\" cried Mitya. \"And you can get the girls together as you did then, Marya especially, Stepanida, too, and Arina. Two hundred roubles for a chorus!\"\n\"Oh, for a sum like that I can get all the village together, though by now they're asleep. Are the peasants here worth such kindness, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, or the girls either? To spend a sum like that on such coarseness and rudeness! What's the good of giving a peasant a cigar to smoke, the stinking ruffian! And the girls are all lousy. Besides, I'll get my daughters up for nothing, let alone a sum like that. They've only just gone to bed, I'll give them a kick and set them singing for you. You gave the peasants champagne to drink the other day, e—ech!\"\nFor all his pretended compassion for Mitya, Trifon Borissovitch had hidden half a dozen bottles of champagne on that last occasion, and had picked up a hundred-rouble note under the table, and it had remained in his clutches.\n\"Trifon Borissovitch, I sent more than one thousand flying last time I was here. Do you remember?\"\n\"You did send it flying. I may well remember. You must have left three thousand behind you.\"\n\"Well, I've come to do the same again, do you see?\"\nAnd he pulled out his roll of notes, and held them up before the innkeeper's nose.\n\"Now, listen and remember. In an hour's time the wine will arrive, savories, pies, and sweets—bring them all up at once. That box Andrey has got is to be brought up at once, too. Open it, and hand champagne immediately. And the girls, we must have the girls, Marya especially.\"\nHe turned to the cart and pulled out the box of pistols.\n\"Here, Andrey, let's settle. Here's fifteen roubles for the drive, and fifty for vodka ... for your readiness, for your love.... Remember Karamazov!\"\n\"I'm afraid, sir,\" faltered Andrey. \"Give me five roubles extra, but more I won't take. Trifon Borissovitch, bear witness. Forgive my foolish words ...\"", "chosen": "But, He, Lord,, Let, do, I, If, But, Here, till, for, I, Thou, I, Farewell, never, Through, The, Drive, They're, The, They're, Quicker,, Gallop!, Drive, Set, Let, I'm, I'm, Mitya, Trifon, Dmitri, Do, His, He, He, More, From, He, One, Another, The, But, In, Dmitri, She's, With, One, He, They're, Have, Nothing, And, They've, One's, Miüsov,, and, He's, He's, Miüsov.\", Tell, How, She's, Is, She's, She's, Not, It's, Miüsov's, I've, I'll, Are, They've, Now, The, But, They'd, Certainly, And, Two, Are, To, What's, And, Besides,, They've, You, Trifon, Do, I, You, Now,, In, That, Open, And, Here,, Here's, for, Remember, Give, Trifon, Forgive", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nBut, He, Lord,, Let, do, I, If, But, Here, till, for, I, Thou, I, Farewell, never, Through, The, Drive, They're, The, They're, Quicker,, Gallop!, Drive, Set, Let, I'm, I'm, Mitya, Trifon, Dmitri, Do, His, He, He, More, From, He, One, Another, The, But, In, Dmitri, She's, With, One, He, They're, Have, Nothing, And, They've, One's, Miüsov,, and, He's, He's, Miüsov.\", Tell, How, She's, Is, She's, She's, Not, It's, Miüsov's, I've, I'll, Are, They've, Now, The, But, They'd, Certainly, And, Two, Are, To, What's, And, Besides,, They've, You, Trifon, Do, I, You, Now,, In, That, Open, And, Here,, Here's, for, Remember, Give, Trifon, Forgive\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-049-01-21438b7c", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Not much fear of that while this stew's on,\" he grunted, as he pulled back to the island.\nHenley was getting ready for the regatta, and was full of bustle. We met a goodish number of men we knew about the town, and in their pleasant company the time slipped by somewhat quickly; so that it was nearly eleven o'clock before we set off on our four-mile walk home—as we had learned to call our little craft by this time.\nIt was a dismal night, coldish, with a thin rain falling; and as we trudged through the dark, silent fields, talking low to each other, and wondering if we were going right or not, we thought of the cosy boat, with the bright light streaming through the tight-drawn canvas; of Harris and Montmorency, and the whisky, and wished that we were there.\nWe conjured up the picture of ourselves inside, tired and a little hungry; of the gloomy river and the shapeless trees; and, like a giant glow-worm underneath them, our dear old boat, so snug and warm and cheerful. We could see ourselves at supper there, pecking away at cold meat, and passing each other chunks of bread; we could hear the cheery clatter of our knives, the laughing voices, filling all the space, and overflowing through the opening out into the night. And we hurried on to realise the vision.\nWe struck the tow-path at length, and that made us happy; because prior to this we had not been sure whether we were walking towards the river or away from it, and when you are tired and want to go to bed uncertainties like that worry you. We passed Skiplake as the clock was striking the quarter to twelve; and then George said, thoughtfully:\n\"You don't happen to remember which of the islands it was, do you?\"\n\"No,\" I replied, beginning to grow thoughtful too, \"I don't. How many are there?\"\n\"Only four,\" answered George. \"It will be all right, if he's awake.\"\n\"And if not?\" I queried; but we dismissed that train of thought.\nWe shouted when we came opposite the first island, but there was no response; so we went to the second, and tried there, and obtained the same result.\n\"Oh! I remember now,\" said George; \"it was the third one.\"\nAnd we ran on hopefully to the third one, and hallooed.\nNo answer!\nThe case was becoming serious. it was now past midnight. The hotels at Skiplake and Henley would be crammed; and we could not go round, knocking up cottagers and householders in the middle of the night, to know if they let apartments! George suggested walking back to Henley and assaulting a policeman, and so getting a night's lodging in the station-house. But then there was the thought, \"Suppose he only hits us back and refuses to lock us up!\"\nWe could not pass the whole night fighting policemen. Besides, we did not want to overdo the thing and get six months.\nWe despairingly tried what seemed in the darkness to be the fourth island, but met with no better success. The rain was coming down fast now, and evidently meant to last. We were wet to the skin, and cold and miserable. We began to wonder whether there were only four islands or more, or whether we were near the islands at all, or whether we were anywhere within a mile of where we ought to be, or in the wrong part of the river altogether; everything looked so strange and different in the darkness. We began to understand the sufferings of the Babes in the Wood.\nJust when we had given up all hope—yes, I know that is always the time that things do happen in novels and tales; but I can't help it. I resolved, when I began to write this book, that I would be strictly truthful in all things; and so I will be, even if I have to employ hackneyed phrases for the purpose.\nIt was just when we had given up all hope, and I must therefore say so. Just when we had given up all hope, then, I suddenly caught sight, a little way below us, of a strange, weird sort of glimmer flickering among the trees on the opposite bank. For an instant I thought of ghosts: it was such a shadowy, mysterious light. The next moment it flashed across me that it was our boat, and I sent up such a yell across the water that made the night seem to shake in its bed.\nWe waited breathless for a minute, and then—oh! divinest music of the darkness!—we heard the answering bark of Montmorency. We shouted back loud enough to wake the Seven Sleepers—I never could understand myself why it should take more noise to wake seven sleepers than one—and, after what seemed an hour, but what was really, I suppose, about five minutes, we saw the lighted boat creeping slowly over the blackness, and heard Harris's sleepy voice asking where we were.\nThere was an unaccountable strangeness about Harris. It was something more than mere ordinary tiredness. He pulled the boat against a part of the bank from which it was quite impossible for us to get into it, and immediately went to sleep. It took us an immense amount of screaming and roaring to wake him up again and put some sense into him; but we succeeded at last, and got safely on board.\nHarris had a sad expression on him, so we noticed, when we got into the boat. He gave you the idea of a man who had been through trouble. We asked him if anything had happened, and he said—\n[Picture: Swans] \"Swans!\"\nIt seemed we had moored close to a swan's nest, and, soon after George and I had gone, the female swan came back, and kicked up a row about it. Harris had chivied her off, and she had gone away, and fetched up her old man. Harris said he had had quite a fight with these two swans; but courage and skill had prevailed in the end, and he had defeated them.\nHalf-an-hour afterwards they returned with eighteen other swans! It must have been a fearful battle, so far as we could understand Harris's account of it. The swans had tried to drag him and Montmorency out of the boat and drown them; and he had defended himself like a hero for four hours, and had killed the lot, and they had all paddled away to die.\n\"How many swans did you say there were?\" asked George.\n\"Thirty-two,\" replied Harris, sleepily.\n\"You said eighteen just now,\" said George.\n\"No, I didn't,\" grunted Harris; \"I said twelve. Think I can't count?\"\nWhat were the real facts about these swans we never found out. We questioned Harris on the subject in the morning, and he said, \"What swans?\" and seemed to think that George and I had been dreaming.\nOh, how delightful it was to be safe in the boat, after our trials and fears! We ate a hearty supper, George and I, and we should have had some toddy after it, if we could have found the whisky, but we could not. We examined Harris as to what he had done with it; but he did not seem to know what we meant by \"whisky,\" or what we were talking about at all. Montmorency looked as if he knew something, but said nothing.\nI slept well that night, and should have slept better if it had not been for Harris. I have a vague recollection of having been woke up at least a dozen times during the night by Harris wandering about the boat with the lantern, looking for his clothes. He seemed to be worrying about his clothes all night.\nTwice he routed up George and myself to see if we were lying on his trousers. George got quite wild the second time.\n\"What the thunder do you want your trousers for, in the middle of the night?\" he asked indignantly. \"Why don't you lie down, and go to sleep?\"", "chosen": "64", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n64\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-308-014-02-63e9d9ca", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nIt was long past noon when he awoke. His valet had crept several times on tiptoe into the room to see if he was stirring, and had wondered what made his young master sleep so late. Finally his bell sounded, and Victor came in softly with a cup of tea, and a pile of letters, on a small tray of old Sevres china, and drew back the olive-satin curtains, with their shimmering blue lining, that hung in front of the three tall windows.\n\"Monsieur has well slept this morning,\" he said, smiling.\n\"What o'clock is it, Victor?\" asked Dorian Gray drowsily.\n\"One hour and a quarter, Monsieur.\"\nHow late it was! He sat up, and having sipped some tea, turned over his letters. One of them was from Lord Henry, and had been brought by hand that morning. He hesitated for a moment, and then put it aside. The others he opened listlessly. They contained the usual collection of cards, invitations to dinner, tickets for private views, programmes of charity concerts, and the like that are showered on fashionable young men every morning during the season. There was a rather heavy bill for a chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet-set that he had not yet had the courage to send on to his guardians, who were extremely old-fashioned people and did not realize that we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities; and there were several very courteously worded communications from Jermyn Street money-lenders offering to advance any sum of money at a moment's notice and at the most reasonable rates of interest.\nAfter about ten minutes he got up, and throwing on an elaborate dressing-gown of silk-embroidered cashmere wool, passed into the onyx-paved bathroom. The cool water refreshed him after his long sleep. He seemed to have forgotten all that he had gone through. A dim sense of having taken part in some strange tragedy came to him once or twice, but there was the unreality of a dream about it.\nAs soon as he was dressed, he went into the library and sat down to a light French breakfast that had been laid out for him on a small round table close to the open window. It was an exquisite day. The warm air seemed laden with spices. A bee flew in and buzzed round the blue-dragon bowl that, filled with sulphur-yellow roses, stood before him. He felt perfectly happy.\nSuddenly his eye fell on the screen that he had placed in front of the portrait, and he started.\n\"Too cold for Monsieur?\" asked his valet, putting an omelette on the table. \"I shut the window?\"\nDorian shook his head. \"I am not cold,\" he murmured.\nWas it all true? Had the portrait really changed? Or had it been simply his own imagination that had made him see a look of evil where there had been a look of joy? Surely a painted canvas could not alter? The thing was absurd. It would serve as a tale to tell Basil some day. It would make him smile.\nAnd, yet, how vivid was his recollection of the whole thing! First in the dim twilight, and then in the bright dawn, he had seen the touch of cruelty round the warped lips. He almost dreaded his valet leaving the room. He knew that when he was alone he would have to examine the portrait. He was afraid of certainty. When the coffee and cigarettes had been brought and the man turned to go, he felt a wild desire to tell him to remain. As the door was closing behind him, he called him back. The man stood waiting for his orders. Dorian looked at him for a moment. \"I am not at home to any one, Victor,\" he said with a sigh. The man bowed and retired.\nThen he rose from the table, lit a cigarette, and flung himself down on a luxuriously cushioned couch that stood facing the screen. The screen was an old one, of gilt Spanish leather, stamped and wrought with a rather florid Louis-Quatorze pattern. He scanned it curiously, wondering if ever before it had concealed the secret of a man's life.\nShould he move it aside, after all? Why not let it stay there? What was the use of knowing? If the thing was true, it was terrible. If it was not true, why trouble about it? But what if, by some fate or deadlier chance, eyes other than his spied behind and saw the horrible change? What should he do if Basil Hallward came and asked to look at his own picture? Basil would be sure to do that. No; the thing had to be examined, and at once. Anything would be better than this dreadful state of doubt.\nHe got up and locked both doors. At least he would be alone when he looked upon the mask of his shame. Then he drew the screen aside and saw himself face to face. It was perfectly true. The portrait had altered.\nAs he often remembered afterwards, and always with no small wonder, he found himself at first gazing at the portrait with a feeling of almost scientific interest. That such a change should have taken place was incredible to him. And yet it was a fact. Was there some subtle affinity between the chemical atoms that shaped themselves into form and colour on the canvas and the soul that was within him? Could it be that what that soul thought, they realized?—that what it dreamed, they made true? Or was there some other, more terrible reason? He shuddered, and felt afraid, and, going back to the couch, lay there, gazing at the picture in sickened horror.\nOne thing, however, he felt that it had done for him. It had made him conscious how unjust, how cruel, he had been to Sibyl Vane. It was not too late to make reparation for that. She could still be his wife. His unreal and selfish love would yield to some higher influence, would be transformed into some nobler passion, and the portrait that Basil Hallward had painted of him would be a guide to him through life, would be to him what holiness is to some, and conscience to others, and the fear of God to us all. There were opiates for remorse, drugs that could lull the moral sense to sleep. But here was a visible symbol of the degradation of sin. Here was an ever-present sign of the ruin men brought upon their souls.\nThree o'clock struck, and four, and the half-hour rang its double chime, but Dorian Gray did not stir. He was trying to gather up the scarlet threads of life and to weave them into a pattern; to find his way through the sanguine labyrinth of passion through which he was wandering. He did not know what to do, or what to think. Finally, he went over to the table and wrote a passionate letter to the girl he had loved, imploring her forgiveness and accusing himself of madness. He covered page after page with wild words of sorrow and wilder words of pain. There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution. When Dorian had finished the letter, he felt that he had been forgiven.\nSuddenly there came a knock to the door, and he heard Lord Henry's voice outside. \"My dear boy, I must see you. Let me in at once. I can't bear your shutting yourself up like this.\"\nHe made no answer at first, but remained quite still. The knocking still continued and grew louder. Yes, it was better to let Lord Henry in, and to explain to him the new life he was going to lead, to quarrel with him if it became necessary to quarrel, to part if parting was inevitable. He jumped up, drew the screen hastily across the picture, and unlocked the door.\n\"I am so sorry for it all, Dorian,\" said Lord Henry as he entered. \"But you must not think too much about it.\"\n\"Do you mean about Sibyl Vane?\" asked the lad.", "chosen": "There was a rather heavy bill for a chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet-set that he had not yet had the courage to send on to his guardians, who were extremely old-fashioned people and did not realize that we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities; and there were several very courteously worded communications from Jermyn Street money-lenders offering to advance any sum of money at a moment's notice and at the most reasonable rates of interest.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nThere was a rather heavy bill for a chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet-set that he had not yet had the courage to send on to his guardians, who were extremely old-fashioned people and did not realize that we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities; and there were several very courteously worded communications from Jermyn Street money-lenders offering to advance any sum of money at a moment's notice and at the most reasonable rates of interest.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-174-008-00-a2532fec", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Oh, how thankful I am to you! You see, I shut my eyes and ask myself if every one has faith, where did it come from? And then they do say that it all comes from terror at the menacing phenomena of nature, and that none of it's real. And I say to myself, 'What if I've been believing all my life, and when I come to die there's nothing but the burdocks growing on my grave?' as I read in some author. It's awful! How—how can I get back my faith? But I only believed when I was a little child, mechanically, without thinking of anything. How, how is one to prove it? I have come now to lay my soul before you and to ask you about it. If I let this chance slip, no one all my life will answer me. How can I prove it? How can I convince myself? Oh, how unhappy I am! I stand and look about me and see that scarcely any one else cares; no one troubles his head about it, and I'm the only one who can't stand it. It's deadly—deadly!\"\n\"No doubt. But there's no proving it, though you can be convinced of it.\"\n\"How?\"\n\"By the experience of active love. Strive to love your neighbor actively and indefatigably. In as far as you advance in love you will grow surer of the reality of God and of the immortality of your soul. If you attain to perfect self-forgetfulness in the love of your neighbor, then you will believe without doubt, and no doubt can possibly enter your soul. This has been tried. This is certain.\"\n\"In active love? There's another question—and such a question! You see, I so love humanity that—would you believe it?—I often dream of forsaking all that I have, leaving Lise, and becoming a sister of mercy. I close my eyes and think and dream, and at that moment I feel full of strength to overcome all obstacles. No wounds, no festering sores could at that moment frighten me. I would bind them up and wash them with my own hands. I would nurse the afflicted. I would be ready to kiss such wounds.\"\n\"It is much, and well that your mind is full of such dreams and not others. Sometime, unawares, you may do a good deed in reality.\"\n\"Yes. But could I endure such a life for long?\" the lady went on fervently, almost frantically. \"That's the chief question—that's my most agonizing question. I shut my eyes and ask myself, 'Would you persevere long on that path? And if the patient whose wounds you are washing did not meet you with gratitude, but worried you with his whims, without valuing or remarking your charitable services, began abusing you and rudely commanding you, and complaining to the superior authorities of you (which often happens when people are in great suffering)—what then? Would you persevere in your love, or not?' And do you know, I came with horror to the conclusion that, if anything could dissipate my love to humanity, it would be ingratitude. In short, I am a hired servant, I expect my payment at once—that is, praise, and the repayment of love with love. Otherwise I am incapable of loving any one.\"\nShe was in a very paroxysm of self-castigation, and, concluding, she looked with defiant resolution at the elder.\n\"It's just the same story as a doctor once told me,\" observed the elder. \"He was a man getting on in years, and undoubtedly clever. He spoke as frankly as you, though in jest, in bitter jest. 'I love humanity,' he said, 'but I wonder at myself. The more I love humanity in general, the less I love man in particular. In my dreams,' he said, 'I have often come to making enthusiastic schemes for the service of humanity, and perhaps I might actually have faced crucifixion if it had been suddenly necessary; and yet I am incapable of living in the same room with any one for two days together, as I know by experience. As soon as any one is near me, his personality disturbs my self-complacency and restricts my freedom. In twenty-four hours I begin to hate the best of men: one because he's too long over his dinner; another because he has a cold and keeps on blowing his nose. I become hostile to people the moment they come close to me. But it has always happened that the more I detest men individually the more ardent becomes my love for humanity.'\"\n\"But what's to be done? What can one do in such a case? Must one despair?\"\n\"No. It is enough that you are distressed at it. Do what you can, and it will be reckoned unto you. Much is done already in you since you can so deeply and sincerely know yourself. If you have been talking to me so sincerely, simply to gain approbation for your frankness, as you did from me just now, then of course you will not attain to anything in the achievement of real love; it will all get no further than dreams, and your whole life will slip away like a phantom. In that case you will naturally cease to think of the future life too, and will of yourself grow calmer after a fashion in the end.\"\n\"You have crushed me! Only now, as you speak, I understand that I was really only seeking your approbation for my sincerity when I told you I could not endure ingratitude. You have revealed me to myself. You have seen through me and explained me to myself!\"\n\"Are you speaking the truth? Well, now, after such a confession, I believe that you are sincere and good at heart. If you do not attain happiness, always remember that you are on the right road, and try not to leave it. Above all, avoid falsehood, every kind of falsehood, especially falseness to yourself. Watch over your own deceitfulness and look into it every hour, every minute. Avoid being scornful, both to others and to yourself. What seems to you bad within you will grow purer from the very fact of your observing it in yourself. Avoid fear, too, though fear is only the consequence of every sort of falsehood. Never be frightened at your own faint-heartedness in attaining love. Don't be frightened overmuch even at your evil actions. I am sorry I can say nothing more consoling to you, for love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared with love in dreams. Love in dreams is greedy for immediate action, rapidly performed and in the sight of all. Men will even give their lives if only the ordeal does not last long but is soon over, with all looking on and applauding as though on the stage. But active love is labor and fortitude, and for some people too, perhaps, a complete science. But I predict that just when you see with horror that in spite of all your efforts you are getting farther from your goal instead of nearer to it—at that very moment I predict that you will reach it and behold clearly the miraculous power of the Lord who has been all the time loving and mysteriously guiding you. Forgive me for not being able to stay longer with you. They are waiting for me. Good-by.\"\nThe lady was weeping.\n\"Lise, Lise! Bless her—bless her!\" she cried, starting up suddenly.\n\"She does not deserve to be loved. I have seen her naughtiness all along,\" the elder said jestingly. \"Why have you been laughing at Alexey?\"", "chosen": "[\"No doubt. But there's no proving it, though you can be convinced of it.\", \"How?\", \"It is much, and well that your mind is full of such dreams and not others. Sometime, unawares, you may do a good deed in reality.\", \"Yes. But could I endure such a life for long?\", \"\\nShe was in a very paroxysm of self-castigation, and, concluding, she looked with defiant resolution at the elder.\\n\", \" observed the elder. \", \"But what's to be done? What can one do in such a case? Must one despair?\", \"\\nThe lady was weeping.\\n\", \" she cried, starting up suddenly.\\n\", \" the elder said jestingly. \"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"No doubt. But there's no proving it, though you can be convinced of it.\", \"How?\", \"It is much, and well that your mind is full of such dreams and not others. Sometime, unawares, you may do a good deed in reality.\", \"Yes. But could I endure such a life for long?\", \"\\nShe was in a very paroxysm of self-castigation, and, concluding, she looked with defiant resolution at the elder.\\n\", \" observed the elder. \", \"But what's to be done? What can one do in such a case? Must one despair?\", \"\\nThe lady was weeping.\\n\", \" she cried, starting up suddenly.\\n\", \" the elder said jestingly. \"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-009-01-7f3ee65b", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nConcerning all this, it is much to be deplored that the mast-heads of a southern whale ship are unprovided with those enviable little tents or pulpits, called crow's-nests, in which the look-outs of a Greenland whaler are protected from the inclement weather of the frozen seas. In the fireside narrative of Captain Sleet, entitled \"A Voyage among the Icebergs, in quest of the Greenland Whale, and incidentally for the re-discovery of the Lost Icelandic Colonies of Old Greenland;\" in this admirable volume, all standers of mast-heads are furnished with a charmingly circumstantial account of the then recently invented crow's-nest of the Glacier, which was the name of Captain Sleet's good craft. He called it the Sleet's crow's-nest, in honor of himself; he being the original inventor and patentee, and free from all ridiculous false delicacy, and holding that if we call our own children after our own names (we fathers being the original inventors and patentees), so likewise should we denominate after ourselves any other apparatus we may beget. In shape, the Sleet's crow's-nest is something like a large tierce or pipe; it is open above, however, where it is furnished with a movable side-screen to keep to windward of your head in a hard gale. Being fixed on the summit of the mast, you ascend into it through a little trap-hatch in the bottom. On the after side, or side next the stern of the ship, is a comfortable seat, with a locker underneath for umbrellas, comforters, and coats. In front is a leather rack, in which to keep your speaking trumpet, pipe, telescope, and other nautical conveniences. When Captain Sleet in person stood his mast-head in this crow's-nest of his, he tells us that he always had a rifle with him (also fixed in the rack), together with a powder flask and shot, for the purpose of popping off the stray narwhales, or vagrant sea unicorns infesting those waters; for you cannot successfully shoot at them from the deck owing to the resistance of the water, but to shoot down upon them is a very different thing. Now, it was plainly a labor of love for Captain Sleet to describe, as he does, all the little detailed conveniences of his crow's-nest; but though he so enlarges upon many of these, and though he treats us to a very scientific account of his experiments in this crow's-nest, with a small compass he kept there for the purpose of counteracting the errors resulting from what is called the \"local attraction\" of all binnacle magnets; an error ascribable to the horizontal vicinity of the iron in the ship's planks, and in the Glacier's case, perhaps, to there having been so many broken-down blacksmiths among her crew; I say, that though the Captain is very discreet and scientific here, yet, for all his learned \"binnacle deviations,\" \"azimuth compass observations,\" and \"approximate errors,\" he knows very well, Captain Sleet, that he was not so much immersed in those profound magnetic meditations, as to fail being attracted occasionally towards that well replenished little case-bottle, so nicely tucked in on one side of his crow's nest, within easy reach of his hand. Though, upon the whole, I greatly admire and even love the brave, the honest, and learned Captain; yet I take it very ill of him that he should so utterly ignore that case-bottle, seeing what a faithful friend and comforter it must have been, while with mittened fingers and hooded head he was studying the mathematics aloft there in that bird's nest within three or four perches of the pole.\nBut if we Southern whale-fishers are not so snugly housed aloft as Captain Sleet and his Greenlandmen were; yet that disadvantage is greatly counter-balanced by the widely contrasting serenity of those seductive seas in which we South fishers mostly float. For one, I used to lounge up the rigging very leisurely, resting in the top to have a chat with Queequeg, or any one else off duty whom I might find there; then ascending a little way further, and throwing a lazy leg over the top-sail yard, take a preliminary view of the watery pastures, and so at last mount to my ultimate destination.\nLet me make a clean breast of it here, and frankly admit that I kept but sorry guard. With the problem of the universe revolving in me, how could I—being left completely to myself at such a thought-engendering altitude—how could I but lightly hold my obligations to observe all whale-ships' standing orders, \"Keep your weather eye open, and sing out every time.\"\nAnd let me in this place movingly admonish you, ye ship-owners of Nantucket! Beware of enlisting in your vigilant fisheries any lad with lean brow and hollow eye; given to unseasonable meditativeness; and who offers to ship with the Phædon instead of Bowditch in his head. Beware of such an one, I say; your whales must be seen before they can be killed; and this sunken-eyed young Platonist will tow you ten wakes round the world, and never make you one pint of sperm the richer. Nor are these monitions at all unneeded. For nowadays, the whale-fishery furnishes an asylum for many romantic, melancholy, and absent-minded young men, disgusted with the carking cares of earth, and seeking sentiment in tar and blubber. Childe Harold not unfrequently perches himself upon the mast-head of some luckless disappointed whale-ship, and in moody phrase ejaculates:—\n\"Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand blubber-hunters sweep over thee in vain.\"\nVery often do the captains of such ships take those absent-minded young philosophers to task, upbraiding them with not feeling sufficient \"interest\" in the voyage; half-hinting that they are so hopelessly lost to all honorable ambition, as that in their secret souls they would rather not see whales than otherwise. But all in vain; those young Platonists have a notion that their vision is imperfect; they are short-sighted; what use, then, to strain the visual nerve? They have left their opera-glasses at home.\n\"Why, thou monkey,\" said a harpooneer to one of these lads, \"we've been cruising now hard upon three years, and thou hast not raised a whale yet. Whales are scarce as hen's teeth whenever thou art up here.\" Perhaps they were; or perhaps there might have been shoals of them in the far horizon; but lulled into such an opium-like listlessness of vacant, unconscious reverie is this absent-minded youth by the blending cadence of waves with thoughts, that at last he loses his identity; takes the mystic ocean at his feet for the visible image of that deep, blue, bottomless soul, pervading mankind and nature; and every strange, half-seen, gliding, beautiful thing that eludes him; every dimly-discovered, uprising fin of some undiscernible form, seems to him the embodiment of those elusive thoughts that only people the soul by continually flitting through it. In this enchanted mood, thy spirit ebbs away to whence it came; becomes diffused through time and space; like Cranmer's sprinkled Pantheistic ashes, forming at last a part of every shore the round globe over.\nThere is no life in thee, now, except that rocking life imparted by a gently rolling ship; by her, borrowed from the sea; by the sea, from the inscrutable tides of God. But while this sleep, this dream is on ye, move your foot or hand an inch; slip your hold at all; and your identity comes back in horror. Over Descartian vortices you hover. And perhaps, at mid-day, in the fairest weather, with one half-throttled shriek you drop through that transparent air into the summer sea, no more to rise for ever. Heed it well, ye Pantheists!", "chosen": "Pantheists", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nPantheists\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-032-01-61bb6515", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nPenetrating further and further into the heart of the Japanese cruising ground, the Pequod was soon all astir in the fishery. Often, in mild, pleasant weather, for twelve, fifteen, eighteen, and twenty hours on the stretch, they were engaged in the boats, steadily pulling, or sailing, or paddling after the whales, or for an interlude of sixty or seventy minutes calmly awaiting their uprising; though with but small success for their pains.\nAt such times, under an abated sun; afloat all day upon smooth, slow heaving swells; seated in his boat, light as a birch canoe; and so sociably mixing with the soft waves themselves, that like hearth-stone cats they purr against the gunwale; these are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean's skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang.\nThese are the times, when in his whale-boat the rover softly feels a certain filial, confident, land-like feeling towards the sea; that he regards it as so much flowery earth; and the distant ship revealing only the tops of her masts, seems struggling forward, not through high rolling waves, but through the tall grass of a rolling prairie: as when the western emigrants' horses only show their erected ears, while their hidden bodies widely wade through the amazing verdure.\nThe long-drawn virgin vales; the mild blue hill-sides; as over these there steals the hush, the hum; you almost swear that play-wearied children lie sleeping in these solitudes, in some glad May-time, when the flowers of the woods are plucked. And all this mixes with your most mystic mood; so that fact and fancy, half-way meeting, interpenetrate, and form one seamless whole.\nNor did such soothing scenes, however temporary, fail of at least as temporary an effect on Ahab. But if these secret golden keys did seem to open in him his own secret golden treasuries, yet did his breath upon them prove but tarnishing.\nOh, grassy glades! oh, ever vernal endless landscapes in the soul; in ye,—though long parched by the dead drought of the earthy life,—in ye, men yet may roll, like young horses in new morning clover; and for some few fleeting moments, feel the cool dew of the life immortal on them. Would to God these blessed calms would last. But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by warp and woof: calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm. There is no steady unretracing progress in this life; we do not advance through fixed gradations, and at the last one pause:—through infancy's unconscious spell, boyhood's thoughtless faith, adolescence' doubt (the common doom), then scepticism, then disbelief, resting at last in manhood's pondering repose of If. But once gone through, we trace the round again; and are infants, boys, and men, and Ifs eternally. Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more? In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary? Where is the foundling's father hidden? Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.\nAnd that same day, too, gazing far down from his boat's side into that same golden sea, Starbuck lowly murmured:—\n\"Loveliness unfathomable, as ever lover saw in his young bride's eye!—Tell me not of thy teeth-tiered sharks, and thy kidnapping cannibal ways. Let faith oust fact; let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe.\"\nAnd Stubb, fish-like, with sparkling scales, leaped up in that same golden light:—\n\"I am Stubb, and Stubb has his history; but here Stubb takes oaths that he has always been jolly!\"", "chosen": "[\"Japanese\", \"Pequod\", \"May\", \"Ahab\", \"God\", \"Ifs\", \"Starbuck\", \"Loveliness\", \"Stubb\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Japanese\", \"Pequod\", \"May\", \"Ahab\", \"God\", \"Ifs\", \"Starbuck\", \"Loveliness\", \"Stubb\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-100-00-028b2266", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nA strange period began for Raskolnikov: it was as though a fog had fallen upon him and wrapped him in a dreary solitude from which there was no escape. Recalling that period long after, he believed that his mind had been clouded at times, and that it had continued so, with intervals, till the final catastrophe. He was convinced that he had been mistaken about many things at that time, for instance as to the date of certain events. Anyway, when he tried later on to piece his recollections together, he learnt a great deal about himself from what other people told him. He had mixed up incidents and had explained events as due to circumstances which existed only in his imagination. At times he was a prey to agonies of morbid uneasiness, amounting sometimes to panic. But he remembered, too, moments, hours, perhaps whole days, of complete apathy, which came upon him as a reaction from his previous terror and might be compared with the abnormal insensibility, sometimes seen in the dying. He seemed to be trying in that latter stage to escape from a full and clear understanding of his position. Certain essential facts which required immediate consideration were particularly irksome to him. How glad he would have been to be free from some cares, the neglect of which would have threatened him with complete, inevitable ruin.\nHe was particularly worried about Svidrigaïlov, he might be said to be permanently thinking of Svidrigaïlov. From the time of Svidrigaïlov's too menacing and unmistakable words in Sonia's room at the moment of Katerina Ivanovna's death, the normal working of his mind seemed to break down. But although this new fact caused him extreme uneasiness, Raskolnikov was in no hurry for an explanation of it. At times, finding himself in a solitary and remote part of the town, in some wretched eating-house, sitting alone lost in thought, hardly knowing how he had come there, he suddenly thought of Svidrigaïlov. He recognised suddenly, clearly, and with dismay that he ought at once to come to an understanding with that man and to make what terms he could. Walking outside the city gates one day, he positively fancied that they had fixed a meeting there, that he was waiting for Svidrigaïlov. Another time he woke up before daybreak lying on the ground under some bushes and could not at first understand how he had come there.\nBut during the two or three days after Katerina Ivanovna's death, he had two or three times met Svidrigaïlov at Sonia's lodging, where he had gone aimlessly for a moment. They exchanged a few words and made no reference to the vital subject, as though they were tacitly agreed not to speak of it for a time.\nKaterina Ivanovna's body was still lying in the coffin, Svidrigaïlov was busy making arrangements for the funeral. Sonia too was very busy. At their last meeting Svidrigaïlov informed Raskolnikov that he had made an arrangement, and a very satisfactory one, for Katerina Ivanovna's children; that he had, through certain connections, succeeded in getting hold of certain personages by whose help the three orphans could be at once placed in very suitable institutions; that the money he had settled on them had been of great assistance, as it is much easier to place orphans with some property than destitute ones. He said something too about Sonia and promised to come himself in a day or two to see Raskolnikov, mentioning that \"he would like to consult with him, that there were things they must talk over....\"\nThis conversation took place in the passage on the stairs. Svidrigaïlov looked intently at Raskolnikov and suddenly, after a brief pause, dropping his voice, asked: \"But how is it, Rodion Romanovitch; you don't seem yourself? You look and you listen, but you don't seem to understand. Cheer up! We'll talk things over; I am only sorry, I've so much to do of my own business and other people's. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch,\" he added suddenly, \"what all men need is fresh air, fresh air... more than anything!\"\nHe moved to one side to make way for the priest and server, who were coming up the stairs. They had come for the requiem service. By Svidrigaïlov's orders it was sung twice a day punctually. Svidrigaïlov went his way. Raskolnikov stood still a moment, thought, and followed the priest into Sonia's room. He stood at the door. They began quietly, slowly and mournfully singing the service. From his childhood the thought of death and the presence of death had something oppressive and mysteriously awful; and it was long since he had heard the requiem service. And there was something else here as well, too awful and disturbing. He looked at the children: they were all kneeling by the coffin; Polenka was weeping. Behind them Sonia prayed, softly and, as it were, timidly weeping.\n\"These last two days she hasn't said a word to me, she hasn't glanced at me,\" Raskolnikov thought suddenly. The sunlight was bright in the room; the incense rose in clouds; the priest read, \"Give rest, oh Lord....\" Raskolnikov stayed all through the service. As he blessed them and took his leave, the priest looked round strangely. After the service, Raskolnikov went up to Sonia. She took both his hands and let her head sink on his shoulder. This slight friendly gesture bewildered Raskolnikov. It seemed strange to him that there was no trace of repugnance, no trace of disgust, no tremor in her hand. It was the furthest limit of self-abnegation, at least so he interpreted it.\nSonia said nothing. Raskolnikov pressed her hand and went out. He felt very miserable. If it had been possible to escape to some solitude, he would have thought himself lucky, even if he had to spend his whole life there. But although he had almost always been by himself of late, he had never been able to feel alone. Sometimes he walked out of the town on to the high road, once he had even reached a little wood, but the lonelier the place was, the more he seemed to be aware of an uneasy presence near him. It did not frighten him, but greatly annoyed him, so that he made haste to return to the town, to mingle with the crowd, to enter restaurants and taverns, to walk in busy thoroughfares. There he felt easier and even more solitary. One day at dusk he sat for an hour listening to songs in a tavern and he remembered that he positively enjoyed it. But at last he had suddenly felt the same uneasiness again, as though his conscience smote him. \"Here I sit listening to singing, is that what I ought to be doing?\" he thought. Yet he felt at once that that was not the only cause of his uneasiness; there was something requiring immediate decision, but it was something he could not clearly understand or put into words. It was a hopeless tangle. \"No, better the struggle again! Better Porfiry again... or Svidrigaïlov.... Better some challenge again... some attack. Yes, yes!\" he thought. He went out of the tavern and rushed away almost at a run. The thought of Dounia and his mother suddenly reduced him almost to a panic. That night he woke up before morning among some bushes in Krestovsky Island, trembling all over with fever; he walked home, and it was early morning when he arrived. After some hours' sleep the fever left him, but he woke up late, two o'clock in the afternoon.\nHe remembered that Katerina Ivanovna's funeral had been fixed for that day, and was glad that he was not present at it. Nastasya brought him some food; he ate and drank with appetite, almost with greediness. His head was fresher and he was calmer than he had been for the last three days. He even felt a passing wonder at his previous attacks of panic.\nThe door opened and Razumihin came in.\n\"Ah, he's eating, then he's not ill,\" said Razumihin. He took a chair and sat down at the table opposite Raskolnikov.\nHe was troubled and did not attempt to conceal it. He spoke with evident annoyance, but without hurry or raising his voice. He looked as though he had some special fixed determination.", "chosen": "A, Recalling, He, Anyway,, He, At, But, He, Certain, How, He, From, But, At, He, Walking, Another, But, They, Katerina, Sonia, At, He, Svidrigaïlov, You, Cheer, We'll, Ah,, more, They, By, Svidrigaïlov, Raskolnikov, He, They, From, And, He, Behind, These, The, As, After, She, This, It, It, Sonia, Raskolnikov, He, If, But, Sometimes, It, There, One, But, Here, Yet, It, No,, Better, or, Better, some, Yes,, He, The, That, After, He, Nastasya, His, He, The, Ah,, He, He, He, He", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nA, Recalling, He, Anyway,, He, At, But, He, Certain, How, He, From, But, At, He, Walking, Another, But, They, Katerina, Sonia, At, He, Svidrigaïlov, You, Cheer, We'll, Ah,, more, They, By, Svidrigaïlov, Raskolnikov, He, They, From, And, He, Behind, These, The, As, After, She, This, It, It, Sonia, Raskolnikov, He, If, But, Sometimes, It, There, One, But, Here, Yet, It, No,, Better, or, Better, some, Yes,, He, The, That, After, He, Nastasya, His, He, The, Ah,, He, He, He, He\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-2554-002-00-1c9511f1", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe morning of the confirmation was come. It was mid-May time, bringing with it weather not, perhaps, quite so blooming as that assumed to be natural to the month by the joyous poets of three hundred years ago; but a very tolerable, well-wearing May, that the average rustic would willingly have compounded for in lieu of Mays occasionally fairer, but usually more foul.\nAmong the larger shrubs and flowers which composed the outworks of the Welland gardens, the lilac, the laburnum, and the guelder-rose hung out their respective colours of purple, yellow, and white; whilst within these, belted round from every disturbing gale, rose the columbine, the peony, the larkspur, and the Solomon's seal. The animate things that moved amid this scene of colour were plodding bees, gadding butterflies, and numerous sauntering young feminine candidates for the impending confirmation, who, having gaily bedecked themselves for the ceremony, were enjoying their own appearance by walking about in twos and threes till it was time to start.\nSwithin St. Cleeve, whose preparations were somewhat simpler than those of the village belles, waited till his grandmother and Hannah had set out, and then, locking the door, followed towards the distant church. On reaching the churchyard gate he met Mr. Torkingham, who shook hands with him in the manner of a man with several irons in the fire, and telling Swithin where to sit, disappeared to hunt up some candidates who had not yet made themselves visible.\nCasting his eyes round for Viviette, and seeing nothing of her, Swithin went on to the church porch, and looked in. From the north side of the nave smiled a host of girls, gaily uniform in dress, age, and a temporary repression of their natural tendency to 'skip like a hare over the meshes of good counsel.' Their white muslin dresses, their round white caps, from beneath whose borders hair-knots and curls of various shades of brown escaped upon their low shoulders, as if against their will, lighted up the dark pews and grey stone-work to an unwonted warmth and life. On the south side were the young men and boys,--heavy, angular, and massive, as indeed was rather necessary, considering what they would have to bear at the hands of wind and weather before they returned to that mouldy nave for the last time.\nOver the heads of all these he could see into the chancel to the square pew on the north side, which was attached to Welland House. There he discerned Lady Constantine already arrived, her brother Louis sitting by her side.\nSwithin entered and seated himself at the end of a bench, and she, who had been on the watch, at once showed by subtle signs her consciousness of the presence of the young man who had reversed the ordained sequence of the Church services on her account. She appeared in black attire, though not strictly in mourning, a touch of red in her bonnet setting off the richness of her complexion without making her gay. Handsomest woman in the church she decidedly was; and yet a disinterested spectator who had known all the circumstances would probably have felt that, the future considered, Swithin's more natural mate would have been one of the muslinclad maidens who were to be presented to the Bishop with him that day.\nWhen the Bishop had arrived and gone into the chancel, and blown his nose, the congregation were sufficiently impressed by his presence to leave off looking at one another.\nThe Right Reverend Cuthbert Helmsdale, D.D., ninety-fourth occupant of the episcopal throne of the diocese, revealed himself to be a personage of dark complexion, whose darkness was thrown still further into prominence by the lawn protuberances that now rose upon his two shoulders like the Eastern and Western hemispheres. In stature he seemed to be tall and imposing, but something of this aspect may have been derived from his robes.\nThe service was, as usual, of a length which severely tried the tarrying powers of the young people assembled; and it was not till the youth of all the other parishes had gone up that the turn came for the Welland bevy. Swithin and some older ones were nearly the last. When, at the heels of Mr. Torkingham, he passed Lady Constantine's pew, he lifted his eyes from the red lining of that gentleman's hood sufficiently high to catch hers. She was abstracted, tearful, regarding him with all the rapt mingling of religion, love, fervour, and hope which such women can feel at such times, and which men know nothing of. How fervidly she watched the Bishop place his hand on her beloved youth's head; how she saw the great episcopal ring glistening in the sun among Swithin's brown curls; how she waited to hear if Dr. Helmsdale uttered the form 'this thy child' which he used for the younger ones, or 'this thy servant' which he used for those older; and how, when he said, 'this thy child,' she felt a prick of conscience, like a person who had entrapped an innocent youth into marriage for her own gratification, till she remembered that she had raised his social position thereby,--all this could only have been told in its entirety by herself.\nAs for Swithin, he felt ashamed of his own utter lack of the high enthusiasm which beamed so eloquently from her eyes. When he passed her again, on the return journey from the Bishop to his seat, her face was warm with a blush which her brother might have observed had he regarded her.\nWhether he had observed it or not, as soon as St. Cleeve had sat himself down again Louis Glanville turned and looked hard at the young astronomer. This was the first time that St. Cleeve and Viviette's brother had been face to face in a distinct light, their first meeting having occurred in the dusk of a railway-station. Swithin was not in the habit of noticing people's features; he scarcely ever observed any detail of physiognomy in his friends, a generalization from their whole aspect forming his idea of them; and he now only noted a young man of perhaps thirty, who lolled a good deal, and in whose small dark eyes seemed to be concentrated the activity that the rest of his frame decidedly lacked. This gentleman's eyes were henceforward, to the end of the service, continually fixed upon Swithin; but as this was their natural direction, from the position of his seat, there was no great strangeness in the circumstance.\nSwithin wanted to say to Viviette, 'Now I hope you are pleased; I have conformed to your ideas of my duty, leaving my fitness out of consideration;' but as he could only see her bonnet and forehead it was not possible even to look the intelligence. He turned to his left hand, where the organ stood, with Miss Tabitha Lark seated behind it.\nIt being now sermon-time the youthful blower had fallen asleep over the handle of his bellows, and Tabitha pulled out her handkerchief intending to flap him awake with it. With the handkerchief tumbled out a whole family of unexpected articles: a silver thimble; a photograph; a little purse; a scent-bottle; some loose halfpence; nine green gooseberries; a key. They rolled to Swithin's feet, and, passively obeying his first instinct, he picked up as many of the articles as he could find, and handed them to her amid the smiles of the neighbours.\nTabitha was half-dead with humiliation at such an event, happening under the very eyes of the Bishop on this glorious occasion; she turned pale as a sheet, and could hardly keep her seat. Fearing she might faint, Swithin, who had genuinely sympathized, bent over and whispered encouragingly, 'Don't mind it, Tabitha. Shall I take you out into the air?' She declined his offer, and presently the sermon came to an end.\nSwithin lingered behind the rest of the congregation sufficiently long to see Lady Constantine, accompanied by her brother, the Bishop, the Bishop's chaplain, Mr. Torkingham, and several other clergy and ladies, enter to the grand luncheon by the door which admitted from the churchyard to the lawn of Welland House; the whole group talking with a vivacity all the more intense, as it seemed, from the recent two hours' enforced repression of their social qualities within the adjoining building.", "chosen": "44", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n44\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-3146-023-00-df0ad6a2", "source": "pg-3146", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nStephen appeared to have a more than previous consciousness of the intense cruelty of his fate at the present moment. He could not repress the words, uttered with a dim bitterness:\n\"You should have said that I seemed still the rural mechanic's son I am, and hence an unfit subject for the ceremony of introductions.\"\n\"Oh, no, no! I won't have that.\" Knight endeavoured to give his reply a laughing tone in Elfride's ears, and an earnestness in Stephen's: in both which efforts he signally failed, and produced a forced speech pleasant to neither. \"Well, let us go into the open air again; Miss Swancourt, you are particularly silent. You mustn't mind Smith. I have known him for years, as I have told you.\"\n\"Yes, you have,\" she said.\n\"To think she has never mentioned her knowledge of me!\" Smith murmured, and thought with some remorse how much her conduct resembled his own on his first arrival at her house as a stranger to the place.\nThey ascended to the daylight, Knight taking no further notice of Elfride's manner, which, as usual, he attributed to the natural shyness of a young woman at being discovered walking with him on terms which left not much doubt of their meaning. Elfride stepped a little in advance, and passed through the churchyard.\n\"You are changed very considerably, Smith,\" said Knight, \"and I suppose it is no more than was to be expected. However, don't imagine that I shall feel any the less interest in you and your fortunes whenever you care to confide them to me. I have not forgotten the attachment you spoke of as your reason for going away to India. A London young lady, was it not? I hope all is prosperous?\"\n\"No: the match is broken off.\"\nIt being always difficult to know whether to express sorrow or gladness under such circumstances—all depending upon the character of the match—Knight took shelter in the safe words: \"I trust it was for the best.\"\n\"I hope it was. But I beg that you will not press me further: no, you have not pressed me—I don't mean that—but I would rather not speak upon the subject.\"\nStephen's words were hurried.\nKnight said no more, and they followed in the footsteps of Elfride, who still kept some paces in advance, and had not heard Knight's unconscious allusion to her. Stephen bade him adieu at the churchyard-gate without going outside, and watched whilst he and his sweetheart mounted their horses.\n\"Good heavens, Elfride,\" Knight exclaimed, \"how pale you are! I suppose I ought not to have taken you into that vault. What is the matter?\"\n\"Nothing,\" said Elfride faintly. \"I shall be myself in a moment. All was so strange and unexpected down there, that it made me unwell.\"\n\"I thought you said very little. Shall I get some water?\"\n\"No, no.\"\n\"Do you think it is safe for you to mount?\"\n\"Quite—indeed it is,\" she said, with a look of appeal.\n\"Now then—up she goes!\" whispered Knight, and lifted her tenderly into the saddle.\nHer old lover still looked on at the performance as he leant over the gate a dozen yards off. Once in the saddle, and having a firm grip of the reins, she turned her head as if by a resistless fascination, and for the first time since that memorable parting on the moor outside St. Launce's after the passionate attempt at marriage with him, Elfride looked in the face of the young man she first had loved. He was the youth who had called her his inseparable wife many a time, and whom she had even addressed as her husband. Their eyes met. Measurement of life should be proportioned rather to the intensity of the experience than to its actual length. Their glance, but a moment chronologically, was a season in their history. To Elfride the intense agony of reproach in Stephen's eye was a nail piercing her heart with a deadliness no words can describe. With a spasmodic effort she withdrew her eyes, urged on the horse, and in the chaos of perturbed memories was oblivious of any presence beside her. The deed of deception was complete.\nGaining a knoll on which the park transformed itself into wood and copse, Knight came still closer to her side, and said, \"Are you better now, dearest?\"\n\"Oh yes.\" She pressed a hand to her eyes, as if to blot out the image of Stephen. A vivid scarlet spot now shone with preternatural brightness in the centre of each cheek, leaving the remainder of her face lily-white as before.\n\"Elfride,\" said Knight, rather in his old tone of mentor, \"you know I don't for a moment chide you, but is there not a great deal of unwomanly weakness in your allowing yourself to be so overwhelmed by the sight of what, after all, is no novelty? Every woman worthy of the name should, I think, be able to look upon death with something like composure. Surely you think so too?\"\n\"Yes; I own it.\"\nHis obtuseness to the cause of her indisposition, by evidencing his entire freedom from the suspicion of anything behind the scenes, showed how incapable Knight was of deception himself, rather than any inherent dulness in him regarding human nature. This, clearly perceived by Elfride, added poignancy to her self-reproach, and she idolized him the more because of their difference. Even the recent sight of Stephen's face and the sound of his voice, which for a moment had stirred a chord or two of ancient kindness, were unable to keep down the adoration re-existent now that he was again out of view.\nShe had replied to Knight's question hastily, and immediately went on to speak of indifferent subjects. After they had reached home she was apart from him till dinner-time. When dinner was over, and they were watching the dusk in the drawing-room, Knight stepped out upon the terrace. Elfride went after him very decisively, on the spur of a virtuous intention.\n\"Mr. Knight, I want to tell you something,\" she said, with quiet firmness.\n\"And what is it about?\" gaily returned her lover. \"Happiness, I hope. Do not let anything keep you so sad as you seem to have been to-day.\"\n\"I cannot mention the matter until I tell you the whole substance of it,\" she said. \"And that I will do to-morrow. I have been reminded of it to-day. It is about something I once did, and don't think I ought to have done.\"\nThis, it must be said, was rather a mild way of referring to a frantic passion and flight, which, much or little in itself, only accident had saved from being a scandal in the public eye.\nKnight thought the matter some trifle, and said pleasantly:\n\"Then I am not to hear the dreadful confession now?\"\n\"No, not now. I did not mean to-night,\" Elfride responded, with a slight decline in the firmness of her voice. \"It is not light as you think it—it troubles me a great deal.\" Fearing now the effect of her own earnestness, she added forcedly, \"Though, perhaps, you may think it light after all.\"\n\"But you have not said when it is to be?\"\n\"To-morrow morning. Name a time, will you, and bind me to it? I want you to fix an hour, because I am weak, and may otherwise try to get out of it.\" She added a little artificial laugh, which showed how timorous her resolution was still.\n\"Well, say after breakfast—at eleven o'clock.\"\n\"Yes, eleven o'clock. I promise you. Bind me strictly to my word.\"", "chosen": "It is about something I once did, and don't think I ought to have done.\"\nThis, it must be said, was rather a mild way of referring to a frantic passion and flight, which, much or little in itself, only accident had saved from being a scandal in the public eye.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nIt is about something I once did, and don't think I ought to have done.\"\nThis, it must be said, was rather a mild way of referring to a frantic passion and flight, which, much or little in itself, only accident had saved from being a scandal in the public eye.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-026-03-89830962", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nA few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His friend had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in ten days' time. He sat with them above an hour, and was in remarkably good spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them; but, with many expressions of concern, he confessed himself engaged elsewhere.\n\"Next time you call,\" said she, \"I hope we shall be more lucky.\"\nHe should be particularly happy at any time, etc., etc.; and if she would give him leave, would take an early opportunity of waiting on them.\n\"Can you come to-morrow?\"\nYes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her invitation was accepted with alacrity.\nHe came, and in such very good time, that the ladies were none of them dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughters' room, in her dressing-gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out,--\n\"My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come--Mr. Bingley is come. He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to Miss Bennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind Miss Lizzy's hair.\"\n\"We will be down as soon as we can,\" said Jane; \"but I dare say Kitty is forwarder than either of us, for she went upstairs half an hour ago.\"\n\"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come, be quick, be quick! where is your sash, my dear?\"\nBut when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go down without one of her sisters.\nThe same anxiety to get them by themselves was visible again in the evening. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, as was his custom, and Mary went upstairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of the five being thus removed, Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at Elizabeth and Catherine for a considerable time, without making any impression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her; and when at last Kitty did, she very innocently said, \"What is the matter, mamma? What do you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?\"\n\"Nothing, child, nothing. I did not wink at you.\" She then sat still five minutes longer; but unable to waste such a precious occasion, she suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty,--\n\"Come here, my love, I want to speak to you,\" took her out of the room. Jane instantly gave a look at Elizabeth which spoke her distress at such premeditation, and her entreaty that she would not give in to it. In a few minutes, Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out,--\n\"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.\"\nElizabeth was forced to go.\n\"We may as well leave them by themselves, you know,\" said her mother as soon as she was in the hall. \"Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in my dressing-room.\"\nElizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but remained quietly in the hall till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned into the drawing-room.\nMrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was everything that was charming, except the professed lover of her daughter. His ease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable addition to their evening party; and he bore with the ill-judged officiousness of the mother, and heard all her silly remarks with a forbearance and command of countenance particularly grateful to the daughter.\nHe scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before he went away an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs. Bennet's means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.\nAfter this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word passed between the sisters concerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went to bed in the happy belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy returned within the stated time. Seriously, however, she felt tolerably persuaded that all this must have taken place with that gentleman's concurrence.\nBingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr. Bennet spent the morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more agreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption or folly in Bingley that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him into silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric, than the other had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned with him to dinner; and in the evening Mrs. Bennet's invention was again at work to get everybody away from him and her daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter to write, went into the breakfast-room for that purpose soon after tea; for as the others were all going to sit down to cards, she could not be wanted to counteract her mother's schemes.\nBut on her returning to the drawing-room, when her letter was finished, she saw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that her mother had been too ingenious for her. On opening the door, she perceived her sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in earnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each other, would have told it all. Their situation was awkward enough; but hers she thought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by either; and Elizabeth was on the point of going away again, when Bingley, who as well as the other had sat down, suddenly rose, and, whispering a few words to her sister, ran out of the room.\nJane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would give pleasure; and, instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the liveliest emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.\n\"'Tis too much!\" she added, \"by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh, why is not everybody as happy?\"\nElizabeth's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a delight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane. But she would not allow herself to stay with her sister, or say half that remained to be said, for the present.\n\"I must go instantly to my mother,\" she cried. \"I would not on any account trifle with her affectionate solicitude, or allow her to hear it from anyone but myself. He is gone to my father already. Oh, Lizzy, to know that what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear family! how shall I bear so much happiness?\"\nShe then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the card-party, and was sitting upstairs with Kitty.\nElizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease with which an affair was finally settled, that had given them so many previous months of suspense and vexation.\n\"And this,\" said she, \"is the end of all his friend's anxious circumspection! of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance! the happiest, wisest, and most reasonable end!\"\nIn a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose conference with her father had been short and to the purpose.\n\"Where is your sister?\" said he hastily, as he opened the door.\n\"With my mother upstairs. She will be down in a moment, I dare say.\"\nHe then shut the door, and, coming up to her, claimed the good wishes and affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressed her delight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands with great cordiality; and then, till her sister came down, she had to listen to all he had to say of his own happiness, and of Jane's perfections; and in spite of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed all his expectations of felicity to be rationally founded, because they had for basis the excellent understanding and super-excellent disposition of Jane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste between her and himself.", "chosen": "[\"Next time you call,\", \"I hope we shall be more lucky.\", \"Can you come to-morrow?\", \"We will be down as soon as we can,\", \"but I dare say Kitty is forwarder than either of us, for she went upstairs half an hour ago.\", \"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come, be quick, be quick! where is your sash, my dear?\", \"What is the matter, mamma? What do you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?\", \"Nothing, child, nothing. I did not wink at you.\", \"Come here, my love, I want to speak to you,\", \"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.\", \"We may as well leave them by themselves, you know,\", \"Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in my dressing-room.\", \"'Tis too much!\", \"by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh, why is not everybody as happy?\", \"I must go instantly to my mother,\", \"And this,\", \"is the end of all his friend's anxious circumspection! of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance! the happiest, wisest, and most reasonable end!\", \"Where is your sister?\", \"With my mother upstairs. She will be down in a moment, I dare say.\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Next time you call,\", \"I hope we shall be more lucky.\", \"Can you come to-morrow?\", \"We will be down as soon as we can,\", \"but I dare say Kitty is forwarder than either of us, for she went upstairs half an hour ago.\", \"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come, be quick, be quick! where is your sash, my dear?\", \"What is the matter, mamma? What do you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?\", \"Nothing, child, nothing. I did not wink at you.\", \"Come here, my love, I want to speak to you,\", \"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.\", \"We may as well leave them by themselves, you know,\", \"Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in my dressing-room.\", \"'Tis too much!\", \"by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh, why is not everybody as happy?\", \"I must go instantly to my mother,\", \"And this,\", \"is the end of all his friend's anxious circumspection! of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance! the happiest, wisest, and most reasonable end!\", \"Where is your sister?\", \"With my mother upstairs. She will be down in a moment, I dare say.\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-1342-055-00-a6247ec7", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nElinor saw, with great uneasiness the low spirits of her friend. His visit afforded her but a very partial satisfaction, while his own enjoyment in it appeared so imperfect. It was evident that he was unhappy; she wished it were equally evident that he still distinguished her by the same affection which once she had felt no doubt of inspiring; but hitherto the continuance of his preference seemed very uncertain; and the reservedness of his manner towards her contradicted one moment what a more animated look had intimated the preceding one.\nHe joined her and Marianne in the breakfast-room the next morning before the others were down; and Marianne, who was always eager to promote their happiness as far as she could, soon left them to themselves. But before she was half way upstairs she heard the parlour door open, and, turning round, was astonished to see Edward himself come out.\n\"I am going into the village to see my horses,\" said he, \"as you are not yet ready for breakfast; I shall be back again presently.\"\nEdward returned to them with fresh admiration of the surrounding country; in his walk to the village, he had seen many parts of the valley to advantage; and the village itself, in a much higher situation than the cottage, afforded a general view of the whole, which had exceedingly pleased him. This was a subject which ensured Marianne's attention, and she was beginning to describe her own admiration of these scenes, and to question him more minutely on the objects that had particularly struck him, when Edward interrupted her by saying, \"You must not enquire too far, Marianne: remember I have no knowledge in the picturesque, and I shall offend you by my ignorance and want of taste if we come to particulars. I shall call hills steep, which ought to be bold; surfaces strange and uncouth, which ought to be irregular and rugged; and distant objects out of sight, which ought only to be indistinct through the soft medium of a hazy atmosphere. You must be satisfied with such admiration as I can honestly give. I call it a very fine country,--the hills are steep, the woods seem full of fine timber, and the valley looks comfortable and snug,--with rich meadows and several neat farm houses scattered here and there. It exactly answers my idea of a fine country, because it unites beauty with utility--and I dare say it is a picturesque one too, because you admire it; I can easily believe it to be full of rocks and promontories, grey moss and brush wood, but these are all lost on me. I know nothing of the picturesque.\"\n\"I am afraid it is but too true,\" said Marianne; \"but why should you boast of it?\"\n\"I suspect,\" said Elinor, \"that to avoid one kind of affectation, Edward here falls into another. Because he believes many people pretend to more admiration of the beauties of nature than they really feel, and is disgusted with such pretensions, he affects greater indifference and less discrimination in viewing them himself than he possesses. He is fastidious and will have an affectation of his own.\"\n\"It is very true,\" said Marianne, \"that admiration of landscape scenery is become a mere jargon. Every body pretends to feel and tries to describe with the taste and elegance of him who first defined what picturesque beauty was. I detest jargon of every kind, and sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense and meaning.\"\n\"I am convinced,\" said Edward, \"that you really feel all the delight in a fine prospect which you profess to feel. But, in return, your sister must allow me to feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect, but not on picturesque principles. I do not like crooked, twisted, blasted trees. I admire them much more if they are tall, straight, and flourishing. I do not like ruined, tattered cottages. I am not fond of nettles or thistles, or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a snug farm-house than a watch-tower,--and a troop of tidy, happy villages please me better than the finest banditti in the world.\"\nMarianne looked with amazement at Edward, with compassion at her sister. Elinor only laughed.\nThe subject was continued no farther; and Marianne remained thoughtfully silent, till a new object suddenly engaged her attention. She was sitting by Edward, and in taking his tea from Mrs. Dashwood, his hand passed so directly before her, as to make a ring, with a plait of hair in the centre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers.\n\"I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward,\" she cried. \"Is that Fanny's hair? I remember her promising to give you some. But I should have thought her hair had been darker.\"\nMarianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt; but when she saw how much she had pained Edward, her own vexation at her want of thought could not be surpassed by his. He coloured very deeply, and giving a momentary glance at Elinor, replied, \"Yes; it is my sister's hair. The setting always casts a different shade on it, you know.\"\nElinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That the hair was her own, she instantaneously felt as well satisfied as Marianne; the only difference in their conclusions was, that what Marianne considered as a free gift from her sister, Elinor was conscious must have been procured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself. She was not in a humour, however, to regard it as an affront, and affecting to take no notice of what passed, by instantly talking of something else, she internally resolved henceforward to catch every opportunity of eyeing the hair and of satisfying herself, beyond all doubt, that it was exactly the shade of her own.\nEdward's embarrassment lasted some time, and it ended in an absence of mind still more settled. He was particularly grave the whole morning. Marianne severely censured herself for what she had said; but her own forgiveness might have been more speedy, had she known how little offence it had given her sister.\nBefore the middle of the day, they were visited by Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, who, having heard of the arrival of a gentleman at the cottage, came to take a survey of the guest. With the assistance of his mother-in-law, Sir John was not long in discovering that the name of Ferrars began with an F. and this prepared a future mine of raillery against the devoted Elinor, which nothing but the newness of their acquaintance with Edward could have prevented from being immediately sprung. But, as it was, she only learned, from some very significant looks, how far their penetration, founded on Margaret's instructions, extended.\nSir John never came to the Dashwoods without either inviting them to dine at the park the next day, or to drink tea with them that evening. On the present occasion, for the better entertainment of their visitor, towards whose amusement he felt himself bound to contribute, he wished to engage them for both.\n\"You must drink tea with us to night,\" said he, \"for we shall be quite alone; and tomorrow you must absolutely dine with us, for we shall be a large party.\"\nMrs. Jennings enforced the necessity. \"And who knows but you may raise a dance,\" said she. \"And that will tempt you, Miss Marianne.\"\n\"A dance!\" cried Marianne. \"Impossible! Who is to dance?\"\n\"Who? why yourselves, and the Careys, and Whitakers to be sure. What! you thought nobody could dance because a certain person that shall be nameless is gone!\"\n\"I wish with all my soul,\" cried Sir John, \"that Willoughby were among us again.\"\nThis, and Marianne's blushing, gave new suspicions to Edward. \"And who is Willoughby?\" said he, in a low voice, to Miss Dashwood, by whom he was sitting.\nShe gave him a brief reply. Marianne's countenance was more communicative. Edward saw enough to comprehend, not only the meaning of others, but such of Marianne's expressions as had puzzled him before; and when their visitors left them, he went immediately round her, and said, in a whisper, \"I have been guessing. Shall I tell you my guess?\"\n\"What do you mean?\"", "chosen": "mean", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nmean\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-018-00-cd228364", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nEntering that gable-ended Spouter-Inn, you found yourself in a wide, low, straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots, reminding one of the bulwarks of some condemned old craft. On one side hung a very large oilpainting so thoroughly besmoked, and every way defaced, that in the unequal crosslights by which you viewed it, it was only by diligent study and a series of systematic visits to it, and careful inquiry of the neighbors, that you could any way arrive at an understanding of its purpose. Such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows, that at first you almost thought some ambitious young artist, in the time of the New England hags, had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched. But by dint of much and earnest contemplation, and oft repeated ponderings, and especially by throwing open the little window towards the back of the entry, you at last come to the conclusion that such an idea, however wild, might not be altogether unwarranted.\nBut what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber, portentous, black mass of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three blue, dim, perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast. A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted. Yet was there a sort of indefinite, half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what that marvellous painting meant. Ever and anon a bright, but, alas, deceptive idea would dart you through.—It's the Black Sea in a midnight gale.—It's the unnatural combat of the four primal elements.—It's a blasted heath.—It's a Hyperborean winter scene.—It's the breaking-up of the icebound stream of Time. But at last all these fancies yielded to that one portentous something in the picture's midst. That once found out, and all the rest were plain. But stop; does it not bear a faint resemblance to a gigantic fish? even the great leviathan himself?\nIn fact, the artist's design seemed this: a final theory of my own, partly based upon the aggregated opinions of many aged persons with whom I conversed upon the subject. The picture represents a Cape-Horner in a great hurricane; the half-foundered ship weltering there with its three dismantled masts alone visible; and an exasperated whale, purposing to spring clean over the craft, is in the enormous act of impaling himself upon the three mast-heads.\nThe opposite wall of this entry was hung all over with a heathenish array of monstrous clubs and spears. Some were thickly set with glittering teeth resembling ivory saws; others were tufted with knots of human hair; and one was sickle-shaped, with a vast handle sweeping round like the segment made in the new-mown grass by a long-armed mower. You shuddered as you gazed, and wondered what monstrous cannibal and savage could ever have gone a death-harvesting with such a hacking, horrifying implement. Mixed with these were rusty old whaling lances and harpoons all broken and deformed. Some were storied weapons. With this once long lance, now wildly elbowed, fifty years ago did Nathan Swain kill fifteen whales between a sunrise and a sunset. And that harpoon—so like a corkscrew now—was flung in Javan seas, and run away with by a whale, years afterwards slain off the Cape of Blanco. The original iron entered nigh the tail, and, like a restless needle sojourning in the body of a man, travelled full forty feet, and at last was found imbedded in the hump.\nCrossing this dusky entry, and on through yon low-arched way—cut through what in old times must have been a great central chimney with fireplaces all round—you enter the public room. A still duskier place is this, with such low ponderous beams above, and such old wrinkled planks beneath, that you would almost fancy you trod some old craft's cockpits, especially of such a howling night, when this corner-anchored old ark rocked so furiously. On one side stood a long, low, shelf-like table covered with cracked glass cases, filled with dusty rarities gathered from this wide world's remotest nooks. Projecting from the further angle of the room stands a dark-looking den—the bar—a rude attempt at a right whale's head. Be that how it may, there stands the vast arched bone of the whale's jaw, so wide, a coach might almost drive beneath it. Within are shabby shelves, ranged round with old decanters, bottles, flasks; and in those jaws of swift destruction, like another cursed Jonah (by which name indeed they called him), bustles a little withered old man, who, for their money, dearly sells the sailors deliriums and death.\nAbominable are the tumblers into which he pours his poison. Though true cylinders without—within, the villanous green goggling glasses deceitfully tapered downwards to a cheating bottom. Parallel meridians rudely pecked into the glass, surround these footpads' goblets. Fill to this mark, and your charge is but a penny; to this a penny more; and so on to the full glass—the Cape Horn measure, which you may gulp down for a shilling.\nUpon entering the place I found a number of young seamen gathered about a table, examining by a dim light divers specimens of skrimshander. I sought the landlord, and telling him I desired to be accommodated with a room, received for answer that his house was full—not a bed unoccupied. \"But avast,\" he added, tapping his forehead, \"you haint no objections to sharing a harpooneer's blanket, have ye? I s'pose you are goin' a-whalin', so you'd better get used to that sort of thing.\"\nI told him that I never liked to sleep two in a bed; that if I should ever do so, it would depend upon who the harpooneer might be, and that if he (the landlord) really had no other place for me, and the harpooneer was not decidedly objectionable, why rather than wander further about a strange town on so bitter a night, I would put up with the half of any decent man's blanket.\n\"I thought so. All right; take a seat. Supper?—you want supper? Supper'll be ready directly.\"\nI sat down on an old wooden settle, carved all over like a bench on the Battery. At one end a ruminating tar was still further adorning it with his jack-knife, stooping over and diligently working away at the space between his legs. He was trying his hand at a ship under full sail, but he didn't make much headway, I thought.\nAt last some four or five of us were summoned to our meal in an adjoining room. It was cold as Iceland—no fire at all—the landlord said he couldn't afford it. Nothing but two dismal tallow candles, each in a winding sheet. We were fain to button up our monkey jackets, and hold to our lips cups of scalding tea with our half frozen fingers. But the fare was of the most substantial kind—not only meat and potatoes, but dumplings; good heavens! dumplings for supper! One young fellow in a green box coat, addressed himself to these dumplings in a most direful manner.\n\"My boy,\" said the landlord, \"you'll have the nightmare to a dead sartainty.\"\n\"Landlord,\" I whispered, \"that aint the harpooneer is it?\"\n\"Oh, no,\" said he, looking a sort of diabolically funny, \"the harpooneer is a dark complexioned chap. He never eats dumplings, he don't—he eats nothing but steaks, and he likes 'em rare.\"\n\"The devil he does,\" says I. \"Where is that harpooneer? Is he here?\"\n\"He'll be here afore long,\" was the answer.\nI could not help it, but I began to feel suspicious of this \"dark complexioned\" harpooneer. At any rate, I made up my mind that if it so turned out that we should sleep together, he must undress and get into bed before I did.\nSupper over, the company went back to the bar-room, when, knowing not what else to do with myself, I resolved to spend the rest of the evening as a looker on.\nPresently a rioting noise was heard without. Starting up, the landlord cried, \"That's the Grampus's crew. I seed her reported in the offing this morning; a three years' voyage, and a full ship. Hurrah, boys; now we'll have the latest news from the Feegees.\"", "chosen": "[\"Spouter\", \"New\", \"England\", \"Black\", \"Sea\", \"Hyperborean\", \"Time\", \"Cape\", \"Nathan\", \"Swain\", \"Javan\", \"Blanco\", \"Jonah\", \"Horn\", \"Battery\", \"Iceland\", \"Landlord\", \"Where\", \"Grampus\", \"Feegees\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Spouter\", \"New\", \"England\", \"Black\", \"Sea\", \"Hyperborean\", \"Time\", \"Cape\", \"Nathan\", \"Swain\", \"Javan\", \"Blanco\", \"Jonah\", \"Horn\", \"Battery\", \"Iceland\", \"Landlord\", \"Where\", \"Grampus\", \"Feegees\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-003-00-415136a7", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe prosecutor positively pounced on this piece of evidence. It seemed to establish for the prosecution (and they did, in fact, base this deduction on it) that half, or a part of, the three thousand that had come into Mitya's hands might really have been left somewhere hidden in the town, or even, perhaps, somewhere here, in Mokroe. This would explain the circumstance, so baffling for the prosecution, that only eight hundred roubles were to be found in Mitya's hands. This circumstance had been the one piece of evidence which, insignificant as it was, had hitherto told, to some extent, in Mitya's favor. Now this one piece of evidence in his favor had broken down. In answer to the prosecutor's inquiry, where he would have got the remaining two thousand three hundred roubles, since he himself had denied having more than fifteen hundred, Mitya confidently replied that he had meant to offer the \"little chap,\" not money, but a formal deed of conveyance of his rights to the village of Tchermashnya, those rights which he had already offered to Samsonov and Madame Hohlakov. The prosecutor positively smiled at the \"innocence of this subterfuge.\"\n\"And you imagine he would have accepted such a deed as a substitute for two thousand three hundred roubles in cash?\"\n\"He certainly would have accepted it,\" Mitya declared warmly. \"Why, look here, he might have grabbed not two thousand, but four or six, for it. He would have put his lawyers, Poles and Jews, on to the job, and might have got, not three thousand, but the whole property out of the old man.\"\nThe evidence of Pan Mussyalovitch was, of course, entered in the protocol in the fullest detail. Then they let the Poles go. The incident of the cheating at cards was hardly touched upon. Nikolay Parfenovitch was too well pleased with them, as it was, and did not want to worry them with trifles, moreover, it was nothing but a foolish, drunken quarrel over cards. There had been drinking and disorder enough, that night.... So the two hundred roubles remained in the pockets of the Poles.\nThen old Maximov was summoned. He came in timidly, approached with little steps, looking very disheveled and depressed. He had, all this time, taken refuge below with Grushenka, sitting dumbly beside her, and \"now and then he'd begin blubbering over her and wiping his eyes with a blue check handkerchief,\" as Mihail Makarovitch described afterwards. So that she herself began trying to pacify and comfort him. The old man at once confessed that he had done wrong, that he had borrowed \"ten roubles in my poverty,\" from Dmitri Fyodorovitch, and that he was ready to pay it back. To Nikolay Parfenovitch's direct question, had he noticed how much money Dmitri Fyodorovitch held in his hand, as he must have been able to see the sum better than any one when he took the note from him, Maximov, in the most positive manner, declared that there was twenty thousand.\n\"Have you ever seen so much as twenty thousand before, then?\" inquired Nikolay Parfenovitch, with a smile.\n\"To be sure I have, not twenty, but seven, when my wife mortgaged my little property. She'd only let me look at it from a distance, boasting of it to me. It was a very thick bundle, all rainbow-colored notes. And Dmitri Fyodorovitch's were all rainbow-colored....\"\nHe was not kept long. At last it was Grushenka's turn. Nikolay Parfenovitch was obviously apprehensive of the effect her appearance might have on Mitya, and he muttered a few words of admonition to him, but Mitya bowed his head in silence, giving him to understand \"that he would not make a scene.\" Mihail Makarovitch himself led Grushenka in. She entered with a stern and gloomy face, that looked almost composed and sat down quietly on the chair offered her by Nikolay Parfenovitch. She was very pale, she seemed to be cold, and wrapped herself closely in her magnificent black shawl. She was suffering from a slight feverish chill—the first symptom of the long illness which followed that night. Her grave air, her direct earnest look and quiet manner made a very favorable impression on every one. Nikolay Parfenovitch was even a little bit \"fascinated.\" He admitted himself, when talking about it afterwards, that only then had he seen \"how handsome the woman was,\" for, though he had seen her several times before, he had always looked upon her as something of a \"provincial hetaira.\" \"She has the manners of the best society,\" he said enthusiastically, gossiping about her in a circle of ladies. But this was received with positive indignation by the ladies, who immediately called him a \"naughty man,\" to his great satisfaction.\nAs she entered the room, Grushenka only glanced for an instant at Mitya, who looked at her uneasily. But her face reassured him at once. After the first inevitable inquiries and warnings, Nikolay Parfenovitch asked her, hesitating a little, but preserving the most courteous manner, on what terms she was with the retired lieutenant, Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov. To this Grushenka firmly and quietly replied:\n\"He was an acquaintance. He came to see me as an acquaintance during the last month.\" To further inquisitive questions she answered plainly and with complete frankness, that, though \"at times\" she had thought him attractive, she had not loved him, but had won his heart as well as his old father's \"in my nasty spite,\" that she had seen that Mitya was very jealous of Fyodor Pavlovitch and every one else; but that had only amused her. She had never meant to go to Fyodor Pavlovitch, she had simply been laughing at him. \"I had no thoughts for either of them all this last month. I was expecting another man who had wronged me. But I think,\" she said in conclusion, \"that there's no need for you to inquire about that, nor for me to answer you, for that's my own affair.\"\nNikolay Parfenovitch immediately acted upon this hint. He again dismissed the \"romantic\" aspect of the case and passed to the serious one, that is, to the question of most importance, concerning the three thousand roubles. Grushenka confirmed the statement that three thousand roubles had certainly been spent on the first carousal at Mokroe, and, though she had not counted the money herself, she had heard that it was three thousand from Dmitri Fyodorovitch's own lips.\n\"Did he tell you that alone, or before some one else, or did you only hear him speak of it to others in your presence?\" the prosecutor inquired immediately.\nTo which Grushenka replied that she had heard him say so before other people, and had heard him say so when they were alone.\n\"Did he say it to you alone once, or several times?\" inquired the prosecutor, and learned that he had told Grushenka so several times.\nIppolit Kirillovitch was very well satisfied with this piece of evidence. Further examination elicited that Grushenka knew, too, where that money had come from, and that Dmitri Fyodorovitch had got it from Katerina Ivanovna.\n\"And did you never, once, hear that the money spent a month ago was not three thousand, but less, and that Dmitri Fyodorovitch had saved half that sum for his own use?\"\n\"No, I never heard that,\" answered Grushenka.\nIt was explained further that Mitya had, on the contrary, often told her that he hadn't a farthing.\n\"He was always expecting to get some from his father,\" said Grushenka in conclusion.\n\"Did he never say before you ... casually, or in a moment of irritation,\" Nikolay Parfenovitch put in suddenly, \"that he intended to make an attempt on his father's life?\"\n\"Ach, he did say so,\" sighed Grushenka.\n\"Once or several times?\"\n\"He mentioned it several times, always in anger.\"\n\"And did you believe he would do it?\"\n\"No, I never believed it,\" she answered firmly. \"I had faith in his noble heart.\"\n\"Gentlemen, allow me,\" cried Mitya suddenly, \"allow me to say one word to Agrafena Alexandrovna, in your presence.\"\n\"You can speak,\" Nikolay Parfenovitch assented.\n\"Agrafena Alexandrovna!\" Mitya got up from his chair, \"have faith in God and in me. I am not guilty of my father's murder!\"", "chosen": "The, It, This, This, Now, In, The, Why,, He, Then, The, Nikolay, There, So, Then, He, He, So, The, To, Have, To, She'd, It, And, At, Nikolay, She, She, She, Her, Nikolay, But, As, But, After, To, He, She, I, I, But, He, Grushenka, Did, To, Did, Ippolit, Further, And, It, He, Did, casually,, Once, I, Agrafena, I", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nThe, It, This, This, Now, In, The, Why,, He, Then, The, Nikolay, There, So, Then, He, He, So, The, To, Have, To, She'd, It, And, At, Nikolay, She, She, She, Her, Nikolay, But, As, But, After, To, He, She, I, I, But, He, Grushenka, Did, To, Did, Ippolit, Further, And, It, He, Did, casually,, Once, I, Agrafena, I\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-059-01-d2be0ee6", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nCruelty! Had he been cruel? It was the girl's fault, not his. He had dreamed of her as a great artist, had given his love to her because he had thought her great. Then she had disappointed him. She had been shallow and unworthy. And, yet, a feeling of infinite regret came over him, as he thought of her lying at his feet sobbing like a little child. He remembered with what callousness he had watched her. Why had he been made like that? Why had such a soul been given to him? But he had suffered also. During the three terrible hours that the play had lasted, he had lived centuries of pain, aeon upon aeon of torture. His life was well worth hers. She had marred him for a moment, if he had wounded her for an age. Besides, women were better suited to bear sorrow than men. They lived on their emotions. They only thought of their emotions. When they took lovers, it was merely to have some one with whom they could have scenes. Lord Henry had told him that, and Lord Henry knew what women were. Why should he trouble about Sibyl Vane? She was nothing to him now.\nBut the picture? What was he to say of that? It held the secret of his life, and told his story. It had taught him to love his own beauty. Would it teach him to loathe his own soul? Would he ever look at it again?\nNo; it was merely an illusion wrought on the troubled senses. The horrible night that he had passed had left phantoms behind it. Suddenly there had fallen upon his brain that tiny scarlet speck that makes men mad. The picture had not changed. It was folly to think so.\nYet it was watching him, with its beautiful marred face and its cruel smile. Its bright hair gleamed in the early sunlight. Its blue eyes met his own. A sense of infinite pity, not for himself, but for the painted image of himself, came over him. It had altered already, and would alter more. Its gold would wither into grey. Its red and white roses would die. For every sin that he committed, a stain would fleck and wreck its fairness. But he would not sin. The picture, changed or unchanged, would be to him the visible emblem of conscience. He would resist temptation. He would not see Lord Henry any more—would not, at any rate, listen to those subtle poisonous theories that in Basil Hallward's garden had first stirred within him the passion for impossible things. He would go back to Sibyl Vane, make her amends, marry her, try to love her again. Yes, it was his duty to do so. She must have suffered more than he had. Poor child! He had been selfish and cruel to her. The fascination that she had exercised over him would return. They would be happy together. His life with her would be beautiful and pure.\nHe got up from his chair and drew a large screen right in front of the portrait, shuddering as he glanced at it. \"How horrible!\" he murmured to himself, and he walked across to the window and opened it. When he stepped out on to the grass, he drew a deep breath. The fresh morning air seemed to drive away all his sombre passions. He thought only of Sibyl. A faint echo of his love came back to him. He repeated her name over and over again. The birds that were singing in the dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.", "chosen": "60", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n60\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-174-007-03-2b19d9cc", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nLet the high Muse chant loves Olympian: We are but mortals, and must sing of man.\nAn eminent philosopher among my friends, who can dignify even your ugly furniture by lifting it into the serene light of science, has shown me this pregnant little fact. Your pier-glass or extensive surface of polished steel made to be rubbed by a housemaid, will be minutely and multitudinously scratched in all directions; but place now against it a lighted candle as a centre of illumination, and lo! the scratches will seem to arrange themselves in a fine series of concentric circles round that little sun. It is demonstrable that the scratches are going everywhere impartially and it is only your candle which produces the flattering illusion of a concentric arrangement, its light falling with an exclusive optical selection. These things are a parable. The scratches are events, and the candle is the egoism of any person now absent—of Miss Vincy, for example. Rosamond had a Providence of her own who had kindly made her more charming than other girls, and who seemed to have arranged Fred's illness and Mr. Wrench's mistake in order to bring her and Lydgate within effective proximity. It would have been to contravene these arrangements if Rosamond had consented to go away to Stone Court or elsewhere, as her parents wished her to do, especially since Mr. Lydgate thought the precaution needless. Therefore, while Miss Morgan and the children were sent away to a farmhouse the morning after Fred's illness had declared itself, Rosamond refused to leave papa and mamma.\nPoor mamma indeed was an object to touch any creature born of woman; and Mr. Vincy, who doted on his wife, was more alarmed on her account than on Fred's. But for his insistence she would have taken no rest: her brightness was all bedimmed; unconscious of her costume which had always been so fresh and gay, she was like a sick bird with languid eye and plumage ruffled, her senses dulled to the sights and sounds that used most to interest her. Fred's delirium, in which he seemed to be wandering out of her reach, tore her heart. After her first outburst against Mr. Wrench she went about very quietly: her one low cry was to Lydgate. She would follow him out of the room and put her hand on his arm moaning out, \"Save my boy.\" Once she pleaded, \"He has always been good to me, Mr. Lydgate: he never had a hard word for his mother,\"—as if poor Fred's suffering were an accusation against him. All the deepest fibres of the mother's memory were stirred, and the young man whose voice took a gentler tone when he spoke to her, was one with the babe whom she had loved, with a love new to her, before he was born.\n\"I have good hope, Mrs. Vincy,\" Lydgate would say. \"Come down with me and let us talk about the food.\" In that way he led her to the parlor where Rosamond was, and made a change for her, surprising her into taking some tea or broth which had been prepared for her. There was a constant understanding between him and Rosamond on these matters. He almost always saw her before going to the sickroom, and she appealed to him as to what she could do for mamma. Her presence of mind and adroitness in carrying out his hints were admirable, and it is not wonderful that the idea of seeing Rosamond began to mingle itself with his interest in the case. Especially when the critical stage was passed, and he began to feel confident of Fred's recovery. In the more doubtful time, he had advised calling in Dr. Sprague (who, if he could, would rather have remained neutral on Wrench's account); but after two consultations, the conduct of the case was left to Lydgate, and there was every reason to make him assiduous. Morning and evening he was at Mr. Vincy's, and gradually the visits became cheerful as Fred became simply feeble, and lay not only in need of the utmost petting but conscious of it, so that Mrs. Vincy felt as if, after all, the illness had made a festival for her tenderness.\nBoth father and mother held it an added reason for good spirits, when old Mr. Featherstone sent messages by Lydgate, saying that Fred must make haste and get well, as he, Peter Featherstone, could not do without him, and missed his visits sadly. The old man himself was getting bedridden. Mrs. Vincy told these messages to Fred when he could listen, and he turned towards her his delicate, pinched face, from which all the thick blond hair had been cut away, and in which the eyes seemed to have got larger, yearning for some word about Mary—wondering what she felt about his illness. No word passed his lips; but \"to hear with eyes belongs to love's rare wit,\" and the mother in the fulness of her heart not only divined Fred's longing, but felt ready for any sacrifice in order to satisfy him.\n\"If I can only see my boy strong again,\" she said, in her loving folly; \"and who knows?—perhaps master of Stone Court! and he can marry anybody he likes then.\"\n\"Not if they won't have me, mother,\" said Fred. The illness had made him childish, and tears came as he spoke.\n\"Oh, take a bit of jelly, my dear,\" said Mrs. Vincy, secretly incredulous of any such refusal.\nShe never left Fred's side when her husband was not in the house, and thus Rosamond was in the unusual position of being much alone. Lydgate, naturally, never thought of staying long with her, yet it seemed that the brief impersonal conversations they had together were creating that peculiar intimacy which consists in shyness. They were obliged to look at each other in speaking, and somehow the looking could not be carried through as the matter of course which it really was. Lydgate began to feel this sort of consciousness unpleasant and one day looked down, or anywhere, like an ill-worked puppet. But this turned out badly: the next day, Rosamond looked down, and the consequence was that when their eyes met again, both were more conscious than before. There was no help for this in science, and as Lydgate did not want to flirt, there seemed to be no help for it in folly. It was therefore a relief when neighbors no longer considered the house in quarantine, and when the chances of seeing Rosamond alone were very much reduced.\nBut that intimacy of mutual embarrassment, in which each feels that the other is feeling something, having once existed, its effect is not to be done away with. Talk about the weather and other well-bred topics is apt to seem a hollow device, and behavior can hardly become easy unless it frankly recognizes a mutual fascination—which of course need not mean anything deep or serious. This was the way in which Rosamond and Lydgate slid gracefully into ease, and made their intercourse lively again. Visitors came and went as usual, there was once more music in the drawing-room, and all the extra hospitality of Mr. Vincy's mayoralty returned. Lydgate, whenever he could, took his seat by Rosamond's side, and lingered to hear her music, calling himself her captive—meaning, all the while, not to be her captive. The preposterousness of the notion that he could at once set up a satisfactory establishment as a married man was a sufficient guarantee against danger. This play at being a little in love was agreeable, and did not interfere with graver pursuits. Flirtation, after all, was not necessarily a singeing process. Rosamond, for her part, had never enjoyed the days so much in her life before: she was sure of being admired by some one worth captivating, and she did not distinguish flirtation from love, either in herself or in another. She seemed to be sailing with a fair wind just whither she would go, and her thoughts were much occupied with a handsome house in Lowick Gate which she hoped would by-and-by be vacant. She was quite determined, when she was married, to rid herself adroitly of all the visitors who were not agreeable to her at her father's; and she imagined the drawing-room in her favorite house with various styles of furniture.", "chosen": "But for his insistence she would have taken no rest: her brightness was all bedimmed; unconscious of her costume which had always been so fresh and gay, she was like a sick bird with languid eye and plumage ruffled, her senses dulled to the sights and sounds that used most to interest her.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nBut for his insistence she would have taken no rest: her brightness was all bedimmed; unconscious of her costume which had always been so fresh and gay, she was like a sick bird with languid eye and plumage ruffled, her senses dulled to the sights and sounds that used most to interest her.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-028-00-06dc34ba", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nSince it occurred, a change had come over Fred's sky, which altered his view of the distance, and was the reason why his uncle Featherstone's present of money was of importance enough to make his color come and go, first with a too definite expectation, and afterwards with a proportionate disappointment. His failure in passing his examination, had made his accumulation of college debts the more unpardonable by his father, and there had been an unprecedented storm at home. Mr. Vincy had sworn that if he had anything more of that sort to put up with, Fred should turn out and get his living how he could; and he had never yet quite recovered his good-humored tone to his son, who had especially enraged him by saying at this stage of things that he did not want to be a clergyman, and would rather not \"go on with that.\" Fred was conscious that he would have been yet more severely dealt with if his family as well as himself had not secretly regarded him as Mr. Featherstone's heir; that old gentleman's pride in him, and apparent fondness for him, serving in the stead of more exemplary conduct—just as when a youthful nobleman steals jewellery we call the act kleptomania, speak of it with a philosophical smile, and never think of his being sent to the house of correction as if he were a ragged boy who had stolen turnips. In fact, tacit expectations of what would be done for him by uncle Featherstone determined the angle at which most people viewed Fred Vincy in Middlemarch; and in his own consciousness, what uncle Featherstone would do for him in an emergency, or what he would do simply as an incorporated luck, formed always an immeasurable depth of aerial perspective. But that present of bank-notes, once made, was measurable, and being applied to the amount of the debt, showed a deficit which had still to be filled up either by Fred's \"judgment\" or by luck in some other shape. For that little episode of the alleged borrowing, in which he had made his father the agent in getting the Bulstrode certificate, was a new reason against going to his father for money towards meeting his actual debt. Fred was keen enough to foresee that anger would confuse distinctions, and that his denial of having borrowed expressly on the strength of his uncle's will would be taken as a falsehood. He had gone to his father and told him one vexatious affair, and he had left another untold: in such cases the complete revelation always produces the impression of a previous duplicity. Now Fred piqued himself on keeping clear of lies, and even fibs; he often shrugged his shoulders and made a significant grimace at what he called Rosamond's fibs (it is only brothers who can associate such ideas with a lovely girl); and rather than incur the accusation of falsehood he would even incur some trouble and self-restraint. It was under strong inward pressure of this kind that Fred had taken the wise step of depositing the eighty pounds with his mother. It was a pity that he had not at once given them to Mr. Garth; but he meant to make the sum complete with another sixty, and with a view to this, he had kept twenty pounds in his own pocket as a sort of seed-corn, which, planted by judgment, and watered by luck, might yield more than threefold—a very poor rate of multiplication when the field is a young gentleman's infinite soul, with all the numerals at command.\nFred was not a gambler: he had not that specific disease in which the suspension of the whole nervous energy on a chance or risk becomes as necessary as the dram to the drunkard; he had only the tendency to that diffusive form of gambling which has no alcoholic intensity, but is carried on with the healthiest chyle-fed blood, keeping up a joyous imaginative activity which fashions events according to desire, and having no fears about its own weather, only sees the advantage there must be to others in going aboard with it. Hopefulness has a pleasure in making a throw of any kind, because the prospect of success is certain; and only a more generous pleasure in offering as many as possible a share in the stake. Fred liked play, especially billiards, as he liked hunting or riding a steeple-chase; and he only liked it the better because he wanted money and hoped to win. But the twenty pounds' worth of seed-corn had been planted in vain in the seductive green plot—all of it at least which had not been dispersed by the roadside—and Fred found himself close upon the term of payment with no money at command beyond the eighty pounds which he had deposited with his mother. The broken-winded horse which he rode represented a present which had been made to him a long while ago by his uncle Featherstone: his father always allowed him to keep a horse, Mr. Vincy's own habits making him regard this as a reasonable demand even for a son who was rather exasperating. This horse, then, was Fred's property, and in his anxiety to meet the imminent bill he determined to sacrifice a possession without which life would certainly be worth little. He made the resolution with a sense of heroism—heroism forced on him by the dread of breaking his word to Mr. Garth, by his love for Mary and awe of her opinion. He would start for Houndsley horse-fair which was to be held the next morning, and—simply sell his horse, bringing back the money by coach?—Well, the horse would hardly fetch more than thirty pounds, and there was no knowing what might happen; it would be folly to balk himself of luck beforehand. It was a hundred to one that some good chance would fall in his way; the longer he thought of it, the less possible it seemed that he should not have a good chance, and the less reasonable that he should not equip himself with the powder and shot for bringing it down. He would ride to Houndsley with Bambridge and with Horrock \"the vet,\" and without asking them anything expressly, he should virtually get the benefit of their opinion. Before he set out, Fred got the eighty pounds from his mother.\nMost of those who saw Fred riding out of Middlemarch in company with Bambridge and Horrock, on his way of course to Houndsley horse-fair, thought that young Vincy was pleasure-seeking as usual; and but for an unwonted consciousness of grave matters on hand, he himself would have had a sense of dissipation, and of doing what might be expected of a gay young fellow. Considering that Fred was not at all coarse, that he rather looked down on the manners and speech of young men who had not been to the university, and that he had written stanzas as pastoral and unvoluptuous as his flute-playing, his attraction towards Bambridge and Horrock was an interesting fact which even the love of horse-flesh would not wholly account for without that mysterious influence of Naming which determinates so much of mortal choice. Under any other name than \"pleasure\" the society of Messieurs Bambridge and Horrock must certainly have been regarded as monotonous; and to arrive with them at Houndsley on a drizzling afternoon, to get down at the Red Lion in a street shaded with coal-dust, and dine in a room furnished with a dirt-enamelled map of the county, a bad portrait of an anonymous horse in a stable, His Majesty George the Fourth with legs and cravat, and various leaden spittoons, might have seemed a hard business, but for the sustaining power of nomenclature which determined that the pursuit of these things was \"gay.\"", "chosen": "[\"go on with that.\", \"judgment\", \"the vet,\", \"pleasure\", \"gay.\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"go on with that.\", \"judgment\", \"the vet,\", \"pleasure\", \"gay.\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-024-02-d37e5f58", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"A child forsaken, waking suddenly, Whose gaze afeard on all things round doth rove, And seeth only that it cannot see The meeting eyes of love.\"\nTwo hours later, Dorothea was seated in an inner room or boudoir of a handsome apartment in the Via Sistina.\nI am sorry to add that she was sobbing bitterly, with such abandonment to this relief of an oppressed heart as a woman habitually controlled by pride on her own account and thoughtfulness for others will sometimes allow herself when she feels securely alone. And Mr. Casaubon was certain to remain away for some time at the Vatican.\nYet Dorothea had no distinctly shapen grievance that she could state even to herself; and in the midst of her confused thought and passion, the mental act that was struggling forth into clearness was a self-accusing cry that her feeling of desolation was the fault of her own spiritual poverty. She had married the man of her choice, and with the advantage over most girls that she had contemplated her marriage chiefly as the beginning of new duties: from the very first she had thought of Mr. Casaubon as having a mind so much above her own, that he must often be claimed by studies which she could not entirely share; moreover, after the brief narrow experience of her girlhood she was beholding Rome, the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.\nBut this stupendous fragmentariness heightened the dreamlike strangeness of her bridal life. Dorothea had now been five weeks in Rome, and in the kindly mornings when autumn and winter seemed to go hand in hand like a happy aged couple one of whom would presently survive in chiller loneliness, she had driven about at first with Mr. Casaubon, but of late chiefly with Tantripp and their experienced courier. She had been led through the best galleries, had been taken to the chief points of view, had been shown the grandest ruins and the most glorious churches, and she had ended by oftenest choosing to drive out to the Campagna where she could feel alone with the earth and sky, away-from the oppressive masquerade of ages, in which her own life too seemed to become a masque with enigmatical costumes.\nTo those who have looked at Rome with the quickening power of a knowledge which breathes a growing soul into all historic shapes, and traces out the suppressed transitions which unite all contrasts, Rome may still be the spiritual centre and interpreter of the world. But let them conceive one more historical contrast: the gigantic broken revelations of that Imperial and Papal city thrust abruptly on the notions of a girl who had been brought up in English and Swiss Puritanism, fed on meagre Protestant histories and on art chiefly of the hand-screen sort; a girl whose ardent nature turned all her small allowance of knowledge into principles, fusing her actions into their mould, and whose quick emotions gave the most abstract things the quality of a pleasure or a pain; a girl who had lately become a wife, and from the enthusiastic acceptance of untried duty found herself plunged in tumultuous preoccupation with her personal lot. The weight of unintelligible Rome might lie easily on bright nymphs to whom it formed a background for the brilliant picnic of Anglo-foreign society; but Dorothea had no such defence against deep impressions. Ruins and basilicas, palaces and colossi, set in the midst of a sordid present, where all that was living and warm-blooded seemed sunk in the deep degeneracy of a superstition divorced from reverence; the dimmer but yet eager Titanic life gazing and struggling on walls and ceilings; the long vistas of white forms whose marble eyes seemed to hold the monotonous light of an alien world: all this vast wreck of ambitious ideals, sensuous and spiritual, mixed confusedly with the signs of breathing forgetfulness and degradation, at first jarred her as with an electric shock, and then urged themselves on her with that ache belonging to a glut of confused ideas which check the flow of emotion. Forms both pale and glowing took possession of her young sense, and fixed themselves in her memory even when she was not thinking of them, preparing strange associations which remained through her after-years. Our moods are apt to bring with them images which succeed each other like the magic-lantern pictures of a doze; and in certain states of dull forlornness Dorothea all her life continued to see the vastness of St. Peter's, the huge bronze canopy, the excited intention in the attitudes and garments of the prophets and evangelists in the mosaics above, and the red drapery which was being hung for Christmas spreading itself everywhere like a disease of the retina.\nNot that this inward amazement of Dorothea's was anything very exceptional: many souls in their young nudity are tumbled out among incongruities and left to \"find their feet\" among them, while their elders go about their business. Nor can I suppose that when Mrs. Casaubon is discovered in a fit of weeping six weeks after her wedding, the situation will be regarded as tragic. Some discouragement, some faintness of heart at the new real future which replaces the imaginary, is not unusual, and we do not expect people to be deeply moved by what is not unusual. That element of tragedy which lies in the very fact of frequency, has not yet wrought itself into the coarse emotion of mankind; and perhaps our frames could hardly bear much of it. If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it is, the quickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity.\nHowever, Dorothea was crying, and if she had been required to state the cause, she could only have done so in some such general words as I have already used: to have been driven to be more particular would have been like trying to give a history of the lights and shadows, for that new real future which was replacing the imaginary drew its material from the endless minutiae by which her view of Mr. Casaubon and her wifely relation, now that she was married to him, was gradually changing with the secret motion of a watch-hand from what it had been in her maiden dream. It was too early yet for her fully to recognize or at least admit the change, still more for her to have readjusted that devotedness which was so necessary a part of her mental life that she was almost sure sooner or later to recover it. Permanent rebellion, the disorder of a life without some loving reverent resolve, was not possible to her; but she was now in an interval when the very force of her nature heightened its confusion. In this way, the early months of marriage often are times of critical tumult—whether that of a shrimp-pool or of deeper waters—which afterwards subsides into cheerful peace.\nBut was not Mr. Casaubon just as learned as before? Had his forms of expression changed, or his sentiments become less laudable? Oh waywardness of womanhood! did his chronology fail him, or his ability to state not only a theory but the names of those who held it; or his provision for giving the heads of any subject on demand? And was not Rome the place in all the world to give free play to such accomplishments? Besides, had not Dorothea's enthusiasm especially dwelt on the prospect of relieving the weight and perhaps the sadness with which great tasks lie on him who has to achieve them?— And that such weight pressed on Mr. Casaubon was only plainer than before.", "chosen": "before", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nbefore\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-021-00-4af34dfe", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nNo wonder that in Lydgate's energetic nature the sense of a hopeless misconstruction easily turned into a dogged resistance. The scowl which occasionally showed itself on his square brow was not a meaningless accident. Already when he was re-entering the town after that ride taken in the first hours of stinging pain, he was setting his mind on remaining in Middlemarch in spite of the worst that could be done against him. He would not retreat before calumny, as if he submitted to it. He would face it to the utmost, and no act of his should show that he was afraid. It belonged to the generosity as well as defiant force of his nature that he resolved not to shrink from showing to the full his sense of obligation to Bulstrode. It was true that the association with this man had been fatal to him—true that if he had had the thousand pounds still in his hands with all his debts unpaid he would have returned the money to Bulstrode, and taken beggary rather than the rescue which had been sullied with the suspicion of a bribe (for, remember, he was one of the proudest among the sons of men)—nevertheless, he would not turn away from this crushed fellow-mortal whose aid he had used, and make a pitiful effort to get acquittal for himself by howling against another. \"I shall do as I think right, and explain to nobody. They will try to starve me out, but—\" he was going on with an obstinate resolve, but he was getting near home, and the thought of Rosamond urged itself again into that chief place from which it had been thrust by the agonized struggles of wounded honor and pride.\nHow would Rosamond take it all? Here was another weight of chain to drag, and poor Lydgate was in a bad mood for bearing her dumb mastery. He had no impulse to tell her the trouble which must soon be common to them both. He preferred waiting for the incidental disclosure which events must soon bring about.", "chosen": "[\"Lydgate\", \"Middlemarch\", \"Bulstrode\", \"Rosamond\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Lydgate\", \"Middlemarch\", \"Bulstrode\", \"Rosamond\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-145-073-01-fc6e2c0d", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe town of New Madrid was looking very unwell; but otherwise unchanged from its former condition and aspect. Its blocks of frame-houses were still grouped in the same old flat plain, and environed by the same old forests. It was as tranquil as formerly, and apparently had neither grown nor diminished in size. It was said that the recent high water had invaded it and damaged its looks. This was surprising news; for in low water the river bank is very high there (fifty feet), and in my day an overflow had always been considered an impossibility. This present flood of 1882 Will doubtless be celebrated in the river's history for several generations before a deluge of like magnitude shall be seen. It put all the unprotected low lands under water, from Cairo to the mouth; it broke down the levees in a great many places, on both sides of the river; and in some regions south, when the flood was at its highest, the Mississippi was seventy miles wide! a number of lives were lost, and the destruction of property was fearful. The crops were destroyed, houses washed away, and shelterless men and cattle forced to take refuge on scattering elevations here and there in field and forest, and wait in peril and suffering until the boats put in commission by the national and local governments and by newspaper enterprise could come and rescue them. The properties of multitudes of people were under water for months, and the poorer ones must have starved by the hundred if succor had not been promptly afforded.{footnote [For a detailed and interesting description of the great flood, written on board of the New Orleans Times-Democrat's relief-boat, see Appendix A]} The water had been falling during a considerable time now, yet as a rule we found the banks still under water.", "chosen": "The, Its, It, It, This, This, It, a, The, The", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nThe, Its, It, It, This, This, It, a, The, The\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-245-026-02-0a060e9b", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"You know the Old Bailey well, no doubt?\" said one of the oldest of clerks to Jerry the messenger.\n\"Ye-es, sir,\" returned Jerry, in something of a dogged manner. \"I do know the Bailey.\"\n\"Just so. And you know Mr. Lorry.\"\n\"I know Mr. Lorry, sir, much better than I know the Bailey. Much better,\" said Jerry, not unlike a reluctant witness at the establishment in question, \"than I, as a honest tradesman, wish to know the Bailey.\"\n\"Very well. Find the door where the witnesses go in, and show the door-keeper this note for Mr. Lorry. He will then let you in.\"\n\"Into the court, sir?\"\n\"Into the court.\"\nMr. Cruncher's eyes seemed to get a little closer to one another, and to interchange the inquiry, \"What do you think of this?\"\n\"Am I to wait in the court, sir?\" he asked, as the result of that conference.\n\"I am going to tell you. The door-keeper will pass the note to Mr. Lorry, and do you make any gesture that will attract Mr. Lorry's attention, and show him where you stand. Then what you have to do, is, to remain there until he wants you.\"\n\"Is that all, sir?\"\n\"That's all. He wishes to have a messenger at hand. This is to tell him you are there.\"\nAs the ancient clerk deliberately folded and superscribed the note, Mr. Cruncher, after surveying him in silence until he came to the blotting-paper stage, remarked:\n\"I suppose they'll be trying Forgeries this morning?\"\n\"Treason!\"\n\"That's quartering,\" said Jerry. \"Barbarous!\"\n\"It is the law,\" remarked the ancient clerk, turning his surprised spectacles upon him. \"It is the law.\"\n\"It's hard in the law to spile a man, I think. It's hard enough to kill him, but it's wery hard to spile him, sir.\"\n\"Not at all,\" retained the ancient clerk. \"Speak well of the law. Take care of your chest and voice, my good friend, and leave the law to take care of itself. I give you that advice.\"\n\"It's the damp, sir, what settles on my chest and voice,\" said Jerry. \"I leave you to judge what a damp way of earning a living mine is.\"\n\"Well, well,\" said the old clerk; \"we all have our various ways of gaining a livelihood. Some of us have damp ways, and some of us have dry ways. Here is the letter. Go along.\"\nJerry took the letter, and, remarking to himself with less internal deference than he made an outward show of, \"You are a lean old one, too,\" made his bow, informed his son, in passing, of his destination, and went his way.\nThey hanged at Tyburn, in those days, so the street outside Newgate had not obtained one infamous notoriety that has since attached to it. But, the gaol was a vile place, in which most kinds of debauchery and villainy were practised, and where dire diseases were bred, that came into court with the prisoners, and sometimes rushed straight from the dock at my Lord Chief Justice himself, and pulled him off the bench. It had more than once happened, that the Judge in the black cap pronounced his own doom as certainly as the prisoner's, and even died before him. For the rest, the Old Bailey was famous as a kind of deadly inn-yard, from which pale travellers set out continually, in carts and coaches, on a violent passage into the other world: traversing some two miles and a half of public street and road, and shaming few good citizens, if any. So powerful is use, and so desirable to be good use in the beginning. It was famous, too, for the pillory, a wise old institution, that inflicted a punishment of which no one could foresee the extent; also, for the whipping-post, another dear old institution, very humanising and softening to behold in action; also, for extensive transactions in blood-money, another fragment of ancestral wisdom, systematically leading to the most frightful mercenary crimes that could be committed under Heaven. Altogether, the Old Bailey, at that date, was a choice illustration of the precept, that \"Whatever is is right;\" an aphorism that would be as final as it is lazy, did it not include the troublesome consequence, that nothing that ever was, was wrong.\nMaking his way through the tainted crowd, dispersed up and down this hideous scene of action, with the skill of a man accustomed to make his way quietly, the messenger found out the door he sought, and handed in his letter through a trap in it. For, people then paid to see the play at the Old Bailey, just as they paid to see the play in Bedlam--only the former entertainment was much the dearer. Therefore, all the Old Bailey doors were well guarded--except, indeed, the social doors by which the criminals got there, and those were always left wide open.\nAfter some delay and demur, the door grudgingly turned on its hinges a very little way, and allowed Mr. Jerry Cruncher to squeeze himself into court.\n\"What's on?\" he asked, in a whisper, of the man he found himself next to.\n\"Nothing yet.\"\n\"What's coming on?\"\n\"The Treason case.\"\n\"The quartering one, eh?\"\n\"Ah!\" returned the man, with a relish; \"he'll be drawn on a hurdle to be half hanged, and then he'll be taken down and sliced before his own face, and then his inside will be taken out and burnt while he looks on, and then his head will be chopped off, and he'll be cut into quarters. That's the sentence.\"\n\"If he's found Guilty, you mean to say?\" Jerry added, by way of proviso.\n\"Oh! they'll find him guilty,\" said the other. \"Don't you be afraid of that.\"\nMr. Cruncher's attention was here diverted to the door-keeper, whom he saw making his way to Mr. Lorry, with the note in his hand. Mr. Lorry sat at a table, among the gentlemen in wigs: not far from a wigged gentleman, the prisoner's counsel, who had a great bundle of papers before him: and nearly opposite another wigged gentleman with his hands in his pockets, whose whole attention, when Mr. Cruncher looked at him then or afterwards, seemed to be concentrated on the ceiling of the court. After some gruff coughing and rubbing of his chin and signing with his hand, Jerry attracted the notice of Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to look for him, and who quietly nodded and sat down again.\n\"What's he got to do with the case?\" asked the man he had spoken with.\n\"Blest if I know,\" said Jerry.\n\"What have you got to do with it, then, if a person may inquire?\"\n\"Blest if I know that either,\" said Jerry.\nThe entrance of the Judge, and a consequent great stir and settling down in the court, stopped the dialogue. Presently, the dock became the central point of interest. Two gaolers, who had been standing there, went out, and the prisoner was brought in, and put to the bar.\nEverybody present, except the one wigged gentleman who looked at the ceiling, stared at him. All the human breath in the place, rolled at him, like a sea, or a wind, or a fire. Eager faces strained round pillars and corners, to get a sight of him; spectators in back rows stood up, not to miss a hair of him; people on the floor of the court, laid their hands on the shoulders of the people before them, to help themselves, at anybody's cost, to a view of him--stood a-tiptoe, got upon ledges, stood upon next to nothing, to see every inch of him. Conspicuous among these latter, like an animated bit of the spiked wall of Newgate, Jerry stood: aiming at the prisoner the beery breath of a whet he had taken as he came along, and discharging it to mingle with the waves of other beer, and gin, and tea, and coffee, and what not, that flowed at him, and already broke upon the great windows behind him in an impure mist and rain.", "chosen": "64", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n64\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-98-008-00-135089e7", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Yes, and you done more than that,\" said Injun Joe, approaching the doctor, who was now standing. \"Five years ago you drove me away from your father's kitchen one night, when I come to ask for something to eat, and you said I warn't there for any good; and when I swore I'd get even with you if it took a hundred years, your father had me jailed for a vagrant. Did you think I'd forget? The Injun blood ain't in me for nothing. And now I've got you, and you got to settle, you know!\"\nHe was threatening the doctor, with his fist in his face, by this time. The doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian on the ground. Potter dropped his knife, and exclaimed:\n\"Here, now, don't you hit my pard!\" and the next moment he had grappled with the doctor and the two were struggling with might and main, trampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels. Injun Joe sprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion, snatched up Potter's knife, and went creeping, catlike and stooping, round and round about the combatants, seeking an opportunity. All at once the doctor flung himself free, seized the heavy headboard of Williams' grave and felled Potter to the earth with it—and in the same instant the half-breed saw his chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the young man's breast. He reeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him with his blood, and in the same moment the clouds blotted out the dreadful spectacle and the two frightened boys went speeding away in the dark.\nPresently, when the moon emerged again, Injun Joe was standing over the two forms, contemplating them. The doctor murmured inarticulately, gave a long gasp or two and was still. The half-breed muttered:\n\"That score is settled—damn you.\"\nThen he robbed the body. After which he put the fatal knife in Potter's open right hand, and sat down on the dismantled coffin. Three—four—five minutes passed, and then Potter began to stir and moan. His hand closed upon the knife; he raised it, glanced at it, and let it fall, with a shudder. Then he sat up, pushing the body from him, and gazed at it, and then around him, confusedly. His eyes met Joe's.\n\"Lord, how is this, Joe?\" he said.\n\"It's a dirty business,\" said Joe, without moving. \"What did you do it for?\"\n\"I! I never done it!\"\n\"Look here! That kind of talk won't wash.\"\nPotter trembled and grew white.\n\"I thought I'd got sober. I'd no business to drink to-night. But it's in my head yet—worse'n when we started here. I'm all in a muddle; can't recollect anything of it, hardly. Tell me, Joe—honest, now, old feller—did I do it? Joe, I never meant to—'pon my soul and honor, I never meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. Oh, it's awful—and him so young and promising.\"\n\"Why, you two was scuffling, and he fetched you one with the headboard and you fell flat; and then up you come, all reeling and staggering like, and snatched the knife and jammed it into him, just as he fetched you another awful clip—and here you've laid, as dead as a wedge til now.\"\n\"Oh, I didn't know what I was a-doing. I wish I may die this minute if I did. It was all on account of the whiskey and the excitement, I reckon. I never used a weepon in my life before, Joe. I've fought, but never with weepons. They'll all say that. Joe, don't tell! Say you won't tell, Joe—that's a good feller. I always liked you, Joe, and stood up for you, too. Don't you remember? You won't tell, will you, Joe?\" And the poor creature dropped on his knees before the stolid murderer, and clasped his appealing hands.\n\"No, you've always been fair and square with me, Muff Potter, and I won't go back on you. There, now, that's as fair as a man can say.\"\n\"Oh, Joe, you're an angel. I'll bless you for this the longest day I live.\" And Potter began to cry.\n\"Come, now, that's enough of that. This ain't any time for blubbering. You be off yonder way and I'll go this. Move, now, and don't leave any tracks behind you.\"\nPotter started on a trot that quickly increased to a run. The half-breed stood looking after him. He muttered:\n\"If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as he had the look of being, he won't think of the knife till he's gone so far he'll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by himself—chicken-heart!\"\nTwo or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the lidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the moon's. The stillness was complete again, too.", "chosen": "He muttered:\n\"If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as he had the look of being, he won't think of the knife till he's gone so far he'll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by himself—chicken-heart!\"\nTwo or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the lidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the moon's.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nHe muttered:\n\"If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as he had the look of being, he won't think of the knife till he's gone so far he'll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by himself—chicken-heart!\"\nTwo or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the lidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the moon's.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-74-009-01-35a81c15", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe Doctor had taken care that it should be there--had assured him that it would be there--and at this stage of the proceedings it was produced and read. Citizen Gabelle was called to confirm it, and did so. Citizen Gabelle hinted, with infinite delicacy and politeness, that in the pressure of business imposed on the Tribunal by the multitude of enemies of the Republic with which it had to deal, he had been slightly overlooked in his prison of the Abbaye--in fact, had rather passed out of the Tribunal's patriotic remembrance--until three days ago; when he had been summoned before it, and had been set at liberty on the Jury's declaring themselves satisfied that the accusation against him was answered, as to himself, by the surrender of the citizen Evrémonde, called Darnay.\nDoctor Manette was next questioned. His high personal popularity, and the clearness of his answers, made a great impression; but, as he proceeded, as he showed that the Accused was his first friend on his release from his long imprisonment; that, the accused had remained in England, always faithful and devoted to his daughter and himself in their exile; that, so far from being in favour with the Aristocrat government there, he had actually been tried for his life by it, as the foe of England and friend of the United States--as he brought these circumstances into view, with the greatest discretion and with the straightforward force of truth and earnestness, the Jury and the populace became one. At last, when he appealed by name to Monsieur Lorry, an English gentleman then and there present, who, like himself, had been a witness on that English trial and could corroborate his account of it, the Jury declared that they had heard enough, and that they were ready with their votes if the President were content to receive them.\nAt every vote (the Jurymen voted aloud and individually), the populace set up a shout of applause. All the voices were in the prisoner's favour, and the President declared him free.\nThen, began one of those extraordinary scenes with which the populace sometimes gratified their fickleness, or their better impulses towards generosity and mercy, or which they regarded as some set-off against their swollen account of cruel rage. No man can decide now to which of these motives such extraordinary scenes were referable; it is probable, to a blending of all the three, with the second predominating. No sooner was the acquittal pronounced, than tears were shed as freely as blood at another time, and such fraternal embraces were bestowed upon the prisoner by as many of both sexes as could rush at him, that after his long and unwholesome confinement he was in danger of fainting from exhaustion; none the less because he knew very well, that the very same people, carried by another current, would have rushed at him with the very same intensity, to rend him to pieces and strew him over the streets.\nHis removal, to make way for other accused persons who were to be tried, rescued him from these caresses for the moment. Five were to be tried together, next, as enemies of the Republic, forasmuch as they had not assisted it by word or deed. So quick was the Tribunal to compensate itself and the nation for a chance lost, that these five came down to him before he left the place, condemned to die within twenty-four hours. The first of them told him so, with the customary prison sign of Death--a raised finger--and they all added in words, \"Long live the Republic!\"\nThe five had had, it is true, no audience to lengthen their proceedings, for when he and Doctor Manette emerged from the gate, there was a great crowd about it, in which there seemed to be every face he had seen in Court--except two, for which he looked in vain. On his coming out, the concourse made at him anew, weeping, embracing, and shouting, all by turns and all together, until the very tide of the river on the bank of which the mad scene was acted, seemed to run mad, like the people on the shore.\nThey put him into a great chair they had among them, and which they had taken either out of the Court itself, or one of its rooms or passages. Over the chair they had thrown a red flag, and to the back of it they had bound a pike with a red cap on its top. In this car of triumph, not even the Doctor's entreaties could prevent his being carried to his home on men's shoulders, with a confused sea of red caps heaving about him, and casting up to sight from the stormy deep such wrecks of faces, that he more than once misdoubted his mind being in confusion, and that he was in the tumbril on his way to the Guillotine.\nIn wild dreamlike procession, embracing whom they met and pointing him out, they carried him on. Reddening the snowy streets with the prevailing Republican colour, in winding and tramping through them, as they had reddened them below the snow with a deeper dye, they carried him thus into the courtyard of the building where he lived. Her father had gone on before, to prepare her, and when her husband stood upon his feet, she dropped insensible in his arms.\nAs he held her to his heart and turned her beautiful head between his face and the brawling crowd, so that his tears and her lips might come together unseen, a few of the people fell to dancing. Instantly, all the rest fell to dancing, and the courtyard overflowed with the Carmagnole. Then, they elevated into the vacant chair a young woman from the crowd to be carried as the Goddess of Liberty, and then swelling and overflowing out into the adjacent streets, and along the river's bank, and over the bridge, the Carmagnole absorbed them every one and whirled them away.\nAfter grasping the Doctor's hand, as he stood victorious and proud before him; after grasping the hand of Mr. Lorry, who came panting in breathless from his struggle against the waterspout of the Carmagnole; after kissing little Lucie, who was lifted up to clasp her arms round his neck; and after embracing the ever zealous and faithful Pross who lifted her; he took his wife in his arms, and carried her up to their rooms.\n\"Lucie! My own! I am safe.\"\n\"O dearest Charles, let me thank God for this on my knees as I have prayed to Him.\"\nThey all reverently bowed their heads and hearts. When she was again in his arms, he said to her:\n\"And now speak to your father, dearest. No other man in all this France could have done what he has done for me.\"\nShe laid her head upon her father's breast, as she had laid his poor head on her own breast, long, long ago. He was happy in the return he had made her, he was recompensed for his suffering, he was proud of his strength. \"You must not be weak, my darling,\" he remonstrated; \"don't tremble so. I have saved him.\"", "chosen": "him", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nhim\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-036-01-42716aa4", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nIn the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for half an hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the opportunity of making any inquiries which Jane was equally eager to satisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued the subject by saying, \"But tell me all and everything about it which I have not already heard. Give me further particulars. What did Colonel Forster say? Had they no apprehension of anything before the elopement took place? They must have seen them together for ever.\"\n\"Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality, especially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so grieved for him. His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He was coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he had any idea of their not being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension first got abroad, it hastened his journey.\"\n\"And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?\"\n\"Yes; but when questioned by him, Denny denied knowing anything of their plan, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not repeat his persuasion of their not marrying, and from that I am inclined to hope he might have been misunderstood before.\"\n\"And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained a doubt, I suppose, of their being really married?\"\n\"How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains? I felt a little uneasy--a little fearful of my sister's happiness with him in marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite right. My father and mother knew nothing of that; they only felt how imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia's last letter she had prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems, of their being in love with each other many weeks.\"\n\"But not before they went to Brighton?\"\n\"No, I believe not.\"\n\"And did Colonel Forster appear to think ill of Wickham himself? Does he know his real character?\"\n\"I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant; and since this sad affair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton greatly in debt: but I hope this may be false.\"\n\"Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him, this could not have happened!\"\n\"Perhaps it would have been better,\" replied her sister.\n\"But to expose the former faults of any person, without knowing what their present feelings were, seemed unjustifiable.\"\n\"We acted with the best intentions.\"\n\"Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia's note to his wife?\"\n\"He brought it with him for us to see.\"\nJane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth. These were the contents:--\n/* NIND \"My dear Harriet, */\n\"You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater when I write to them, and sign my name Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt for not keeping my engagement, and dancing with him to-night. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all, and tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet with great pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are packed up. Good-bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey.\n\"Your affectionate friend,\n\"LYDIA BENNET.\"\n\"Oh, thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!\" cried Elizabeth when she had finished it. \"What a letter is this, to be written at such a moment! But at least it shows that she was serious in the object of her journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side a scheme of infamy. My poor father! how he must have felt it!\"\n\"I never saw anyone so shocked. He could not speak a word for full ten minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole house in such confusion!\"\n\"Oh, Jane,\" cried Elizabeth, \"was there a servant belonging to it who did not know the whole story before the end of the day?\"\n\"I do not know: I hope there was. But to be guarded at such a time is very difficult. My mother was in hysterics; and though I endeavoured to give her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do so much as I might have done. But the horror of what might possibly happen almost took from me my faculties.\"\n\"Your attendance upon her has been too much for you. You do not look well. Oh that I had been with you! you have had every care and anxiety upon yourself alone.\"\n\"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every fatigue, I am sure, but I did not think it right for either of them. Kitty is slight and delicate, and Mary studies so much that her hours of repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Philips came to Longbourn on Tuesday, after my father went away; and was so good as to stay till Thursday with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all, and Lady Lucas has been very kind: she walked here on Wednesday morning to condole with us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters, if they could be of use to us.\"\n\"She had better have stayed at home,\" cried Elizabeth: \"perhaps she meant well, but, under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see too little of one's neighbours. Assistance is impossible; condolence, insufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied.\"\nShe then proceeded to inquire into the measures which her father had intended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.\n\"He meant, I believe,\" replied Jane, \"to go to Epsom, the place where they last changed horses, see the postilions, and try if anything could be made out from them. His principal object must be to discover the number of the hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had come with a fare from London; and as he thought the circumstance of a gentleman and lady's removing from one carriage into another might be remarked, he meant to make inquiries at Clapham. If he could anyhow discover at what house the coachman had before set down his fare, he determined to make inquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible to find out the stand and number of the coach. I do not know of any other designs that he had formed; but he was in such a hurry to be gone, and his spirits so greatly discomposed, that I had difficulty in finding out even so much as this.\"", "chosen": "[\"Bennets\", \"Elizabeth\", \"Jane\", \"Bennet\", \"Colonel\", \"Forster\", \"Lydia\", \"Scotland\", \"Denny\", \"Wickham\", \"Brighton\", \"Meryton\", \"Perhaps\", \"Could\", \"Harriet\", \"Gretna\", \"Green\", \"Longbourn\", \"Pratt\", \"Sally\", \"Your\", \"Mary\", \"Kitty\", \"Philips\", \"Tuesday\", \"Thursday\", \"Lucas\", \"Wednesday\", \"Epsom\", \"Clapham\", \"London\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Bennets\", \"Elizabeth\", \"Jane\", \"Bennet\", \"Colonel\", \"Forster\", \"Lydia\", \"Scotland\", \"Denny\", \"Wickham\", \"Brighton\", \"Meryton\", \"Perhaps\", \"Could\", \"Harriet\", \"Gretna\", \"Green\", \"Longbourn\", \"Pratt\", \"Sally\", \"Your\", \"Mary\", \"Kitty\", \"Philips\", \"Tuesday\", \"Thursday\", \"Lucas\", \"Wednesday\", \"Epsom\", \"Clapham\", \"London\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1342-047-02-a6a277b6", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nAs he bent his head in his most courtly manner, there was a secrecy in his smiling face, and he conveyed an air of mystery to those words, which struck the eyes and ears of his nephew forcibly. At the same time, the thin straight lines of the setting of the eyes, and the thin straight lips, and the markings in the nose, curved with a sarcasm that looked handsomely diabolic.\n\"Yes,\" repeated the Marquis. \"A Doctor with a daughter. Yes. So commences the new philosophy! You are fatigued. Good night!\"\nIt would have been of as much avail to interrogate any stone face outside the chateau as to interrogate that face of his. The nephew looked at him, in vain, in passing on to the door.\n\"Good night!\" said the uncle. \"I look to the pleasure of seeing you again in the morning. Good repose! Light Monsieur my nephew to his chamber there!--And burn Monsieur my nephew in his bed, if you will,\" he added to himself, before he rang his little bell again, and summoned his valet to his own bedroom.\nThe valet come and gone, Monsieur the Marquis walked to and fro in his loose chamber-robe, to prepare himself gently for sleep, that hot still night. Rustling about the room, his softly-slippered feet making no noise on the floor, he moved like a refined tiger:--looked like some enchanted marquis of the impenitently wicked sort, in story, whose periodical change into tiger form was either just going off, or just coming on.\nHe moved from end to end of his voluptuous bedroom, looking again at the scraps of the day's journey that came unbidden into his mind; the slow toil up the hill at sunset, the setting sun, the descent, the mill, the prison on the crag, the little village in the hollow, the peasants at the fountain, and the mender of roads with his blue cap pointing out the chain under the carriage. That fountain suggested the Paris fountain, the little bundle lying on the step, the women bending over it, and the tall man with his arms up, crying, \"Dead!\"\n\"I am cool now,\" said Monsieur the Marquis, \"and may go to bed.\"\nSo, leaving only one light burning on the large hearth, he let his thin gauze curtains fall around him, and heard the night break its silence with a long sigh as he composed himself to sleep.\nThe stone faces on the outer walls stared blindly at the black night for three heavy hours; for three heavy hours, the horses in the stables rattled at their racks, the dogs barked, and the owl made a noise with very little resemblance in it to the noise conventionally assigned to the owl by men-poets. But it is the obstinate custom of such creatures hardly ever to say what is set down for them.\nFor three heavy hours, the stone faces of the chateau, lion and human, stared blindly at the night. Dead darkness lay on all the landscape, dead darkness added its own hush to the hushing dust on all the roads. The burial-place had got to the pass that its little heaps of poor grass were undistinguishable from one another; the figure on the Cross might have come down, for anything that could be seen of it. In the village, taxers and taxed were fast asleep. Dreaming, perhaps, of banquets, as the starved usually do, and of ease and rest, as the driven slave and the yoked ox may, its lean inhabitants slept soundly, and were fed and freed.\nThe fountain in the village flowed unseen and unheard, and the fountain at the chateau dropped unseen and unheard--both melting away, like the minutes that were falling from the spring of Time--through three dark hours. Then, the grey water of both began to be ghostly in the light, and the eyes of the stone faces of the chateau were opened.\nLighter and lighter, until at last the sun touched the tops of the still trees, and poured its radiance over the hill. In the glow, the water of the chateau fountain seemed to turn to blood, and the stone faces crimsoned. The carol of the birds was loud and high, and, on the weather-beaten sill of the great window of the bed-chamber of Monsieur the Marquis, one little bird sang its sweetest song with all its might. At this, the nearest stone face seemed to stare amazed, and, with open mouth and dropped under-jaw, looked awe-stricken.\nNow, the sun was full up, and movement began in the village. Casement windows opened, crazy doors were unbarred, and people came forth shivering--chilled, as yet, by the new sweet air. Then began the rarely lightened toil of the day among the village population. Some, to the fountain; some, to the fields; men and women here, to dig and delve; men and women there, to see to the poor live stock, and lead the bony cows out, to such pasture as could be found by the roadside. In the church and at the Cross, a kneeling figure or two; attendant on the latter prayers, the led cow, trying for a breakfast among the weeds at its foot.\nThe chateau awoke later, as became its quality, but awoke gradually and surely. First, the lonely boar-spears and knives of the chase had been reddened as of old; then, had gleamed trenchant in the morning sunshine; now, doors and windows were thrown open, horses in their stables looked round over their shoulders at the light and freshness pouring in at doorways, leaves sparkled and rustled at iron-grated windows, dogs pulled hard at their chains, and reared impatient to be loosed.\nAll these trivial incidents belonged to the routine of life, and the return of morning. Surely, not so the ringing of the great bell of the chateau, nor the running up and down the stairs; nor the hurried figures on the terrace; nor the booting and tramping here and there and everywhere, nor the quick saddling of horses and riding away?\nWhat winds conveyed this hurry to the grizzled mender of roads, already at work on the hill-top beyond the village, with his day's dinner (not much to carry) lying in a bundle that it was worth no crow's while to peck at, on a heap of stones? Had the birds, carrying some grains of it to a distance, dropped one over him as they sow chance seeds? Whether or no, the mender of roads ran, on the sultry morning, as if for his life, down the hill, knee-high in dust, and never stopped till he got to the fountain.\nAll the people of the village were at the fountain, standing about in their depressed manner, and whispering low, but showing no other emotions than grim curiosity and surprise. The led cows, hastily brought in and tethered to anything that would hold them, were looking stupidly on, or lying down chewing the cud of nothing particularly repaying their trouble, which they had picked up in their interrupted saunter. Some of the people of the chateau, and some of those of the posting-house, and all the taxing authorities, were armed more or less, and were crowded on the other side of the little street in a purposeless way, that was highly fraught with nothing. Already, the mender of roads had penetrated into the midst of a group of fifty particular friends, and was smiting himself in the breast with his blue cap. What did all this portend, and what portended the swift hoisting-up of Monsieur Gabelle behind a servant on horseback, and the conveying away of the said Gabelle (double-laden though the horse was), at a gallop, like a new version of the German ballad of Leonora?\nIt portended that there was one stone face too many, up at the chateau.\nThe Gorgon had surveyed the building again in the night, and had added the one stone face wanting; the stone face for which it had waited through about two hundred years.\nIt lay back on the pillow of Monsieur the Marquis. It was like a fine mask, suddenly startled, made angry, and petrified. Driven home into the heart of the stone figure attached to it, was a knife. Round its hilt was a frill of paper, on which was scrawled:\n\"Drive him fast to his tomb. This, from Jacques.\"", "chosen": "As, At, Yes,\", A, Yes., So, You, Good, The, Good, I, Good, Light, The, Rustling, He, That, The, But, For, Dead, The, In, Dreaming,, The, Then,, Lighter, In, The, At, Now,, Casement, Then, Some,, In, The, First,, All, Surely,, What, Had, Whether, All, The, Some, Already,, What, It, The, It, It, Driven, Round, This,", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nAs, At, Yes,\", A, Yes., So, You, Good, The, Good, I, Good, Light, The, Rustling, He, That, The, But, For, Dead, The, In, Dreaming,, The, Then,, Lighter, In, The, At, Now,, Casement, Then, Some,, In, The, First,, All, Surely,, What, Had, Whether, All, The, Some, Already,, What, It, The, It, It, Driven, Round, This,\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-015-02-702e3096", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nI like to sit and have a talk sometimes with that odd little chap that was myself long ago. I think he likes it too, for he comes so often of an evening when I am alone with my pipe, listening to the whispering of the flames. I see his solemn little face looking at me through the scented smoke as it floats upward, and I smile at him; and he smiles back at me, but his is such a grave, old-fashioned smile. We chat about old times; and now and then he takes me by the hand, and then we slip through the black bars of the grate and down the dusky glowing caves to the land that lies behind the firelight. There we find the days that used to be, and we wander along them together. He tells me as we walk all he thinks and feels. I laugh at him now and then, but the next moment I wish I had not, for he looks so grave I am ashamed of being frivolous. Besides, it is not showing proper respect to one so much older than myself--to one who was myself so very long before I became myself.\nWe don't talk much at first, but look at one another; I down at his curly hair and little blue bow, he up sideways at me as he trots. And some-how I fancy the shy, round eyes do not altogether approve of me, and he heaves a little sigh, as though he were disappointed. But after awhile his bashfulness wears off and he begins to chat. He tells me his favorite fairy-tales, he can do up to six times, and he has a guinea-pig, and pa says fairy-tales ain't true; and isn't it a pity? 'cos he would so like to be a knight and fight a dragon and marry a beautiful princess. But he takes a more practical view of life when he reaches seven, and would prefer to grow up be a bargee, and earn a lot of money. Maybe this is the consequence of falling in love, which he does about this time with the young lady at the milk shop aet. six. (God bless her little ever-dancing feet, whatever size they may be now!) He must be very fond of her, for he gives her one day his chiefest treasure, to wit, a huge pocket-knife with four rusty blades and a corkscrew, which latter has a knack of working itself out in some mysterious manner and sticking into its owner's leg. She is an affectionate little thing, and she throws her arms round his neck and kisses him for it, then and there, outside the shop. But the stupid world (in the person of the boy at the cigar emporium next door) jeers at such tokens of love. Whereupon my young friend very properly prepares to punch the head of the boy at the cigar emporium next door; but fails in the attempt, the boy at the cigar emporium next door punching his instead.\nAnd then comes school life, with its bitter little sorrows and its joyous shoutings, its jolly larks, and its hot tears falling on beastly Latin grammars and silly old copy-books. It is at school that he injures himself for life--as I firmly believe--trying to pronounce German; and it is there, too, that he learns of the importance attached by the French nation to pens, ink, and paper. \"Have you pens, ink, and paper?\" is the first question asked by one Frenchman of another on their meeting. The other fellow has not any of them, as a rule, but says that the uncle of his brother has got them all three. The first fellow doesn't appear to care a hang about the uncle of the other fellow's brother; what he wants to know now is, has the neighbor of the other fellow's mother got 'em? \"The neighbor of my mother has no pens, no ink, and no paper,\" replies the other man, beginning to get wild. \"Has the child of thy female gardener some pens, some ink, or some paper?\" He has him there. After worrying enough about these wretched inks, pens, and paper to make everybody miserable, it turns out that the child of his own female gardener hasn't any. Such a discovery would shut up any one but a French exercise man. It has no effect at all, though, on this shameless creature. He never thinks of apologizing, but says his aunt has some mustard.\nSo in the acquisition of more or less useless knowledge, soon happily to be forgotten, boyhood passes away. The red-brick school-house fades from view, and we turn down into the world's high-road. My little friend is no longer little now. The short jacket has sprouted tails. The battered cap, so useful as a combination of pocket-handkerchief, drinking-cup, and weapon of attack, has grown high and glossy; and instead of a slate-pencil in his mouth there is a cigarette, the smoke of which troubles him, for it will get up his nose. He tries a cigar a little later on as being more stylish--a big black Havanna. It doesn't seem altogether to agree with him, for I find him sitting over a bucket in the back kitchen afterward, solemnly swearing never to smoke again.\nAnd now his mustache begins to be almost visible to the naked eye, whereupon he immediately takes to brandy-and-sodas and fancies himself a man. He talks about \"two to one against the favorite,\" refers to actresses as \"Little Emmy\" and \"Kate\" and \"Baby,\" and murmurs about his \"losses at cards the other night\" in a style implying that thousands have been squandered, though, to do him justice, the actual amount is most probably one-and-twopence. Also, if I see aright--for it is always twilight in this land of memories--he sticks an eyeglass in his eye and stumbles over everything.\nHis female relations, much troubled at these things, pray for him (bless their gentle hearts!) and see visions of Old Bailey trials and halters as the only possible outcome of such reckless dissipation; and the prediction of his first school-master, that he would come to a bad end, assumes the proportions of inspired prophecy.\nHe has a lordly contempt at this age for the other sex, a blatantly good opinion of himself, and a sociably patronizing manner toward all the elderly male friends of the family. Altogether, it must be confessed, he is somewhat of a nuisance about this time.\nIt does not last long, though. He falls in love in a little while, and that soon takes the bounce out of him. I notice his boots are much too small for him now, and his hair is fearfully and wonderfully arranged. He reads poetry more than he used, and he keeps a rhyming dictionary in his bedroom. Every morning Emily Jane finds scraps of torn-up paper on the floor and reads thereon of \"cruel hearts and love's deep darts,\" of \"beauteous eyes and lovers' sighs,\" and much more of the old, old song that lads so love to sing and lassies love to listen to while giving their dainty heads a toss and pretending never to hear.\nThe course of love, however, seems not to have run smoothly, for later on he takes more walking exercise and less sleep, poor boy, than is good for him; and his face is suggestive of anything but wedding-bells and happiness ever after.\nAnd here he seems to vanish. The little, boyish self that has grown up beside me as we walked is gone.\nI am alone and the road is very dark. I stumble on, I know not how nor care, for the way seems leading nowhere, and there is no light to guide.\nBut at last the morning comes, and I find that I have grown into myself.", "chosen": "55", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n55\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-849-014-02-41f2b344", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"I have a cousin, an only relative and an orphan, like myself, whom I love very dearly. She is five years younger than I, and she lives in a farmer's house in the south country. Poverty parted us, and she knows nothing of my fate--for I cannot write--and if I could, how should I tell her! It is better as it is.\"\n\"Yes, yes: better as it is.\"\n\"What I have been thinking as we came along, and what I am still thinking now, as I look into your kind strong face which gives me so much support, is this:--If the Republic really does good to the poor, and they come to be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a long time: she may even live to be old.\"\n\"What then, my gentle sister?\"\n\"Do you think:\" the uncomplaining eyes in which there is so much endurance, fill with tears, and the lips part a little more and tremble: \"that it will seem long to me, while I wait for her in the better land where I trust both you and I will be mercifully sheltered?\"\n\"It cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there.\"\n\"You comfort me so much! I am so ignorant. Am I to kiss you now? Is the moment come?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nShe kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before him--is gone; the knitting-women count Twenty-Two.\n\"I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.\"\nThe murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-Three.\nThey said of him, about the city that night, that it was the peacefullest man's face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sublime and prophetic.\nOne of the most remarkable sufferers by the same axe--a woman--had asked at the foot of the same scaffold, not long before, to be allowed to write down the thoughts that were inspiring her. If he had given any utterance to his, and they were prophetic, they would have been these:\n\"I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the Juryman, the Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the destruction of the old, perishing by this retributive instrument, before it shall cease out of its present use. I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.\n\"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy, in that England which I shall see no more. I see Her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her father, aged and bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his healing office, and at peace. I see the good old man, so long their friend, in ten years' time enriching them with all he has, and passing tranquilly to his reward.\n\"I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman, weeping for me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her husband, their course done, lying side by side in their last earthly bed, and I know that each was not more honoured and held sacred in the other's soul, than I was in the souls of both.\n\"I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his. I see the blots I threw upon it, faded away. I see him, fore-most of just judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place--then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day's disfigurement--and I hear him tell the child my story, with a tender and a faltering voice.\n\"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.\"", "chosen": "It is better as it is.\"\n\"Yes, yes: better as it is.\"\n\"What I have been thinking as we came along, and what I am still thinking now, as I look into your kind strong face which gives me so much support, is this:--If the Republic really does good to the poor, and they come to be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a long time: she may even live to be old.\"\n\"What then, my gentle sister?\"\n\"Do you think:\" the uncomplaining eyes in which there is so much endurance, fill with tears, and the lips part a little more and tremble: \"that it will seem long to me, while I wait for her in the better land where I trust both you and I will be mercifully sheltered?\"\n\"It cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there.\"\n\"You comfort me so much!", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nIt is better as it is.\"\n\"Yes, yes: better as it is.\"\n\"What I have been thinking as we came along, and what I am still thinking now, as I look into your kind strong face which gives me so much support, is this:--If the Republic really does good to the poor, and they come to be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a long time: she may even live to be old.\"\n\"What then, my gentle sister?\"\n\"Do you think:\" the uncomplaining eyes in which there is so much endurance, fill with tears, and the lips part a little more and tremble: \"that it will seem long to me, while I wait for her in the better land where I trust both you and I will be mercifully sheltered?\"\n\"It cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there.\"\n\"You comfort me so much!\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-98-045-01-6a3279d3", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe river in its Sunday garb.—Dress on the river.—A chance for the men.—Absence of taste in Harris.—George's blazer.—A day with the fashion-plate young lady.—Mrs. Thomas's tomb.—The man who loves not graves and coffins and skulls.—Harris mad.—His views on George and Banks and lemonade.—He performs tricks.\nIt was while passing through Moulsey Lock that Harris told me about his maze experience. It took us some time to pass through, as we were the only boat, and it is a big lock. I don't think I ever remember to have seen Moulsey Lock, before, with only one boat in it. It is, I suppose, Boulter's not even excepted, the busiest lock on the river.\nI have stood and watched it, sometimes, when you could not see any water at all, but only a brilliant tangle of bright blazers, and gay caps, and saucy hats, and many-coloured parasols, and silken rugs, and cloaks, and streaming ribbons, and dainty whites; when looking down into the lock from the quay, you might fancy it was a huge box into which flowers of every hue and shade had been thrown pell-mell, and lay piled up in a rainbow heap, that covered every corner.\nOn a fine Sunday it presents this appearance nearly all day long, while, up the stream, and down the stream, lie, waiting their turn, outside the gates, long lines of still more boats; and boats are drawing near and passing away, so that the sunny river, from the Palace up to Hampton Church, is dotted and decked with yellow, and blue, and orange, and white, and red, and pink. All the inhabitants of Hampton and Moulsey dress themselves up in boating costume, and come and mouch round the lock with their dogs, and flirt, and smoke, and watch the boats; and, altogether, what with the caps and jackets of the men, the pretty coloured dresses of the women, the excited dogs, the moving boats, the white sails, the pleasant landscape, and the sparkling water, it is one of the gayest sights I know of near this dull old London town.\nThe river affords a good opportunity for dress. For once in a way, we men are able to show our taste in colours, and I think we come out very natty, if you ask me. I always like a little red in my things—red and black. You know my hair is a sort of golden brown, rather a pretty shade I've been told, and a dark red matches it beautifully; and then I always think a light-blue necktie goes so well with it, and a pair of those Russian-leather shoes and a red silk handkerchief round the waist—a handkerchief looks so much better than a belt.\nHarris always keeps to shades or mixtures of orange or yellow, but I don't think he is at all wise in this. His complexion is too dark for yellows. Yellows don't suit him: there can be no question about it. I want him to take to blue as a background, with white or cream for relief; but, there! the less taste a person has in dress, the more obstinate he always seems to be. It is a great pity, because he will never be a success as it is, while there are one or two colours in which he might not really look so bad, with his hat on.\nGeorge has bought some new things for this trip, and I'm rather vexed about them. The blazer is loud. I should not like George to know that I thought so, but there really is no other word for it. He brought it home and showed it to us on Thursday evening. We asked him what colour he called it, and he said he didn't know. He didn't think there was a name for the colour. The man had told him it was an Oriental design. George put it on, and asked us what we thought of it. Harris said that, as an object to hang over a flower-bed in early spring to frighten the birds away, he should respect it; but that, considered as an article of dress for any human being, except a Margate nigger, it made him ill. George got quite huffy; but, as Harris said, if he didn't want his opinion, why did he ask for it?\nWhat troubles Harris and myself, with regard to it, is that we are afraid it will attract attention to the boat.\n[Picture: Young lady] Girls, also, don't look half bad in a boat, if prettily dressed. Nothing is more fetching, to my thinking, than a tasteful boating costume. But a \"boating costume,\" it would be as well if all ladies would understand, ought to be a costume that can be worn in a boat, and not merely under a glass-case. It utterly spoils an excursion if you have folk in the boat who are thinking all the time a good deal more of their dress than of the trip. It was my misfortune once to go for a water picnic with two ladies of this kind. We did have a lively time!\nThey were both beautifully got up—all lace and silky stuff, and flowers, and ribbons, and dainty shoes, and light gloves. But they were dressed for a photographic studio, not for a river picnic. They were the \"boating costumes\" of a French fashion-plate. It was ridiculous, fooling about in them anywhere near real earth, air, and water.\nThe first thing was that they thought the boat was not clean. We dusted all the seats for them, and then assured them that it was, but they didn't believe us. One of them rubbed the cushion with the forefinger of her glove, and showed the result to the other, and they both sighed, and sat down, with the air of early Christian martyrs trying to make themselves comfortable up against the stake. You are liable to occasionally splash a little when sculling, and it appeared that a drop of water ruined those costumes. The mark never came out, and a stain was left on the dress for ever.\nI was stroke. I did my best. I feathered some two feet high, and I paused at the end of each stroke to let the blades drip before returning them, and I picked out a smooth bit of water to drop them into again each time. (Bow said, after a while, that he did not feel himself a sufficiently accomplished oarsman to pull with me, but that he would sit still, if I would allow him, and study my stroke. He said it interested him.) But, notwithstanding all this, and try as I would, I could not help an occasional flicker of water from going over those dresses.\nThe girls did not complain, but they huddled up close together, and set their lips firm, and every time a drop touched them, they visibly shrank and shuddered. It was a noble sight to see them suffering thus in silence, but it unnerved me altogether. I am too sensitive. I got wild and fitful in my rowing, and splashed more and more, the harder I tried not to.\nI gave it up at last; I said I'd row bow. Bow thought the arrangement would be better too, and we changed places. The ladies gave an involuntary sigh of relief when they saw me go, and quite brightened up for a moment. Poor girls! they had better have put up with me. The man they had got now was a jolly, light-hearted, thick-headed sort of a chap, with about as much sensitiveness in him as there might be in a Newfoundland puppy. You might look daggers at him for an hour and he would not notice it, and it would not trouble him if he did. He set a good, rollicking, dashing stroke that sent the spray playing all over the boat like a fountain, and made the whole crowd sit up straight in no time. When he spread more than pint of water over one of those dresses, he would give a pleasant little laugh, and say:\n\"I beg your pardon, I'm sure;\" and offer them his handkerchief to wipe it off with.\n\"Oh, it's of no consequence,\" the poor girls would murmur in reply, and covertly draw rugs and coats over themselves, and try and protect themselves with their lace parasols.", "chosen": "[\"boating costume,\", \"boating costumes\", \"I beg your pardon, I'm sure;\", \"Oh, it's of no consequence,\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"boating costume,\", \"boating costumes\", \"I beg your pardon, I'm sure;\", \"Oh, it's of no consequence,\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-308-007-00-ac2fad59", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nAt last we arrived. I jumped out, almost unconscious, ran up the steps and began knocking and kicking at the door. I felt fearfully weak, particularly in my legs and my knees. The door was opened quickly as though they knew I was coming. As a fact, Simonov had warned them that perhaps another gentleman would arrive, and this was a place in which one had to give notice and to observe certain precautions. It was one of those \"millinery establishments\" which were abolished by the police a good time ago. By day it really was a shop; but at night, if one had an introduction, one might visit it for other purposes.\nI walked rapidly through the dark shop into the familiar drawing-room, where there was only one candle burning, and stood still in amazement: there was no one there. \"Where are they?\" I asked somebody. But by now, of course, they had separated. Before me was standing a person with a stupid smile, the \"madam\" herself, who had seen me before. A minute later a door opened and another person came in.\nTaking no notice of anything I strode about the room, and, I believe, I talked to myself. I felt as though I had been saved from death and was conscious of this, joyfully, all over: I should have given that slap, I should certainly, certainly have given it! But now they were not here and ... everything had vanished and changed! I looked round. I could not realize my condition yet. I looked mechanically at the girl who had come in: and had a glimpse of a fresh, young, rather pale face, with straight, dark eyebrows, and with grave, as it were wondering, eyes that attracted me at once; I should have hated her if she had been smiling. I began looking at her more intently and, as it were, with effort. I had not fully collected my thoughts. There was something simple and good-natured in her face, but something strangely grave. I am sure that this stood in her way here, and no one of those fools had noticed her. She could not, however, have been called a beauty, though she was tall, strong-looking, and well built. She was very simply dressed. Something loathsome stirred within me. I went straight up to her.\nI chanced to look into the glass. My harassed face struck me as revolting in the extreme, pale, angry, abject, with dishevelled hair. \"No matter, I am glad of it,\" I thought; \"I am glad that I shall seem repulsive to her; I like that.\"", "chosen": "that", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nthat\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-36034-006-01-23c102d5", "source": "pg-36034", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Nonsense: it is quite necessary; it will rain again directly, and you are not half recovered.\" And without more ado Knight took her hand, drew it under his arm, and held it there so firmly that she could not have removed it without a struggle. Feeling like a colt in a halter for the first time, at thus being led along, yet afraid to be angry, it was to her great relief that she saw the carriage coming round the corner to fetch them.\nHer fall upon the roof was necessarily explained to some extent upon their entering the house; but both forbore to mention a word of what she had been doing to cause such an accident. During the remainder of the afternoon Elfride was invisible; but at dinner-time she appeared as bright as ever.\nIn the drawing-room, after having been exclusively engaged with Mr. and Mrs. Swancourt through the intervening hour, Knight again found himself thrown with Elfride. She had been looking over a chess problem in one of the illustrated periodicals.\n\"You like chess, Miss Swancourt?\"\n\"Yes. It is my favourite scientific game; indeed, excludes every other. Do you play?\"\n\"I have played; though not lately.\"\n\"Challenge him, Elfride,\" said the vicar heartily. \"She plays very well for a lady, Mr. Knight.\"\n\"Shall we play?\" asked Elfride tentatively.\n\"Oh, certainly. I shall be delighted.\"\nThe game began. Mr. Swancourt had forgotten a similar performance with Stephen Smith the year before. Elfride had not; but she had begun to take for her maxim the undoubted truth that the necessity of continuing faithful to Stephen, without suspicion, dictated a fickle behaviour almost as imperatively as fickleness itself; a fact, however, which would give a startling advantage to the latter quality should it ever appear.\nKnight, by one of those inexcusable oversights which will sometimes afflict the best of players, placed his rook in the arms of one of her pawns. It was her first advantage. She looked triumphant—even ruthless.\n\"By George! what was I thinking of?\" said Knight quietly; and then dismissed all concern at his accident.\n\"Club laws we'll have, won't we, Mr. Knight?\" said Elfride suasively.\n\"Oh yes, certainly,\" said Mr. Knight, a thought, however, just occurring to his mind, that he had two or three times allowed her to replace a man on her religiously assuring him that such a move was an absolute blunder.\nShe immediately took up the unfortunate rook and the contest proceeded, Elfride having now rather the better of the game. Then he won the exchange, regained his position, and began to press her hard. Elfride grew flurried, and placed her queen on his remaining rook's file.\n\"There—how stupid! Upon my word, I did not see your rook. Of course nobody but a fool would have put a queen there knowingly!\"\nShe spoke excitedly, half expecting her antagonist to give her back the move.\n\"Nobody, of course,\" said Knight serenely, and stretched out his hand towards his royal victim.\n\"It is not very pleasant to have it taken advantage of, then,\" she said with some vexation.\n\"Club laws, I think you said?\" returned Knight blandly, and mercilessly appropriating the queen.\nShe was on the brink of pouting, but was ashamed to show it; tears almost stood in her eyes. She had been trying so hard—so very hard—thinking and thinking till her brain was in a whirl; and it seemed so heartless of him to treat her so, after all.\n\"I think it is——\" she began.\n\"What?\"\n—\"Unkind to take advantage of a pure mistake I make in that way.\"\n\"I lost my rook by even a purer mistake,\" said the enemy in an inexorable tone, without lifting his eyes.\n\"Yes, but——\" However, as his logic was absolutely unanswerable, she merely registered a protest. \"I cannot endure those cold-blooded ways of clubs and professional players, like Staunton and Morphy. Just as if it really mattered whether you have raised your fingers from a man or no!\"\nKnight smiled as pitilessly as before, and they went on in silence.\n\"Checkmate,\" said Knight.\n\"Another game,\" said Elfride peremptorily, and looking very warm.\n\"With all my heart,\" said Knight.\n\"Checkmate,\" said Knight again at the end of forty minutes.\n\"Another game,\" she returned resolutely.\n\"I'll give you the odds of a bishop,\" Knight said to her kindly.\n\"No, thank you,\" Elfride replied in a tone intended for courteous indifference; but, as a fact, very cavalier indeed.\n\"Checkmate,\" said her opponent without the least emotion.\nOh, the difference between Elfride's condition of mind now, and when she purposely made blunders that Stephen Smith might win!\nIt was bedtime. Her mind as distracted as if it would throb itself out of her head, she went off to her chamber, full of mortification at being beaten time after time when she herself was the aggressor. Having for two or three years enjoyed the reputation throughout the globe of her father's brain—which almost constituted her entire world—of being an excellent player, this fiasco was intolerable; for unfortunately the person most dogged in the belief in a false reputation is always that one, the possessor, who has the best means of knowing that it is not true.\nIn bed no sleep came to soothe her; that gentle thing being the very middle-of-summer friend in this respect of flying away at the merest troublous cloud. After lying awake till two o'clock an idea seemed to strike her. She softly arose, got a light, and fetched a Chess Praxis from the library. Returning and sitting up in bed, she diligently studied the volume till the clock struck five, and her eyelids felt thick and heavy. She then extinguished the light and lay down again.\n\"You look pale, Elfride,\" said Mrs. Swancourt the next morning at breakfast. \"Isn't she, cousin Harry?\"\nA young girl who is scarcely ill at all can hardly help becoming so when regarded as such by all eyes turning upon her at the table in obedience to some remark. Everybody looked at Elfride. She certainly was pale.\n\"Am I pale?\" she said with a faint smile. \"I did not sleep much. I could not get rid of armies of bishops and knights, try how I would.\"\n\"Chess is a bad thing just before bedtime; especially for excitable people like yourself, dear. Don't ever play late again.\"\n\"I'll play early instead. Cousin Knight,\" she said in imitation of Mrs. Swancourt, \"will you oblige me in something?\"\n\"Even to half my kingdom.\"\n\"Well, it is to play one game more.\"\n\"When?\"\n\"Now, instantly; the moment we have breakfasted.\"\n\"Nonsense, Elfride,\" said her father. \"Making yourself a slave to the game like that.\"\n\"But I want to, papa! Honestly, I am restless at having been so ignominiously overcome. And Mr. Knight doesn't mind. So what harm can there be?\"\n\"Let us play, by all means, if you wish it,\" said Knight.\nSo, when breakfast was over, the combatants withdrew to the quiet of the library, and the door was closed. Elfride seemed to have an idea that her conduct was rather ill-regulated and startlingly free from conventional restraint. And worse, she fancied upon Knight's face a slightly amused look at her proceedings.\n\"You think me foolish, I suppose,\" she said recklessly; \"but I want to do my very best just once, and see whether I can overcome you.\"\n\"Certainly: nothing more natural. Though I am afraid it is not the plan adopted by women of the world after a defeat.\"\n\"Why, pray?\"\n\"Because they know that as good as overcoming is skill in effacing recollection of being overcome, and turn their attention to that entirely.\"\n\"I am wrong again, of course.\"\n\"Perhaps your wrong is more pleasing than their right.\"\n\"I don't quite know whether you mean that, or whether you are laughing at me,\" she said, looking doubtingly at him, yet inclining to accept the more flattering interpretation. \"I am almost sure you think it vanity in me to think I am a match for you. Well, if you do, I say that vanity is no crime in such a case.\"\n\"Well, perhaps not. Though it is hardly a virtue.\"\n\"Oh yes, in battle! Nelson's bravery lay in his vanity.\"\n\"Indeed! Then so did his death.\"\nOh no, no! For it is written in the book of the prophet Shakespeare—", "chosen": "[\"Nonsense\", \"Knight\", \"Elfride\", \"Swancourt\", \"Challenge\", \"Shall\", \"Stephen\", \"Smith\", \"George\", \"Club\", \"Nobody\", \"Unkind\", \"However\", \"Staunton\", \"Morphy\", \"Checkmate\", \"Another\", \"With\", \"Chess\", \"Praxis\", \"Isn\", \"Harry\", \"Even\", \"Making\", \"Let\", \"Certainly\", \"Because\", \"Perhaps\", \"Indeed\", \"Shakespeare\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Nonsense\", \"Knight\", \"Elfride\", \"Swancourt\", \"Challenge\", \"Shall\", \"Stephen\", \"Smith\", \"George\", \"Club\", \"Nobody\", \"Unkind\", \"However\", \"Staunton\", \"Morphy\", \"Checkmate\", \"Another\", \"With\", \"Chess\", \"Praxis\", \"Isn\", \"Harry\", \"Even\", \"Making\", \"Let\", \"Certainly\", \"Because\", \"Perhaps\", \"Indeed\", \"Shakespeare\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-224-017-01-dc38a0fb", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"How can you bear to speak so lightly?\" said Dorothea, with a look between sorrow and anger. \"If it were as you say, what could be sadder than so much ardent labor all in vain? I wonder it does not affect you more painfully, if you really think that a man like Mr. Casaubon, of so much goodness, power, and learning, should in any way fail in what has been the labor of his best years.\" She was beginning to be shocked that she had got to such a point of supposition, and indignant with Will for having led her to it.\n\"You questioned me about the matter of fact, not of feeling,\" said Will. \"But if you wish to punish me for the fact, I submit. I am not in a position to express my feeling toward Mr. Casaubon: it would be at best a pensioner's eulogy.\"\n\"Pray excuse me,\" said Dorothea, coloring deeply. \"I am aware, as you say, that I am in fault in having introduced the subject. Indeed, I am wrong altogether. Failure after long perseverance is much grander than never to have a striving good enough to be called a failure.\"\n\"I quite agree with you,\" said Will, determined to change the situation—\"so much so that I have made up my mind not to run that risk of never attaining a failure. Mr. Casaubon's generosity has perhaps been dangerous to me, and I mean to renounce the liberty it has given me. I mean to go back to England shortly and work my own way—depend on nobody else than myself.\"\n\"That is fine—I respect that feeling,\" said Dorothea, with returning kindness. \"But Mr. Casaubon, I am sure, has never thought of anything in the matter except what was most for your welfare.\"\n\"She has obstinacy and pride enough to serve instead of love, now she has married him,\" said Will to himself. Aloud he said, rising—\n\"I shall not see you again.\"\n\"Oh, stay till Mr. Casaubon comes,\" said Dorothea, earnestly. \"I am so glad we met in Rome. I wanted to know you.\"\n\"And I have made you angry,\" said Will. \"I have made you think ill of me.\"\n\"Oh no. My sister tells me I am always angry with people who do not say just what I like. But I hope I am not given to think ill of them. In the end I am usually obliged to think ill of myself for being so impatient.\"\n\"Still, you don't like me; I have made myself an unpleasant thought to you.\"\n\"Not at all,\" said Dorothea, with the most open kindness. \"I like you very much.\"\nWill was not quite contented, thinking that he would apparently have been of more importance if he had been disliked. He said nothing, but looked dull, not to say sulky.\n\"And I am quite interested to see what you will do,\" Dorothea went on cheerfully. \"I believe devoutly in a natural difference of vocation. If it were not for that belief, I suppose I should be very narrow—there are so many things, besides painting, that I am quite ignorant of. You would hardly believe how little I have taken in of music and literature, which you know so much of. I wonder what your vocation will turn out to be: perhaps you will be a poet?\"\n\"That depends. To be a poet is to have a soul so quick to discern that no shade of quality escapes it, and so quick to feel, that discernment is but a hand playing with finely ordered variety on the chords of emotion—a soul in which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling, and feeling flashes back as a new organ of knowledge. One may have that condition by fits only.\"\n\"But you leave out the poems,\" said Dorothea. \"I think they are wanted to complete the poet. I understand what you mean about knowledge passing into feeling, for that seems to be just what I experience. But I am sure I could never produce a poem.\"\n\"You are a poem—and that is to be the best part of a poet—what makes up the poet's consciousness in his best moods,\" said Will, showing such originality as we all share with the morning and the spring-time and other endless renewals.\n\"I am very glad to hear it,\" said Dorothea, laughing out her words in a bird-like modulation, and looking at Will with playful gratitude in her eyes. \"What very kind things you say to me!\"\n\"I wish I could ever do anything that would be what you call kind—that I could ever be of the slightest service to you. I fear I shall never have the opportunity.\" Will spoke with fervor.\n\"Oh yes,\" said Dorothea, cordially. \"It will come; and I shall remember how well you wish me. I quite hoped that we should be friends when I first saw you—because of your relationship to Mr. Casaubon.\" There was a certain liquid brightness in her eyes, and Will was conscious that his own were obeying a law of nature and filling too. The allusion to Mr. Casaubon would have spoiled all if anything at that moment could have spoiled the subduing power, the sweet dignity, of her noble unsuspicious inexperience.\n\"And there is one thing even now that you can do,\" said Dorothea, rising and walking a little way under the strength of a recurring impulse. \"Promise me that you will not again, to any one, speak of that subject—I mean about Mr. Casaubon's writings—I mean in that kind of way. It was I who led to it. It was my fault. But promise me.\"\nShe had returned from her brief pacing and stood opposite Will, looking gravely at him.\n\"Certainly, I will promise you,\" said Will, reddening however. If he never said a cutting word about Mr. Casaubon again and left off receiving favors from him, it would clearly be permissible to hate him the more. The poet must know how to hate, says Goethe; and Will was at least ready with that accomplishment. He said that he must go now without waiting for Mr. Casaubon, whom he would come to take leave of at the last moment. Dorothea gave him her hand, and they exchanged a simple \"Good-by.\"\nBut going out of the porte cochere he met Mr. Casaubon, and that gentleman, expressing the best wishes for his cousin, politely waived the pleasure of any further leave-taking on the morrow, which would be sufficiently crowded with the preparations for departure.\n\"I have something to tell you about our cousin Mr. Ladislaw, which I think will heighten your opinion of him,\" said Dorothea to her husband in the course of the evening. She had mentioned immediately on his entering that Will had just gone away, and would come again, but Mr. Casaubon had said, \"I met him outside, and we made our final adieux, I believe,\" saying this with the air and tone by which we imply that any subject, whether private or public, does not interest us enough to wish for a further remark upon it. So Dorothea had waited.\n\"What is that, my love?\" said Mr Casaubon (he always said \"my love\" when his manner was the coldest).\n\"He has made up his mind to leave off wandering at once, and to give up his dependence on your generosity. He means soon to go back to England, and work his own way. I thought you would consider that a good sign,\" said Dorothea, with an appealing look into her husband's neutral face.\n\"Did he mention the precise order of occupation to which he would addict himself?\"\n\"No. But he said that he felt the danger which lay for him in your generosity. Of course he will write to you about it. Do you not think better of him for his resolve?\"\n\"I shall await his communication on the subject,\" said Mr. Casaubon.\n\"I told him I was sure that the thing you considered in all you did for him was his own welfare. I remembered your goodness in what you said about him when I first saw him at Lowick,\" said Dorothea, putting her hand on her husband's.", "chosen": "How, If, I, Casaubon,, You, But, I, Casaubon:, I, Indeed,, Failure, Mr., Casaubon's, I, But, Casaubon,, Aloud, Casaubon, I, I, I, My, But, In, I, He, And, I, If, You, I, To, One, I, I, But, I, What, I, Oh, It, I, Casaubon.\", The, Casaubon, And, Promise, Casaubon's, It, It, But, Certainly,, If, Casaubon, The, He, Casaubon,, Dorothea, Casaubon,, I, Ladislaw,, She, Casaubon, So, What, He, He, I, Did, But, Of, Do, Casaubon., I, I", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nHow, If, I, Casaubon,, You, But, I, Casaubon:, I, Indeed,, Failure, Mr., Casaubon's, I, But, Casaubon,, Aloud, Casaubon, I, I, I, My, But, In, I, He, And, I, If, You, I, To, One, I, I, But, I, What, I, Oh, It, I, Casaubon.\", The, Casaubon, And, Promise, Casaubon's, It, It, But, Certainly,, If, Casaubon, The, He, Casaubon,, Dorothea, Casaubon,, I, Ladislaw,, She, Casaubon, So, What, He, He, I, Did, But, Of, Do, Casaubon., I, I\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-023-03-609b3302", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nIt was a happy time. The days were peaceful and serene, and the nights brought with them no fear or care; no languishing in a wretched prison, or associating with wretched men: nothing but pleasant and happy thoughts. Every morning he went to a white-headed old gentleman, who lived near the little church, who taught him to read better, and to write, and spoke so kindly, and took such pains, that Oliver could never try enough to please him. Then he would walk with Mrs. Maylie and Rose, and hear them talk of books, or perhaps sit near them, in some shady place, and listen whilst the young lady read, which he could have done till it grew too dark to see the letters. Then he had his own lesson for the next day to prepare, and at this he would work hard, in a little room which looked into the garden, till evening came slowly on, when the ladies would walk out again, and he with them; listening with such pleasure to all they said, and so happy if they wanted a flower that he could climb to reach, or had forgotten anything he could run to fetch, that he could never be quick enough about it. When it became quite dark, and they returned home, the young lady would sit down to the piano, and play some melancholy air, or sing, in a low and gentle voice, some old song which it pleased her aunt to hear. There would be no candles at such times as these, and Oliver would sit by one of the windows, listening to the sweet music, while tears of tranquil joy stole down his face.\nAnd when Sunday came, how differently the day was spent from any manner in which he had ever spent it yet! and how happily, too; like all the other days in that most happy time! There was the little church, in the morning, with the green leaves fluttering at the windows, the birds singing without, and the sweet-smelling air stealing in at the low porch, and filling the homely building with its fragrance. The poor people were so neat and clean, and knelt so reverently in prayer, that it seemed a pleasure, not a tedious duty, their assembling there together; and though the singing might be rude, it was real, and sounded more musical (to Oliver's ears at least) than any he had ever heard in church before. Then there were the walks as usual, and many calls at the clean houses of the labouring men; and at night, Oliver read a chapter or two from the Bible, which he had been studying all the week, and in the performance of which duty he felt more proud and pleased than if he had been the clergyman himself.\nIn the morning, Oliver would be a-foot by six o'clock, roaming the fields and surveying the hedges, far and wide, for nosegays of wild flowers, with which he would return laden home, and which it took great care and consideration to arrange, to the best advantage, for the embellishment of the breakfast-table. There was fresh groundsel, too, for Miss Maylie's birds, with which Oliver—who had been studying the subject under the able tuition of the village clerk—would decorate the cages in the most approved taste. When the birds were made all spruce and smart for the day, there was usually some little commission of charity to execute in the village; or, failing that, there was always something to do in the garden, or about the plants, to which Oliver—who had studied this science also under the same master, who was a gardener by trade—applied himself with hearty goodwill till Miss Rose made her appearance, when there were a thousand commendations to be bestowed upon all he had done, for which one of those light-hearted, beautiful smiles was an ample recompence.\nSo three months glided away; three months which, in the life of the most blessed and favoured of mortals, would have been unmixed happiness; but which, in Oliver's troubled and clouded dawn, were felicity indeed. With the purest and most amiable generosity on one side, and the truest, and warmest, and most soul-felt gratitude on the other, it is no wonder that, by the end of that short time, Oliver Twist had become completely domesticated with the old lady and her niece; and that the fervent attachment of his young and sensitive heart was repaid by their pride in, and attachment to, himself.", "chosen": "18", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n18\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-47530-011-02-7f4c1187", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"What kind of artists? I know one or two painters, very good fellows, that I could bring to see you if you'd allow me,\" said Archer boldly.\n\"Painters? Are there painters in New York?\" asked Beaufort, in a tone implying that there could be none since he did not buy their pictures; and Madame Olenska said to Archer, with her grave smile: \"That would be charming. But I was really thinking of dramatic artists, singers, actors, musicians. My husband's house was always full of them.\"\nShe said the words \"my husband\" as if no sinister associations were connected with them, and in a tone that seemed almost to sigh over the lost delights of her married life. Archer looked at her perplexedly, wondering if it were lightness or dissimulation that enabled her to touch so easily on the past at the very moment when she was risking her reputation in order to break with it.\n\"I do think,\" she went on, addressing both men, \"that the imprévu adds to one's enjoyment. It's perhaps a mistake to see the same people every day.\"\n\"It's confoundedly dull, anyhow; New York is dying of dullness,\" Beaufort grumbled. \"And when I try to liven it up for you, you go back on me. Come--think better of it! Sunday is your last chance, for Campanini leaves next week for Baltimore and Philadelphia; and I've a private room, and a Steinway, and they'll sing all night for me.\"\n\"How delicious! May I think it over, and write to you tomorrow morning?\"\nShe spoke amiably, yet with the least hint of dismissal in her voice. Beaufort evidently felt it, and being unused to dismissals, stood staring at her with an obstinate line between his eyes.\n\"Why not now?\"\n\"It's too serious a question to decide at this late hour.\"\n\"Do you call it late?\"\nShe returned his glance coolly. \"Yes; because I have still to talk business with Mr. Archer for a little while.\"\n\"Ah,\" Beaufort snapped. There was no appeal from her tone, and with a slight shrug he recovered his composure, took her hand, which he kissed with a practised air, and calling out from the threshold: \"I say, Newland, if you can persuade the Countess to stop in town of course you're included in the supper,\" left the room with his heavy important step.\nFor a moment Archer fancied that Mr. Letterblair must have told her of his coming; but the irrelevance of her next remark made him change his mind.\n\"You know painters, then? You live in their milieu?\" she asked, her eyes full of interest.\n\"Oh, not exactly. I don't know that the arts have a milieu here, any of them; they're more like a very thinly settled outskirt.\"\n\"But you care for such things?\"\n\"Immensely. When I'm in Paris or London I never miss an exhibition. I try to keep up.\"\nShe looked down at the tip of the little satin boot that peeped from her long draperies.\n\"I used to care immensely too: my life was full of such things. But now I want to try not to.\"\n\"You want to try not to?\"\n\"Yes: I want to cast off all my old life, to become just like everybody else here.\"\nArcher reddened. \"You'll never be like everybody else,\" he said.\nShe raised her straight eyebrows a little. \"Ah, don't say that. If you knew how I hate to be different!\"\nHer face had grown as sombre as a tragic mask. She leaned forward, clasping her knee in her thin hands, and looking away from him into remote dark distances.\n\"I want to get away from it all,\" she insisted.\nHe waited a moment and cleared his throat. \"I know. Mr. Letterblair has told me.\"\n\"Ah?\"\n\"That's the reason I've come. He asked me to--you see I'm in the firm.\"\nShe looked slightly surprised, and then her eyes brightened. \"You mean you can manage it for me? I can talk to you instead of Mr. Letterblair? Oh, that will be so much easier!\"\nHer tone touched him, and his confidence grew with his self-satisfaction. He perceived that she had spoken of business to Beaufort simply to get rid of him; and to have routed Beaufort was something of a triumph.\n\"I am here to talk about it,\" he repeated.\nShe sat silent, her head still propped by the arm that rested on the back of the sofa. Her face looked pale and extinguished, as if dimmed by the rich red of her dress. She struck Archer, of a sudden, as a pathetic and even pitiful figure.\n\"Now we're coming to hard facts,\" he thought, conscious in himself of the same instinctive recoil that he had so often criticised in his mother and her contemporaries. How little practice he had had in dealing with unusual situations! Their very vocabulary was unfamiliar to him, and seemed to belong to fiction and the stage. In face of what was coming he felt as awkward and embarrassed as a boy.\nAfter a pause Madame Olenska broke out with unexpected vehemence: \"I want to be free; I want to wipe out all the past.\"\n\"I understand that.\"\nHer face warmed. \"Then you'll help me?\"\n\"First--\" he hesitated--\"perhaps I ought to know a little more.\"\nShe seemed surprised. \"You know about my husband--my life with him?\"\nHe made a sign of assent.\n\"Well--then--what more is there? In this country are such things tolerated? I'm a Protestant--our church does not forbid divorce in such cases.\"\n\"Certainly not.\"\nThey were both silent again, and Archer felt the spectre of Count Olenski's letter grimacing hideously between them. The letter filled only half a page, and was just what he had described it to be in speaking of it to Mr. Letterblair: the vague charge of an angry blackguard. But how much truth was behind it? Only Count Olenski's wife could tell.\n\"I've looked through the papers you gave to Mr. Letterblair,\" he said at length.\n\"Well--can there be anything more abominable?\"\n\"No.\"\nShe changed her position slightly, screening her eyes with her lifted hand.\n\"Of course you know,\" Archer continued, \"that if your husband chooses to fight the case--as he threatens to--\"\n\"Yes--?\"\n\"He can say things--things that might be unpl--might be disagreeable to you: say them publicly, so that they would get about, and harm you even if--\"\n\"If--?\"\n\"I mean: no matter how unfounded they were.\"\nShe paused for a long interval; so long that, not wishing to keep his eyes on her shaded face, he had time to imprint on his mind the exact shape of her other hand, the one on her knee, and every detail of the three rings on her fourth and fifth fingers; among which, he noticed, a wedding ring did not appear.\n\"What harm could such accusations, even if he made them publicly, do me here?\"\nIt was on his lips to exclaim: \"My poor child--far more harm than anywhere else!\" Instead, he answered, in a voice that sounded in his ears like Mr. Letterblair's: \"New York society is a very small world compared with the one you've lived in. And it's ruled, in spite of appearances, by a few people with--well, rather old-fashioned ideas.\"\nShe said nothing, and he continued: \"Our ideas about marriage and divorce are particularly old-fashioned. Our legislation favours divorce--our social customs don't.\"\n\"Never?\"\n\"Well--not if the woman, however injured, however irreproachable, has appearances in the least degree against her, has exposed herself by any unconventional action to--to offensive insinuations--\"\nShe drooped her head a little lower, and he waited again, intensely hoping for a flash of indignation, or at least a brief cry of denial. None came.\nA little travelling clock ticked purringly at her elbow, and a log broke in two and sent up a shower of sparks. The whole hushed and brooding room seemed to be waiting silently with Archer.\n\"Yes,\" she murmured at length, \"that's what my family tell me.\"\nHe winced a little. \"It's not unnatural--\"\n\"Our family,\" she corrected herself; and Archer coloured. \"For you'll be my cousin soon,\" she continued gently.\n\"I hope so.\"\n\"And you take their view?\"", "chosen": "\"Of course you know,\" Archer continued, \"that if your husband chooses to fight the case--as he threatens to--\"\n\"Yes--?\"\n\"He can say things--things that might be unpl--might be disagreeable to you: say them publicly, so that they would get about, and harm you even if--\"\n\"If--?\"\n\"I mean: no matter how unfounded they were.\"\nShe paused for a long interval; so long that, not wishing to keep his eyes on her shaded face, he had time to imprint on his mind the exact shape of her other hand, the one on her knee, and every detail of the three rings on her fourth and fifth fingers; among which, he noticed, a wedding ring did not appear.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n\"Of course you know,\" Archer continued, \"that if your husband chooses to fight the case--as he threatens to--\"\n\"Yes--?\"\n\"He can say things--things that might be unpl--might be disagreeable to you: say them publicly, so that they would get about, and harm you even if--\"\n\"If--?\"\n\"I mean: no matter how unfounded they were.\"\nShe paused for a long interval; so long that, not wishing to keep his eyes on her shaded face, he had time to imprint on his mind the exact shape of her other hand, the one on her knee, and every detail of the three rings on her fourth and fifth fingers; among which, he noticed, a wedding ring did not appear.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-541-005-03-8c27077d", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Hands off!\" cried the bachelor, involuntarily covering dejection with moroseness.\n\"Hands off? that sort of label won't do in our Fair. Whoever in our Fair has fine feelings loves to feel the nap of fine cloth, especially when a fine fellow wears it.\"\n\"And who of my fine-fellow species may you be? From the Brazils, ain't you? Toucan fowl. Fine feathers on foul meat.\"\nThis ungentle mention of the toucan was not improbably suggested by the parti-hued, and rather plumagy aspect of the stranger, no bigot it would seem, but a liberalist, in dress, and whose wardrobe, almost anywhere than on the liberal Mississippi, used to all sorts of fantastic informalities, might, even to observers less critical than the bachelor, have looked, if anything, a little out of the common; but not more so perhaps, than, considering the bear and raccoon costume, the bachelor's own appearance. In short, the stranger sported a vesture barred with various hues, that of the cochineal predominating, in style participating of a Highland plaid, Emir's robe, and French blouse; from its plaited sort of front peeped glimpses of a flowered regatta-shirt, while, for the rest, white trowsers of ample duck flowed over maroon-colored slippers, and a jaunty smoking-cap of regal purple crowned him off at top; king of traveled good-fellows, evidently. Grotesque as all was, nothing looked stiff or unused; all showed signs of easy service, the least wonted thing setting like a wonted glove. That genial hand, which had just been laid on the ungenial shoulder, was now carelessly thrust down before him, sailor-fashion, into a sort of Indian belt, confining the redundant vesture; the other held, by its long bright cherry-stem, a Nuremburgh pipe in blast, its great porcelain bowl painted in miniature with linked crests and arms of interlinked nations--a florid show. As by subtle saturations of its mellowing essence the tobacco had ripened the bowl, so it looked as if something similar of the interior spirit came rosily out on the cheek. But rosy pipe-bowl, or rosy countenance, all was lost on that unrosy man, the bachelor, who, waiting a moment till the commotion, caused by the boat's renewed progress, had a little abated, thus continued:\n\"Hark ye,\" jeeringly eying the cap and belt, \"did you ever see Signor Marzetti in the African pantomime?\"\n\"No;--good performer?\"\n\"Excellent; plays the intelligent ape till he seems it. With such naturalness can a being endowed with an immortal spirit enter into that of a monkey. But where's your tail? In the pantomime, Marzetti, no hypocrite in his monkery, prides himself on that.\"\nThe stranger, now at rest, sideways and genially, on one hip, his right leg cavalierly crossed before the other, the toe of his vertical slipper pointed easily down on the deck, whiffed out a long, leisurely sort of indifferent and charitable puff, betokening him more or less of the mature man of the world, a character which, like its opposite, the sincere Christian's, is not always swift to take offense; and then, drawing near, still smoking, again laid his hand, this time with mild impressiveness, on the ursine shoulder, and not unamiably said: \"That in your address there is a sufficiency of the fortiter in re few unbiased observers will question; but that this is duly attempered with the suaviter in modo may admit, I think, of an honest doubt. My dear fellow,\" beaming his eyes full upon him, \"what injury have I done you, that you should receive my greeting with a curtailed civility?\"\n\"Off hands;\" once more shaking the friendly member from him. \"Who in the name of the great chimpanzee, in whose likeness, you, Marzetti, and the other chatterers are made, who in thunder are you?\"\n\"A cosmopolitan, a catholic man; who, being such, ties himself to no narrow tailor or teacher, but federates, in heart as in costume, something of the various gallantries of men under various suns. Oh, one roams not over the gallant globe in vain. Bred by it, is a fraternal and fusing feeling. No man is a stranger. You accost anybody. Warm and confiding, you wait not for measured advances. And though, indeed, mine, in this instance, have met with no very hilarious encouragement, yet the principle of a true citizen of the world is still to return good for ill.--My dear fellow, tell me how I can serve you.\"\n\"By dispatching yourself, Mr. Popinjay-of-the-world, into the heart of the Lunar Mountains. You are another of them. Out of my sight!\"\n\"Is the sight of humanity so very disagreeable to you then? Ah, I may be foolish, but for my part, in all its aspects, I love it. Served up à la Pole, or à la Moor, à la Ladrone, or à la Yankee, that good dish, man, still delights me; or rather is man a wine I never weary of comparing and sipping; wherefore am I a pledged cosmopolitan, a sort of London-Dock-Vault connoisseur, going about from Teheran to Natchitoches, a taster of races; in all his vintages, smacking my lips over this racy creature, man, continually. But as there are teetotal palates which have a distaste even for Amontillado, so I suppose there may be teetotal souls which relish not even the very best brands of humanity. Excuse me, but it just occurs to me that you, my dear fellow, possibly lead a solitary life.\"\n\"Solitary?\" starting as at a touch of divination.\n\"Yes: in a solitary life one insensibly contracts oddities,--talking to one's self now.\"\n\"Been eaves-dropping, eh?\"\n\"Why, a soliloquist in a crowd can hardly but be overheard, and without much reproach to the hearer.\"\n\"You are an eaves-dropper.\"\n\"Well. Be it so.\"\n\"Confess yourself an eaves-dropper?\"\n\"I confess that when you were muttering here I, passing by, caught a word or two, and, by like chance, something previous of your chat with the Intelligence-office man;--a rather sensible fellow, by the way; much of my style of thinking; would, for his own sake, he were of my style of dress. Grief to good minds, to see a man of superior sense forced to hide his light under the bushel of an inferior coat.--Well, from what little I heard, I said to myself, Here now is one with the unprofitable philosophy of disesteem for man. Which disease, in the main, I have observed--excuse me--to spring from a certain lowness, if not sourness, of spirits inseparable from sequestration. Trust me, one had better mix in, and do like others. Sad business, this holding out against having a good time. Life is a pic-nic en costume; one must take a part, assume a character, stand ready in a sensible way to play the fool. To come in plain clothes, with a long face, as a wiseacre, only makes one a discomfort to himself, and a blot upon the scene. Like your jug of cold water among the wine-flasks, it leaves you unelated among the elated ones. No, no. This austerity won't do. Let me tell you too--en confiance--that while revelry may not always merge into ebriety, soberness, in too deep potations, may become a sort of sottishness. Which sober sottishness, in my way of thinking, is only to be cured by beginning at the other end of the horn, to tipple a little.\"\n\"Pray, what society of vintners and old topers are you hired to lecture for?\"", "chosen": "for", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nfor\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-21816-024-00-62adb649", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nIn the afternoon the storm held off, and the clearness in the west seemed to my inexperienced eye the pledge of a fair evening. I finished my business as quickly as possible, and we set out for Starkfield with a good chance of getting there for supper. But at sunset the clouds gathered again, bringing an earlier night, and the snow began to fall straight and steadily from a sky without wind, in a soft universal diffusion more confusing than the gusts and eddies of the morning. It seemed to be a part of the thickening darkness, to be the winter night itself descending on us layer by layer.\nThe small ray of Frome's lantern was soon lost in this smothering medium, in which even his sense of direction, and the bay's homing instinct, finally ceased to serve us. Two or three times some ghostly landmark sprang up to warn us that we were astray, and then was sucked back into the mist; and when we finally regained our road the old horse began to show signs of exhaustion. I felt myself to blame for having accepted Frome's offer, and after a short discussion I persuaded him to let me get out of the sleigh and walk along through the snow at the bay's side. In this way we struggled on for another mile or two, and at last reached a point where Frome, peering into what seemed to me formless night, said: \"That's my gate down yonder.\"\nThe last stretch had been the hardest part of the way. The bitter cold and the heavy going had nearly knocked the wind out of me, and I could feel the horse's side ticking like a clock under my hand.\n\"Look here, Frome,\" I began, \"there's no earthly use in your going any farther—\" but he interrupted me: \"Nor you neither. There's been about enough of this for anybody.\"\nI understood that he was offering me a night's shelter at the farm, and without answering I turned into the gate at his side, and followed him to the barn, where I helped him to unharness and bed down the tired horse. When this was done he unhooked the lantern from the sleigh, stepped out again into the night, and called to me over his shoulder: \"This way.\"\nFar off above us a square of light trembled through the screen of snow. Staggering along in Frome's wake I floundered toward it, and in the darkness almost fell into one of the deep drifts against the front of the house. Frome scrambled up the slippery steps of the porch, digging a way through the snow with his heavily booted foot. Then he lifted his lantern, found the latch, and led the way into the house. I went after him into a low unlit passage, at the back of which a ladder-like staircase rose into obscurity. On our right a line of light marked the door of the room which had sent its ray across the night; and behind the door I heard a woman's voice droning querulously.\nFrome stamped on the worn oil-cloth to shake the snow from his boots, and set down his lantern on a kitchen chair which was the only piece of furniture in the hall. Then he opened the door.\n\"Come in,\" he said; and as he spoke the droning voice grew still....\nIt was that night that I found the clue to Ethan Frome, and began to put together this vision of his story.", "chosen": "[\"Starkfield\", \"Frome\", \"Look\", \"Nor\", \"Come\", \"Ethan\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Starkfield\", \"Frome\", \"Look\", \"Nor\", \"Come\", \"Ethan\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-4517-001-03-df385f16", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"They said of old the Soul had human shape, But smaller, subtler than the fleshly self, So wandered forth for airing when it pleased. And see! beside her cherub-face there floats A pale-lipped form aerial whispering Its promptings in that little shell her ear.\"\nNews is often dispersed as thoughtlessly and effectively as that pollen which the bees carry off (having no idea how powdery they are) when they are buzzing in search of their particular nectar. This fine comparison has reference to Fred Vincy, who on that evening at Lowick Parsonage heard a lively discussion among the ladies on the news which their old servant had got from Tantripp concerning Mr. Casaubon's strange mention of Mr. Ladislaw in a codicil to his will made not long before his death. Miss Winifred was astounded to find that her brother had known the fact before, and observed that Camden was the most wonderful man for knowing things and not telling them; whereupon Mary Garth said that the codicil had perhaps got mixed up with the habits of spiders, which Miss Winifred never would listen to. Mrs. Farebrother considered that the news had something to do with their having only once seen Mr. Ladislaw at Lowick, and Miss Noble made many small compassionate mewings.\nFred knew little and cared less about Ladislaw and the Casaubons, and his mind never recurred to that discussion till one day calling on Rosamond at his mother's request to deliver a message as he passed, he happened to see Ladislaw going away. Fred and Rosamond had little to say to each other now that marriage had removed her from collision with the unpleasantness of brothers, and especially now that he had taken what she held the stupid and even reprehensible step of giving up the Church to take to such a business as Mr. Garth's. Hence Fred talked by preference of what he considered indifferent news, and \"a propos of that young Ladislaw\" mentioned what he had heard at Lowick Parsonage.\nNow Lydgate, like Mr. Farebrother, knew a great deal more than he told, and when he had once been set thinking about the relation between Will and Dorothea his conjectures had gone beyond the fact. He imagined that there was a passionate attachment on both sides, and this struck him as much too serious to gossip about. He remembered Will's irritability when he had mentioned Mrs. Casaubon, and was the more circumspect. On the whole his surmises, in addition to what he knew of the fact, increased his friendliness and tolerance towards Ladislaw, and made him understand the vacillation which kept him at Middlemarch after he had said that he should go away. It was significant of the separateness between Lydgate's mind and Rosamond's that he had no impulse to speak to her on the subject; indeed, he did not quite trust her reticence towards Will. And he was right there; though he had no vision of the way in which her mind would act in urging her to speak.\nWhen she repeated Fred's news to Lydgate, he said, \"Take care you don't drop the faintest hint to Ladislaw, Rosy. He is likely to fly out as if you insulted him. Of course it is a painful affair.\"\nRosamond turned her neck and patted her hair, looking the image of placid indifference. But the next time Will came when Lydgate was away, she spoke archly about his not going to London as he had threatened.\n\"I know all about it. I have a confidential little bird,\" said she, showing very pretty airs of her head over the bit of work held high between her active fingers. \"There is a powerful magnet in this neighborhood.\"\n\"To be sure there is. Nobody knows that better than you,\" said Will, with light gallantry, but inwardly prepared to be angry.\n\"It is really the most charming romance: Mr. Casaubon jealous, and foreseeing that there was no one else whom Mrs. Casaubon would so much like to marry, and no one who would so much like to marry her as a certain gentleman; and then laying a plan to spoil all by making her forfeit her property if she did marry that gentleman—and then—and then—and then—oh, I have no doubt the end will be thoroughly romantic.\"\n\"Great God! what do you mean?\" said Will, flushing over face and ears, his features seeming to change as if he had had a violent shake. \"Don't joke; tell me what you mean.\"\n\"You don't really know?\" said Rosamond, no longer playful, and desiring nothing better than to tell in order that she might evoke effects.\n\"No!\" he returned, impatiently.\n\"Don't know that Mr. Casaubon has left it in his will that if Mrs. Casaubon marries you she is to forfeit all her property?\"\n\"How do you know that it is true?\" said Will, eagerly.\n\"My brother Fred heard it from the Farebrothers.\" Will started up from his chair and reached his hat.\n\"I dare say she likes you better than the property,\" said Rosamond, looking at him from a distance.\n\"Pray don't say any more about it,\" said Will, in a hoarse undertone extremely unlike his usual light voice. \"It is a foul insult to her and to me.\" Then he sat down absently, looking before him, but seeing nothing.\n\"Now you are angry with me,\" said Rosamond. \"It is too bad to bear me malice. You ought to be obliged to me for telling you.\"\n\"So I am,\" said Will, abruptly, speaking with that kind of double soul which belongs to dreamers who answer questions.\n\"I expect to hear of the marriage,\" said Rosamond, playfully.\n\"Never! You will never hear of the marriage!\"\nWith those words uttered impetuously, Will rose, put out his hand to Rosamond, still with the air of a somnambulist, and went away.\nWhen he was gone, Rosamond left her chair and walked to the other end of the room, leaning when she got there against a chiffonniere, and looking out of the window wearily. She was oppressed by ennui, and by that dissatisfaction which in women's minds is continually turning into a trivial jealousy, referring to no real claims, springing from no deeper passion than the vague exactingness of egoism, and yet capable of impelling action as well as speech. \"There really is nothing to care for much,\" said poor Rosamond inwardly, thinking of the family at Quallingham, who did not write to her; and that perhaps Tertius when he came home would tease her about expenses. She had already secretly disobeyed him by asking her father to help them, and he had ended decisively by saying, \"I am more likely to want help myself.\"", "chosen": "They, And, beside, This, Casaubon's, Ladislaw, Miss, Mrs., Farebrother, Ladislaw, Fred, Fred, Garth's., Hence, Now, Farebrother,, He, He, Casaubon,, On, It, And, When, He, Of, But, I, I, There, Nobody, It, Casaubon, Casaubon, what, Don't, No!\", Don't, Casaubon, Casaubon, My, I, Pray, It, Now, It, You, I, Never!, You, When, She, There, She", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nThey, And, beside, This, Casaubon's, Ladislaw, Miss, Mrs., Farebrother, Ladislaw, Fred, Fred, Garth's., Hence, Now, Farebrother,, He, He, Casaubon,, On, It, And, When, He, Of, But, I, I, There, Nobody, It, Casaubon, Casaubon, what, Don't, No!\", Don't, Casaubon, Casaubon, My, I, Pray, It, Now, It, You, I, Never!, You, When, She, There, She\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-059-00-b5c4a73c", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nSuddenly he started. His eyes grew strangely bright, and he gnawed nervously at his underlip. Between two of the windows stood a large Florentine cabinet, made out of ebony and inlaid with ivory and blue lapis. He watched it as though it were a thing that could fascinate and make afraid, as though it held something that he longed for and yet almost loathed. His breath quickened. A mad craving came over him. He lit a cigarette and then threw it away. His eyelids drooped till the long fringed lashes almost touched his cheek. But he still watched the cabinet. At last he got up from the sofa on which he had been lying, went over to it, and having unlocked it, touched some hidden spring. A triangular drawer passed slowly out. His fingers moved instinctively towards it, dipped in, and closed on something. It was a small Chinese box of black and gold-dust lacquer, elaborately wrought, the sides patterned with curved waves, and the silken cords hung with round crystals and tasselled in plaited metal threads. He opened it. Inside was a green paste, waxy in lustre, the odour curiously heavy and persistent.\nHe hesitated for some moments, with a strangely immobile smile upon his face. Then shivering, though the atmosphere of the room was terribly hot, he drew himself up and glanced at the clock. It was twenty minutes to twelve. He put the box back, shutting the cabinet doors as he did so, and went into his bedroom.\nAs midnight was striking bronze blows upon the dusky air, Dorian Gray, dressed commonly, and with a muffler wrapped round his throat, crept quietly out of his house. In Bond Street he found a hansom with a good horse. He hailed it and in a low voice gave the driver an address.\nThe man shook his head. \"It is too far for me,\" he muttered.\n\"Here is a sovereign for you,\" said Dorian. \"You shall have another if you drive fast.\"\n\"All right, sir,\" answered the man, \"you will be there in an hour,\" and after his fare had got in he turned his horse round and drove rapidly towards the river.", "chosen": "26", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n26\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-174-015-02-2e445841", "source": "pg-174", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Suffering from aberration. When he recovered from the blow Dmitri Fyodorovitch gave him on the head, he was suffering from aberration; he went and committed the murder. As for his saying he didn't, he very likely doesn't remember. Only, you know, it'll be better, ever so much better, if Dmitri Fyodorovitch murdered him. And that's how it must have been, though I say it was Grigory. It certainly was Dmitri Fyodorovitch, and that's better, ever so much better! Oh! not better that a son should have killed his father, I don't defend that. Children ought to honor their parents, and yet it would be better if it were he, as you'd have nothing to cry over then, for he did it when he was unconscious or rather when he was conscious, but did not know what he was doing. Let them acquit him—that's so humane, and would show what a blessing reformed law courts are. I knew nothing about it, but they say they have been so a long time. And when I heard it yesterday, I was so struck by it that I wanted to send for you at once. And if he is acquitted, make him come straight from the law courts to dinner with me, and I'll have a party of friends, and we'll drink to the reformed law courts. I don't believe he'd be dangerous; besides, I'll invite a great many friends, so that he could always be led out if he did anything. And then he might be made a justice of the peace or something in another town, for those who have been in trouble themselves make the best judges. And, besides, who isn't suffering from aberration nowadays?—you, I, all of us are in a state of aberration, and there are ever so many examples of it: a man sits singing a song, suddenly something annoys him, he takes a pistol and shoots the first person he comes across, and no one blames him for it. I read that lately, and all the doctors confirm it. The doctors are always confirming; they confirm anything. Why, my Lise is in a state of aberration. She made me cry again yesterday, and the day before, too, and to-day I suddenly realized that it's all due to aberration. Oh, Lise grieves me so! I believe she's quite mad. Why did she send for you? Did she send for you or did you come of yourself?\"\n\"Yes, she sent for me, and I am just going to her.\" Alyosha got up resolutely.\n\"Oh, my dear, dear Alexey Fyodorovitch, perhaps that's what's most important,\" Madame Hohlakov cried, suddenly bursting into tears. \"God knows I trust Lise to you with all my heart, and it's no matter her sending for you on the sly, without telling her mother. But forgive me, I can't trust my daughter so easily to your brother Ivan Fyodorovitch, though I still consider him the most chivalrous young man. But only fancy, he's been to see Lise and I knew nothing about it!\"\n\"How? What? When?\" Alyosha was exceedingly surprised. He had not sat down again and listened standing.\n\"I will tell you; that's perhaps why I asked you to come, for I don't know now why I did ask you to come. Well, Ivan Fyodorovitch has been to see me twice, since he came back from Moscow. First time he came as a friend to call on me, and the second time Katya was here and he came because he heard she was here. I didn't, of course, expect him to come often, knowing what a lot he has to do as it is, vous comprenez, cette affaire et la mort terrible de votre papa. But I suddenly heard he'd been here again, not to see me but to see Lise. That's six days ago now. He came, stayed five minutes, and went away. And I didn't hear of it till three days afterwards, from Glafira, so it was a great shock to me. I sent for Lise directly. She laughed. 'He thought you were asleep,' she said, 'and came in to me to ask after your health.' Of course, that's how it happened. But Lise, Lise, mercy on us, how she distresses me! Would you believe it, one night, four days ago, just after you saw her last time, and had gone away, she suddenly had a fit, screaming, shrieking, hysterics! Why is it I never have hysterics? Then, next day another fit, and the same thing on the third, and yesterday too, and then yesterday that aberration. She suddenly screamed out, 'I hate Ivan Fyodorovitch. I insist on your never letting him come to the house again.' I was struck dumb at these amazing words, and answered, 'On what grounds could I refuse to see such an excellent young man, a young man of such learning too, and so unfortunate?'—for all this business is a misfortune, isn't it? She suddenly burst out laughing at my words, and so rudely, you know. Well, I was pleased; I thought I had amused her and the fits would pass off, especially as I wanted to refuse to see Ivan Fyodorovitch anyway on account of his strange visits without my knowledge, and meant to ask him for an explanation. But early this morning Lise waked up and flew into a passion with Yulia and, would you believe it, slapped her in the face. That's monstrous; I am always polite to my servants. And an hour later she was hugging Yulia's feet and kissing them. She sent a message to me that she wasn't coming to me at all, and would never come and see me again, and when I dragged myself down to her, she rushed to kiss me, crying, and as she kissed me, she pushed me out of the room without saying a word, so I couldn't find out what was the matter. Now, dear Alexey Fyodorovitch, I rest all my hopes on you, and, of course, my whole life is in your hands. I simply beg you to go to Lise and find out everything from her, as you alone can, and come back and tell me—me, her mother, for you understand it will be the death of me, simply the death of me, if this goes on, or else I shall run away. I can stand no more. I have patience; but I may lose patience, and then ... then something awful will happen. Ah, dear me! At last, Pyotr Ilyitch!\" cried Madame Hohlakov, beaming all over as she saw Perhotin enter the room. \"You are late, you are late! Well, sit down, speak, put us out of suspense. What does the counsel say. Where are you off to, Alexey Fyodorovitch?\"\n\"To Lise.\"\n\"Oh, yes. You won't forget, you won't forget what I asked you? It's a question of life and death!\"\n\"Of course, I won't forget, if I can ... but I am so late,\" muttered Alyosha, beating a hasty retreat.\n\"No, be sure, be sure to come in; don't say 'If you can.' I shall die if you don't,\" Madame Hohlakov called after him, but Alyosha had already left the room.", "chosen": "She sent a message to me that she wasn't coming to me at all, and would never come and see me again, and when I dragged myself down to her, she rushed to kiss me, crying, and as she kissed me, she pushed me out of the room without saying a word, so I couldn't find out what was the matter.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nShe sent a message to me that she wasn't coming to me at all, and would never come and see me again, and when I dragged myself down to her, she rushed to kiss me, crying, and as she kissed me, she pushed me out of the room without saying a word, so I couldn't find out what was the matter.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-069-03-21cd3a37", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"On a certain Friday night in November one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, did business occasion you to travel between London and Dover by the mail?\"\n\"It did.\"\n\"Were there any other passengers in the mail?\"\n\"Two.\"\n\"Did they alight on the road in the course of the night?\"\n\"They did.\"\n\"Mr. Lorry, look upon the prisoner. Was he one of those two passengers?\"\n\"I cannot undertake to say that he was.\"\n\"Does he resemble either of these two passengers?\"\n\"Both were so wrapped up, and the night was so dark, and we were all so reserved, that I cannot undertake to say even that.\"\n\"Mr. Lorry, look again upon the prisoner. Supposing him wrapped up as those two passengers were, is there anything in his bulk and stature to render it unlikely that he was one of them?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"You will not swear, Mr. Lorry, that he was not one of them?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"So at least you say he may have been one of them?\"\n\"Yes. Except that I remember them both to have been--like myself--timorous of highwaymen, and the prisoner has not a timorous air.\"\n\"Did you ever see a counterfeit of timidity, Mr. Lorry?\"\n\"I certainly have seen that.\"\n\"Mr. Lorry, look once more upon the prisoner. Have you seen him, to your certain knowledge, before?\"\n\"I have.\"\n\"When?\"\n\"I was returning from France a few days afterwards, and, at Calais, the prisoner came on board the packet-ship in which I returned, and made the voyage with me.\"\n\"At what hour did he come on board?\"\n\"At a little after midnight.\"\n\"In the dead of the night. Was he the only passenger who came on board at that untimely hour?\"\n\"He happened to be the only one.\"\n\"Never mind about 'happening,' Mr. Lorry. He was the only passenger who came on board in the dead of the night?\"\n\"He was.\"\n\"Were you travelling alone, Mr. Lorry, or with any companion?\"\n\"With two companions. A gentleman and lady. They are here.\"\n\"They are here. Had you any conversation with the prisoner?\"\n\"Hardly any. The weather was stormy, and the passage long and rough, and I lay on a sofa, almost from shore to shore.\"\n\"Miss Manette!\"\nThe young lady, to whom all eyes had been turned before, and were now turned again, stood up where she had sat. Her father rose with her, and kept her hand drawn through his arm.\n\"Miss Manette, look upon the prisoner.\"\nTo be confronted with such pity, and such earnest youth and beauty, was far more trying to the accused than to be confronted with all the crowd. Standing, as it were, apart with her on the edge of his grave, not all the staring curiosity that looked on, could, for the moment, nerve him to remain quite still. His hurried right hand parcelled out the herbs before him into imaginary beds of flowers in a garden; and his efforts to control and steady his breathing shook the lips from which the colour rushed to his heart. The buzz of the great flies was loud again.\n\"Miss Manette, have you seen the prisoner before?\"\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\"Where?\"\n\"On board of the packet-ship just now referred to, sir, and on the same occasion.\"\n\"You are the young lady just now referred to?\"\n\"O! most unhappily, I am!\"\nThe plaintive tone of her compassion merged into the less musical voice of the Judge, as he said something fiercely: \"Answer the questions put to you, and make no remark upon them.\"\n\"Miss Manette, had you any conversation with the prisoner on that passage across the Channel?\"\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\"Recall it.\"\nIn the midst of a profound stillness, she faintly began: \"When the gentleman came on board--\"\n\"Do you mean the prisoner?\" inquired the Judge, knitting his brows.\n\"Yes, my Lord.\"\n\"Then say the prisoner.\"\n\"When the prisoner came on board, he noticed that my father,\" turning her eyes lovingly to him as he stood beside her, \"was much fatigued and in a very weak state of health. My father was so reduced that I was afraid to take him out of the air, and I had made a bed for him on the deck near the cabin steps, and I sat on the deck at his side to take care of him. There were no other passengers that night, but we four. The prisoner was so good as to beg permission to advise me how I could shelter my father from the wind and weather, better than I had done. I had not known how to do it well, not understanding how the wind would set when we were out of the harbour. He did it for me. He expressed great gentleness and kindness for my father's state, and I am sure he felt it. That was the manner of our beginning to speak together.\"\n\"Let me interrupt you for a moment. Had he come on board alone?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"How many were with him?\"\n\"Two French gentlemen.\"\n\"Had they conferred together?\"\n\"They had conferred together until the last moment, when it was necessary for the French gentlemen to be landed in their boat.\"\n\"Had any papers been handed about among them, similar to these lists?\"\n\"Some papers had been handed about among them, but I don't know what papers.\"\n\"Like these in shape and size?\"\n\"Possibly, but indeed I don't know, although they stood whispering very near to me: because they stood at the top of the cabin steps to have the light of the lamp that was hanging there; it was a dull lamp, and they spoke very low, and I did not hear what they said, and saw only that they looked at papers.\"\n\"Now, to the prisoner's conversation, Miss Manette.\"\n\"The prisoner was as open in his confidence with me--which arose out of my helpless situation--as he was kind, and good, and useful to my father. I hope,\" bursting into tears, \"I may not repay him by doing him harm to-day.\"\nBuzzing from the blue-flies.\n\"Miss Manette, if the prisoner does not perfectly understand that you give the evidence which it is your duty to give--which you must give--and which you cannot escape from giving--with great unwillingness, he is the only person present in that condition. Please to go on.\"\n\"He told me that he was travelling on business of a delicate and difficult nature, which might get people into trouble, and that he was therefore travelling under an assumed name. He said that this business had, within a few days, taken him to France, and might, at intervals, take him backwards and forwards between France and England for a long time to come.\"\n\"Did he say anything about America, Miss Manette? Be particular.\"\n\"He tried to explain to me how that quarrel had arisen, and he said that, so far as he could judge, it was a wrong and foolish one on England's part. He added, in a jesting way, that perhaps George Washington might gain almost as great a name in history as George the Third. But there was no harm in his way of saying this: it was said laughingly, and to beguile the time.\"\nAny strongly marked expression of face on the part of a chief actor in a scene of great interest to whom many eyes are directed, will be unconsciously imitated by the spectators. Her forehead was painfully anxious and intent as she gave this evidence, and, in the pauses when she stopped for the Judge to write it down, watched its effect upon the counsel for and against. Among the lookers-on there was the same expression in all quarters of the court; insomuch, that a great majority of the foreheads there, might have been mirrors reflecting the witness, when the Judge looked up from his notes to glare at that tremendous heresy about George Washington.\nMr. Attorney-General now signified to my Lord, that he deemed it necessary, as a matter of precaution and form, to call the young lady's father, Doctor Manette. Who was called accordingly.\n\"Doctor Manette, look upon the prisoner. Have you ever seen him before?\"\n\"Once. When he called at my lodgings in London. Some three years, or three years and a half ago.\"\n\"Can you identify him as your fellow-passenger on board the packet, or speak to his conversation with your daughter?\"\n\"Sir, I can do neither.\"", "chosen": "neither", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nneither\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-009-01-bd675032", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nA thick milky mist hung over the town. Svidrigaïlov walked along the slippery dirty wooden pavement towards the Little Neva. He was picturing the waters of the Little Neva swollen in the night, Petrovsky Island, the wet paths, the wet grass, the wet trees and bushes and at last the bush.... He began ill-humouredly staring at the houses, trying to think of something else. There was not a cabman or a passer-by in the street. The bright yellow, wooden, little houses looked dirty and dejected with their closed shutters. The cold and damp penetrated his whole body and he began to shiver. From time to time he came across shop signs and read each carefully. At last he reached the end of the wooden pavement and came to a big stone house. A dirty, shivering dog crossed his path with its tail between its legs. A man in a greatcoat lay face downwards, dead drunk, across the pavement. He looked at him and went on. A high tower stood up on the left. \"Bah!\" he shouted, \"here is a place. Why should it be Petrovsky? It will be in the presence of an official witness anyway....\"\nHe almost smiled at this new thought and turned into the street where there was the big house with the tower. At the great closed gates of the house, a little man stood with his shoulder leaning against them, wrapped in a grey soldier's coat, with a copper Achilles helmet on his head. He cast a drowsy and indifferent glance at Svidrigaïlov. His face wore that perpetual look of peevish dejection, which is so sourly printed on all faces of Jewish race without exception. They both, Svidrigaïlov and Achilles, stared at each other for a few minutes without speaking. At last it struck Achilles as irregular for a man not drunk to be standing three steps from him, staring and not saying a word.\n\"What do you want here?\" he said, without moving or changing his position.\n\"Nothing, brother, good morning,\" answered Svidrigaïlov.\n\"This isn't the place.\"\n\"I am going to foreign parts, brother.\"\n\"To foreign parts?\"\n\"To America.\"\n\"America.\"\nSvidrigaïlov took out the revolver and cocked it. Achilles raised his eyebrows.\n\"I say, this is not the place for such jokes!\"\n\"Why shouldn't it be the place?\"\n\"Because it isn't.\"\n\"Well, brother, I don't mind that. It's a good place. When you are asked, you just say he was going, he said, to America.\"\nHe put the revolver to his right temple.\n\"You can't do it here, it's not the place,\" cried Achilles, rousing himself, his eyes growing bigger and bigger.\nSvidrigaïlov pulled the trigger.", "chosen": "[\"Little\", \"Neva\", \"Petrovsky\", \"Island\", \"Bah\", \"Achilles\", \"Svidriga\", \"Jewish\", \"Nothing\", \"America\", \"Because\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Little\", \"Neva\", \"Petrovsky\", \"Island\", \"Bah\", \"Achilles\", \"Svidriga\", \"Jewish\", \"Nothing\", \"America\", \"Because\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2554-007-04-e9edbca2", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nThe Karamazovs' house was far from being in the center of the town, but it was not quite outside it. It was a pleasant-looking old house of two stories, painted gray, with a red iron roof. It was roomy and snug, and might still last many years. There were all sorts of unexpected little cupboards and closets and staircases. There were rats in it, but Fyodor Pavlovitch did not altogether dislike them. \"One doesn't feel so solitary when one's left alone in the evening,\" he used to say. It was his habit to send the servants away to the lodge for the night and to lock himself up alone. The lodge was a roomy and solid building in the yard. Fyodor Pavlovitch used to have the cooking done there, although there was a kitchen in the house; he did not like the smell of cooking, and, winter and summer alike, the dishes were carried in across the courtyard. The house was built for a large family; there was room for five times as many, with their servants. But at the time of our story there was no one living in the house but Fyodor Pavlovitch and his son Ivan. And in the lodge there were only three servants: old Grigory, and his old wife Marfa, and a young man called Smerdyakov. Of these three we must say a few words. Of old Grigory we have said something already. He was firm and determined and went blindly and obstinately for his object, if once he had been brought by any reasons (and they were often very illogical ones) to believe that it was immutably right. He was honest and incorruptible. His wife, Marfa Ignatyevna, had obeyed her husband's will implicitly all her life, yet she had pestered him terribly after the emancipation of the serfs. She was set on leaving Fyodor Pavlovitch and opening a little shop in Moscow with their small savings. But Grigory decided then, once for all, that \"the woman's talking nonsense, for every woman is dishonest,\" and that they ought not to leave their old master, whatever he might be, for \"that was now their duty.\"\n\"Do you understand what duty is?\" he asked Marfa Ignatyevna.\n\"I understand what duty means, Grigory Vassilyevitch, but why it's our duty to stay here I never shall understand,\" Marfa answered firmly.\n\"Well, don't understand then. But so it shall be. And you hold your tongue.\"\nAnd so it was. They did not go away, and Fyodor Pavlovitch promised them a small sum for wages, and paid it regularly. Grigory knew, too, that he had an indisputable influence over his master. It was true, and he was aware of it. Fyodor Pavlovitch was an obstinate and cunning buffoon, yet, though his will was strong enough \"in some of the affairs of life,\" as he expressed it, he found himself, to his surprise, extremely feeble in facing certain other emergencies. He knew his weaknesses and was afraid of them. There are positions in which one has to keep a sharp look out. And that's not easy without a trustworthy man, and Grigory was a most trustworthy man. Many times in the course of his life Fyodor Pavlovitch had only just escaped a sound thrashing through Grigory's intervention, and on each occasion the old servant gave him a good lecture. But it wasn't only thrashings that Fyodor Pavlovitch was afraid of. There were graver occasions, and very subtle and complicated ones, when Fyodor Pavlovitch could not have explained the extraordinary craving for some one faithful and devoted, which sometimes unaccountably came upon him all in a moment. It was almost a morbid condition. Corrupt and often cruel in his lust, like some noxious insect, Fyodor Pavlovitch was sometimes, in moments of drunkenness, overcome by superstitious terror and a moral convulsion which took an almost physical form. \"My soul's simply quaking in my throat at those times,\" he used to say. At such moments he liked to feel that there was near at hand, in the lodge if not in the room, a strong, faithful man, virtuous and unlike himself, who had seen all his debauchery and knew all his secrets, but was ready in his devotion to overlook all that, not to oppose him, above all, not to reproach him or threaten him with anything, either in this world or in the next, and, in case of need, to defend him—from whom? From somebody unknown, but terrible and dangerous. What he needed was to feel that there was another man, an old and tried friend, that he might call him in his sick moments merely to look at his face, or, perhaps, exchange some quite irrelevant words with him. And if the old servant were not angry, he felt comforted, and if he were angry, he was more dejected. It happened even (very rarely however) that Fyodor Pavlovitch went at night to the lodge to wake Grigory and fetch him for a moment. When the old man came, Fyodor Pavlovitch would begin talking about the most trivial matters, and would soon let him go again, sometimes even with a jest. And after he had gone, Fyodor Pavlovitch would get into bed with a curse and sleep the sleep of the just. Something of the same sort had happened to Fyodor Pavlovitch on Alyosha's arrival. Alyosha \"pierced his heart\" by \"living with him, seeing everything and blaming nothing.\" Moreover, Alyosha brought with him something his father had never known before: a complete absence of contempt for him and an invariable kindness, a perfectly natural unaffected devotion to the old man who deserved it so little. All this was a complete surprise to the old profligate, who had dropped all family ties. It was a new and surprising experience for him, who had till then loved nothing but \"evil.\" When Alyosha had left him, he confessed to himself that he had learnt something he had not till then been willing to learn.\nI have mentioned already that Grigory had detested Adelaïda Ivanovna, the first wife of Fyodor Pavlovitch and the mother of Dmitri, and that he had, on the contrary, protected Sofya Ivanovna, the poor \"crazy woman,\" against his master and any one who chanced to speak ill or lightly of her. His sympathy for the unhappy wife had become something sacred to him, so that even now, twenty years after, he could not bear a slighting allusion to her from any one, and would at once check the offender. Externally, Grigory was cold, dignified and taciturn, and spoke, weighing his words, without frivolity. It was impossible to tell at first sight whether he loved his meek, obedient wife; but he really did love her, and she knew it.\nMarfa Ignatyevna was by no means foolish; she was probably, indeed, cleverer than her husband, or, at least, more prudent than he in worldly affairs, and yet she had given in to him in everything without question or complaint ever since her marriage, and respected him for his spiritual superiority. It was remarkable how little they spoke to one another in the course of their lives, and only of the most necessary daily affairs. The grave and dignified Grigory thought over all his cares and duties alone, so that Marfa Ignatyevna had long grown used to knowing that he did not need her advice. She felt that her husband respected her silence, and took it as a sign of her good sense. He had never beaten her but once, and then only slightly. Once during the year after Fyodor Pavlovitch's marriage with Adelaïda Ivanovna, the village girls and women—at that time serfs—were called together before the house to sing and dance. They were beginning \"In the Green Meadows,\" when Marfa, at that time a young woman, skipped forward and danced \"the Russian Dance,\" not in the village fashion, but as she had danced it when she was a servant in the service of the rich Miüsov family, in their private theater, where the actors were taught to dance by a dancing master from Moscow. Grigory saw how his wife danced, and, an hour later, at home in their cottage he gave her a lesson, pulling her hair a little. But there it ended: the beating was never repeated, and Marfa Ignatyevna gave up dancing.", "chosen": "The, It, It, There, There, One, It, The, Fyodor, The, But, And, Of, Of, He, He, His, She, But, I, Well,, But, And, They, Grigory, It, Fyodor, He, There, And, Many, But, There, It, Corrupt, My, At, From, What, And, It, When, And, Something, Alyosha, All, It, I, His, Externally,, It, Marfa, It, The, She, He, Once, They, Grigory, But", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nThe, It, It, There, There, One, It, The, Fyodor, The, But, And, Of, Of, He, He, His, She, But, I, Well,, But, And, They, Grigory, It, Fyodor, He, There, And, Many, But, There, It, Corrupt, My, At, From, What, And, It, When, And, Something, Alyosha, All, It, I, His, Externally,, It, Marfa, It, The, She, He, Once, They, Grigory, But\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-014-00-8ab8ea64", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Both, the subject and the interlocutor,\" replied the stranger rising, and waiting the return towards him of a promenader, that moment turning at the further end of his walk.\n\"Egbert!\" said he, calling.\nEgbert, a well-dressed, commercial-looking gentleman of about thirty, responded in a way strikingly deferential, and in a moment stood near, in the attitude less of an equal companion apparently than a confidential follower.\n\"This,\" said the stranger, taking Egbert by the hand and leading him to the cosmopolitan, \"this is Egbert, a disciple. I wish you to know Egbert. Egbert was the first among mankind to reduce to practice the principles of Mark Winsome--principles previously accounted as less adapted to life than the closet. Egbert,\" turning to the disciple, who, with seeming modesty, a little shrank under these compliments, \"Egbert, this,\" with a salute towards the cosmopolitan, \"is, like all of us, a stranger. I wish you, Egbert, to know this brother stranger; be communicative with him. Particularly if, by anything hitherto dropped, his curiosity has been roused as to the precise nature of my philosophy, I trust you will not leave such curiosity ungratified. You, Egbert, by simply setting forth your practice, can do more to enlighten one as to my theory, than I myself can by mere speech. Indeed, it is by you that I myself best understand myself. For to every philosophy are certain rear parts, very important parts, and these, like the rear of one's head, are best seen by reflection. Now, as in a glass, you, Egbert, in your life, reflect to me the more important part of my system. He, who approves you, approves the philosophy of Mark Winsome.\"\nThough portions of this harangue may, perhaps, in the phraseology seem self-complaisant, yet no trace of self-complacency was perceptible in the speaker's manner, which throughout was plain, unassuming, dignified, and manly; the teacher and prophet seemed to lurk more in the idea, so to speak, than in the mere bearing of him who was the vehicle of it.\n\"Sir,\" said the cosmopolitan, who seemed not a little interested in this new aspect of matters, \"you speak of a certain philosophy, and a more or less occult one it may be, and hint of its bearing upon practical life; pray, tell me, if the study of this philosophy tends to the same formation of character with the experiences of the world?\"\n\"It does; and that is the test of its truth; for any philosophy that, being in operation contradictory to the ways of the world, tends to produce a character at odds with it, such a philosophy must necessarily be but a cheat and a dream.\"\n\"You a little surprise me,\" answered the cosmopolitan; \"for, from an occasional profundity in you, and also from your allusions to a profound work on the theology of Plato, it would seem but natural to surmise that, if you are the originator of any philosophy, it must needs so partake of the abstruse, as to exalt it above the comparatively vile uses of life.\"\n\"No uncommon mistake with regard to me,\" rejoined the other. Then meekly standing like a Raphael: \"If still in golden accents old Memnon murmurs his riddle, none the less does the balance-sheet of every man's ledger unriddle the profit or loss of life. Sir,\" with calm energy, \"man came into this world, not to sit down and muse, not to befog himself with vain subtleties, but to gird up his loins and to work. Mystery is in the morning, and mystery in the night, and the beauty of mystery is everywhere; but still the plain truth remains, that mouth and purse must be filled. If, hitherto, you have supposed me a visionary, be undeceived. I am no one-ideaed one, either; no more than the seers before me. Was not Seneca a usurer? Bacon a courtier? and Swedenborg, though with one eye on the invisible, did he not keep the other on the main chance? Along with whatever else it may be given me to be, I am a man of serviceable knowledge, and a man of the world. Know me for such. And as for my disciple here,\" turning towards him, \"if you look to find any soft Utopianisms and last year's sunsets in him, I smile to think how he will set you right. The doctrines I have taught him will, I trust, lead him neither to the mad-house nor the poor-house, as so many other doctrines have served credulous sticklers. Furthermore,\" glancing upon him paternally, \"Egbert is both my disciple and my poet. For poetry is not a thing of ink and rhyme, but of thought and act, and, in the latter way, is by any one to be found anywhere, when in useful action sought. In a word, my disciple here is a thriving young merchant, a practical poet in the West India trade. There,\" presenting Egbert's hand to the cosmopolitan, \"I join you, and leave you.\" With which words, and without bowing, the master withdrew.", "chosen": "31", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n31\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-21816-033-00-baaed315", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"My dear Harriet,\" said Mr. Bulstrode, wincing under his wife's eyes, which were filling with tears, \"I have supplied your brother with a great deal of capital. I cannot be expected to take care of his married children.\"\nThat seemed to be true, and Mrs. Bulstrode's remonstrance subsided into pity for poor Rosamond, whose extravagant education she had always foreseen the fruits of.\nBut remembering that dialogue, Mr. Bulstrode felt that when he had to talk to his wife fully about his plan of quitting Middlemarch, he should be glad to tell her that he had made an arrangement which might be for the good of her nephew Fred. At present he had merely mentioned to her that he thought of shutting up The Shrubs for a few months, and taking a house on the Southern Coast.\nHence Mr. Garth got the assurance he desired, namely, that in case of Bulstrode's departure from Middlemarch for an indefinite time, Fred Vincy should be allowed to have the tenancy of Stone Court on the terms proposed.\nCaleb was so elated with his hope of this \"neat turn\" being given to things, that if his self-control had not been braced by a little affectionate wifely scolding, he would have betrayed everything to Mary, wanting \"to give the child comfort.\" However, he restrained himself, and kept in strict privacy from Fred certain visits which he was making to Stone Court, in order to look more thoroughly into the state of the land and stock, and take a preliminary estimate. He was certainly more eager in these visits than the probable speed of events required him to be; but he was stimulated by a fatherly delight in occupying his mind with this bit of probable happiness which he held in store like a hidden birthday gift for Fred and Mary.\n\"But suppose the whole scheme should turn out to be a castle in the air?\" said Mrs. Garth.\n\"Well, well,\" replied Caleb; \"the castle will tumble about nobody's head.\"", "chosen": "Caleb was so elated with his hope of this \"neat turn\" being given to things, that if his self-control had not been braced by a little affectionate wifely scolding, he would have betrayed everything to Mary, wanting \"to give the child comfort.\" However, he restrained himself, and kept in strict privacy from Fred certain visits which he was making to Stone Court, in order to look more thoroughly into the state of the land and stock, and take a preliminary estimate.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nCaleb was so elated with his hope of this \"neat turn\" being given to things, that if his self-control had not been braced by a little affectionate wifely scolding, he would have betrayed everything to Mary, wanting \"to give the child comfort.\" However, he restrained himself, and kept in strict privacy from Fred certain visits which he was making to Stone Court, in order to look more thoroughly into the state of the land and stock, and take a preliminary estimate.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-068-02-febf8d42", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nGood phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable. —Justice Shallow.\nA few days afterwards—it was already the end of August—there was an occasion which caused some excitement in Middlemarch: the public, if it chose, was to have the advantage of buying, under the distinguished auspices of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, the furniture, books, and pictures which anybody might see by the handbills to be the best in every kind, belonging to Edwin Larcher, Esq. This was not one of the sales indicating the depression of trade; on the contrary, it was due to Mr. Larcher's great success in the carrying business, which warranted his purchase of a mansion near Riverston already furnished in high style by an illustrious Spa physician—furnished indeed with such large framefuls of expensive flesh-painting in the dining-room, that Mrs. Larcher was nervous until reassured by finding the subjects to be Scriptural. Hence the fine opportunity to purchasers which was well pointed out in the handbills of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, whose acquaintance with the history of art enabled him to state that the hall furniture, to be sold without reserve, comprised a piece of carving by a contemporary of Gibbons.\nAt Middlemarch in those times a large sale was regarded as a kind of festival. There was a table spread with the best cold eatables, as at a superior funeral; and facilities were offered for that generous-drinking of cheerful glasses which might lead to generous and cheerful bidding for undesirable articles. Mr. Larcher's sale was the more attractive in the fine weather because the house stood just at the end of the town, with a garden and stables attached, in that pleasant issue from Middlemarch called the London Road, which was also the road to the New Hospital and to Mr. Bulstrode's retired residence, known as the Shrubs. In short, the auction was as good as a fair, and drew all classes with leisure at command: to some, who risked making bids in order simply to raise prices, it was almost equal to betting at the races. The second day, when the best furniture was to be sold, \"everybody\" was there; even Mr. Thesiger, the rector of St. Peter's, had looked in for a short time, wishing to buy the carved table, and had rubbed elbows with Mr. Bambridge and Mr. Horrock. There was a wreath of Middlemarch ladies accommodated with seats round the large table in the dining-room, where Mr. Borthrop Trumbull was mounted with desk and hammer; but the rows chiefly of masculine faces behind were often varied by incomings and outgoings both from the door and the large bow-window opening on to the lawn.\n\"Everybody\" that day did not include Mr. Bulstrode, whose health could not well endure crowds and draughts. But Mrs. Bulstrode had particularly wished to have a certain picture—a \"Supper at Emmaus,\" attributed in the catalogue to Guido; and at the last moment before the day of the sale Mr. Bulstrode had called at the office of the \"Pioneer,\" of which he was now one of the proprietors, to beg of Mr. Ladislaw as a great favor that he would obligingly use his remarkable knowledge of pictures on behalf of Mrs. Bulstrode, and judge of the value of this particular painting—\"if,\" added the scrupulously polite banker, \"attendance at the sale would not interfere with the arrangements for your departure, which I know is imminent.\"\nThis proviso might have sounded rather satirically in Will's ear if he had been in a mood to care about such satire. It referred to an understanding entered into many weeks before with the proprietors of the paper, that he should be at liberty any day he pleased to hand over the management to the subeditor whom he had been training; since he wished finally to quit Middlemarch. But indefinite visions of ambition are weak against the ease of doing what is habitual or beguilingly agreeable; and we all know the difficulty of carrying out a resolve when we secretly long that it may turn out to be unnecessary. In such states of mind the most incredulous person has a private leaning towards miracle: impossible to conceive how our wish could be fulfilled, still—very wonderful things have happened! Will did not confess this weakness to himself, but he lingered. What was the use of going to London at that time of the year? The Rugby men who would remember him were not there; and so far as political writing was concerned, he would rather for a few weeks go on with the \"Pioneer.\" At the present moment, however, when Mr. Bulstrode was speaking to him, he had both a strengthened resolve to go and an equally strong resolve not to go till he had once more seen Dorothea. Hence he replied that he had reasons for deferring his departure a little, and would be happy to go to the sale.\nWill was in a defiant mood, his consciousness being deeply stung with the thought that the people who looked at him probably knew a fact tantamount to an accusation against him as a fellow with low designs which were to be frustrated by a disposal of property. Like most people who assert their freedom with regard to conventional distinction, he was prepared to be sudden and quick at quarrel with any one who might hint that he had personal reasons for that assertion—that there was anything in his blood, his bearing, or his character to which he gave the mask of an opinion. When he was under an irritating impression of this kind he would go about for days with a defiant look, the color changing in his transparent skin as if he were on the qui vive, watching for something which he had to dart upon.\nThis expression was peculiarly noticeable in him at the sale, and those who had only seen him in his moods of gentle oddity or of bright enjoyment would have been struck with a contrast. He was not sorry to have this occasion for appearing in public before the Middlemarch tribes of Toller, Hackbutt, and the rest, who looked down on him as an adventurer, and were in a state of brutal ignorance about Dante—who sneered at his Polish blood, and were themselves of a breed very much in need of crossing. He stood in a conspicuous place not far from the auctioneer, with a fore-finger in each side-pocket and his head thrown backward, not caring to speak to anybody, though he had been cordially welcomed as a connoissure by Mr. Trumbull, who was enjoying the utmost activity of his great faculties.\nAnd surely among all men whose vocation requires them to exhibit their powers of speech, the happiest is a prosperous provincial auctioneer keenly alive to his own jokes and sensible of his encyclopedic knowledge. Some saturnine, sour-blooded persons might object to be constantly insisting on the merits of all articles from boot-jacks to \"Berghems;\" but Mr. Borthrop Trumbull had a kindly liquid in his veins; he was an admirer by nature, and would have liked to have the universe under his hammer, feeling that it would go at a higher figure for his recommendation.\nMeanwhile Mrs. Larcher's drawing-room furniture was enough for him. When Will Ladislaw had come in, a second fender, said to have been forgotten in its right place, suddenly claimed the auctioneer's enthusiasm, which he distributed on the equitable principle of praising those things most which were most in need of praise. The fender was of polished steel, with much lancet-shaped open-work and a sharp edge.", "chosen": "[\"everybody\", \"Everybody\", \"Supper at Emmaus,\", \"Pioneer,\", \" added the scrupulously polite banker, \", \"Pioneer.\", \"Berghems;\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"everybody\", \"Everybody\", \"Supper at Emmaus,\", \"Pioneer,\", \" added the scrupulously polite banker, \", \"Pioneer.\", \"Berghems;\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-060-00-2d290237", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"O daughter of Babylon, wasted with misery.\"\nA habit of Knight's, when not immediately occupied with Elfride—to walk by himself for half an hour or so between dinner and bedtime—had become familiar to his friends at Endelstow, Elfride herself among them. When he had helped her over the stile, she said gently, \"If you wish to take your usual turn on the hill, Harry, I can run down to the house alone.\"\n\"Thank you, Elfie; then I think I will.\"\nHer form diminished to blackness in the moonlight, and Knight, after remaining upon the churchyard stile a few minutes longer, turned back again towards the building. His usual course was now to light a cigar or pipe, and indulge in a quiet meditation. But to-night his mind was too tense to bethink itself of such a solace. He merely walked round to the site of the fallen tower, and sat himself down upon some of the large stones which had composed it until this day, when the chain of circumstance originated by Stephen Smith, while in the employ of Mr. Hewby, the London man of art, had brought about its overthrow.\nPondering on the possible episodes of Elfride's past life, and on how he had supposed her to have had no past justifying the name, he sat and regarded the white tomb of young Jethway, now close in front of him. The sea, though comparatively placid, could as usual be heard from this point along the whole distance between promontories to the right and left, floundering and entangling itself among the insulated stacks of rock which dotted the water's edge—the miserable skeletons of tortured old cliffs that would not even yet succumb to the wear and tear of the tides.\nAs a change from thoughts not of a very cheerful kind, Knight attempted exertion. He stood up, and prepared to ascend to the summit of the ruinous heap of stones, from which a more extended outlook was obtainable than from the ground. He stretched out his arm to seize the projecting arris of a larger block than ordinary, and so help himself up, when his hand lighted plump upon a substance differing in the greatest possible degree from what he had expected to seize—hard stone. It was stringy and entangled, and trailed upon the stone. The deep shadow from the aisle wall prevented his seeing anything here distinctly, and he began guessing as a necessity. \"It is a tressy species of moss or lichen,\" he said to himself.\nBut it lay loosely over the stone.\n\"It is a tuft of grass,\" he said.\nBut it lacked the roughness and humidity of the finest grass.\n\"It is a mason's whitewash-brush.\"\nSuch brushes, he remembered, were more bristly; and however much used in repairing a structure, would not be required in pulling one down.\nHe said, \"It must be a thready silk fringe.\"\nHe felt further in. It was somewhat warm. Knight instantly felt somewhat cold.\nTo find the coldness of inanimate matter where you expect warmth is startling enough; but a colder temperature than that of the body being rather the rule than the exception in common substances, it hardly conveys such a shock to the system as finding warmth where utter frigidity is anticipated.\n\"God only knows what it is,\" he said.\nHe felt further, and in the course of a minute put his hand upon a human head. The head was warm, but motionless. The thready mass was the hair of the head—long and straggling, showing that the head was a woman's.\nKnight in his perplexity stood still for a moment, and collected his thoughts. The vicar's account of the fall of the tower was that the workmen had been undermining it all the day, and had left in the evening intending to give the finishing stroke the next morning. Half an hour after they had gone the undermined angle came down. The woman who was half buried, as it seemed, must have been beneath it at the moment of the fall.\nKnight leapt up and began endeavouring to remove the rubbish with his hands. The heap overlying the body was for the most part fine and dusty, but in immense quantity. It would be a saving of time to run for assistance. He crossed to the churchyard wall, and hastened down the hill.\nA little way down an intersecting road passed over a small ridge, which now showed up darkly against the moon, and this road here formed a kind of notch in the sky-line. At the moment that Knight arrived at the crossing he beheld a man on this eminence, coming towards him. Knight turned aside and met the stranger.\n\"There has been an accident at the church,\" said Knight, without preface. \"The tower has fallen on somebody, who has been lying there ever since. Will you come and help?\"\n\"That I will,\" said the man.\n\"It is a woman,\" said Knight, as they hurried back, \"and I think we two are enough to extricate her. Do you know of a shovel?\"\n\"The grave-digging shovels are about somewhere. They used to stay in the tower.\"\n\"And there must be some belonging to the workmen.\"\nThey searched about, and in an angle of the porch found three carefully stowed away. Going round to the west end Knight signified the spot of the tragedy.\n\"We ought to have brought a lantern,\" he exclaimed. \"But we may be able to do without.\" He set to work removing the superincumbent mass.\nThe other man, who looked on somewhat helplessly at first, now followed the example of Knight's activity, and removed the larger stones which were mingled with the rubbish. But with all their efforts it was quite ten minutes before the body of the unfortunate creature could be extricated. They lifted her as carefully as they could, breathlessly carried her to Felix Jethway's tomb, which was only a few steps westward, and laid her thereon.\n\"Is she dead indeed?\" said the stranger.\n\"She appears to be,\" said Knight. \"Which is the nearest house? The vicarage, I suppose.\"\n\"Yes; but since we shall have to call a surgeon from Castle Boterel, I think it would be better to carry her in that direction, instead of away from the town.\"\n\"And is it not much further to the first house we come to going that way, than to the vicarage or to The Crags?\"\n\"Not much,\" the stranger replied.\n\"Suppose we take her there, then. And I think the best way to do it would be thus, if you don't mind joining hands with me.\"\n\"Not in the least; I am glad to assist.\"\nMaking a kind of cradle, by clasping their hands crosswise under the inanimate woman, they lifted her, and walked on side by side down a path indicated by the stranger, who appeared to know the locality well.\n\"I had been sitting in the church for nearly an hour,\" Knight resumed, when they were out of the churchyard. \"Afterwards I walked round to the site of the fallen tower, and so found her. It is painful to think I unconsciously wasted so much time in the very presence of a perishing, flying soul.\"\n\"The tower fell at dusk, did it not? quite two hours ago, I think?\"\n\"Yes. She must have been there alone. What could have been her object in visiting the churchyard then?\n\"It is difficult to say.\" The stranger looked inquiringly into the reclining face of the motionless form they bore. \"Would you turn her round for a moment, so that the light shines on her face?\" he said.\nThey turned her face to the moon, and the man looked closer into her features. \"Why, I know her!\" he exclaimed.\n\"Who is she?\"\n\"Mrs. Jethway. And the cottage we are taking her to is her own. She is a widow; and I was speaking to her only this afternoon. I was at Castle Boterel post-office, and she came there to post a letter. Poor soul! Let us hurry on.\"\n\"Hold my wrist a little tighter. Was not that tomb we laid her on the tomb of her only son?\"", "chosen": "son", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nson\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-032-00-3690c62b", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe controversy was over. But, strange to say, Fyodor Pavlovitch, who had been so gay, suddenly began frowning. He frowned and gulped brandy, and it was already a glass too much.\n\"Get along with you, Jesuits!\" he cried to the servants. \"Go away, Smerdyakov. I'll send you the gold piece I promised you to-day, but be off! Don't cry, Grigory. Go to Marfa. She'll comfort you and put you to bed. The rascals won't let us sit in peace after dinner,\" he snapped peevishly, as the servants promptly withdrew at his word.\n\"Smerdyakov always pokes himself in now, after dinner. It's you he's so interested in. What have you done to fascinate him?\" he added to Ivan.\n\"Nothing whatever,\" answered Ivan. \"He's pleased to have a high opinion of me; he's a lackey and a mean soul. Raw material for revolution, however, when the time comes.\"\n\"For revolution?\"\n\"There will be others and better ones. But there will be some like him as well. His kind will come first, and better ones after.\"\n\"And when will the time come?\"\n\"The rocket will go off and fizzle out, perhaps. The peasants are not very fond of listening to these soup-makers, so far.\"\n\"Ah, brother, but a Balaam's ass like that thinks and thinks, and the devil knows where he gets to.\"\n\"He's storing up ideas,\" said Ivan, smiling.\n\"You see, I know he can't bear me, nor any one else, even you, though you fancy that he has a high opinion of you. Worse still with Alyosha, he despises Alyosha. But he doesn't steal, that's one thing, and he's not a gossip, he holds his tongue, and doesn't wash our dirty linen in public. He makes capital fish pasties too. But, damn him, is he worth talking about so much?\"\n\"Of course he isn't.\"\n\"And as for the ideas he may be hatching, the Russian peasant, generally speaking, needs thrashing. That I've always maintained. Our peasants are swindlers, and don't deserve to be pitied, and it's a good thing they're still flogged sometimes. Russia is rich in birches. If they destroyed the forests, it would be the ruin of Russia. I stand up for the clever people. We've left off thrashing the peasants, we've grown so clever, but they go on thrashing themselves. And a good thing too. 'For with what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again,' or how does it go? Anyhow, it will be measured. But Russia's all swinishness. My dear, if you only knew how I hate Russia.... That is, not Russia, but all this vice! But maybe I mean Russia. Tout cela c'est de la cochonnerie.... Do you know what I like? I like wit.\"\n\"You've had another glass. That's enough.\"\n\"Wait a bit. I'll have one more, and then another, and then I'll stop. No, stay, you interrupted me. At Mokroe I was talking to an old man, and he told me: 'There's nothing we like so much as sentencing girls to be thrashed, and we always give the lads the job of thrashing them. And the girl he has thrashed to-day, the young man will ask in marriage to-morrow. So it quite suits the girls, too,' he said. There's a set of de Sades for you! But it's clever, anyway. Shall we go over and have a look at it, eh? Alyosha, are you blushing? Don't be bashful, child. I'm sorry I didn't stay to dinner at the Superior's and tell the monks about the girls at Mokroe. Alyosha, don't be angry that I offended your Superior this morning. I lost my temper. If there is a God, if He exists, then, of course, I'm to blame, and I shall have to answer for it. But if there isn't a God at all, what do they deserve, your fathers? It's not enough to cut their heads off, for they keep back progress. Would you believe it, Ivan, that that lacerates my sentiments? No, you don't believe it as I see from your eyes. You believe what people say, that I'm nothing but a buffoon. Alyosha, do you believe that I'm nothing but a buffoon?\"\n\"No, I don't believe it.\"\n\"And I believe you don't, and that you speak the truth. You look sincere and you speak sincerely. But not Ivan. Ivan's supercilious.... I'd make an end of your monks, though, all the same. I'd take all that mystic stuff and suppress it, once for all, all over Russia, so as to bring all the fools to reason. And the gold and the silver that would flow into the mint!\"\n\"But why suppress it?\" asked Ivan.\n\"That Truth may prevail. That's why.\"\n\"Well, if Truth were to prevail, you know, you'd be the first to be robbed and suppressed.\"\n\"Ah! I dare say you're right. Ah, I'm an ass!\" burst out Fyodor Pavlovitch, striking himself lightly on the forehead. \"Well, your monastery may stand then, Alyosha, if that's how it is. And we clever people will sit snug and enjoy our brandy. You know, Ivan, it must have been so ordained by the Almighty Himself. Ivan, speak, is there a God or not? Stay, speak the truth, speak seriously. Why are you laughing again?\"\n\"I'm laughing that you should have made a clever remark just now about Smerdyakov's belief in the existence of two saints who could move mountains.\"\n\"Why, am I like him now, then?\"\n\"Very much.\"\n\"Well, that shows I'm a Russian, too, and I have a Russian characteristic. And you may be caught in the same way, though you are a philosopher. Shall I catch you? What do you bet that I'll catch you to-morrow. Speak, all the same, is there a God, or not? Only, be serious. I want you to be serious now.\"\n\"No, there is no God.\"\n\"Alyosha, is there a God?\"\n\"There is.\"\n\"Ivan, and is there immortality of some sort, just a little, just a tiny bit?\"\n\"There is no immortality either.\"\n\"None at all?\"\n\"None at all.\"\n\"There's absolute nothingness then. Perhaps there is just something? Anything is better than nothing!\"\n\"Absolute nothingness.\"\n\"Alyosha, is there immortality?\"\n\"There is.\"\n\"God and immortality?\"\n\"God and immortality. In God is immortality.\"\n\"H'm! It's more likely Ivan's right. Good Lord! to think what faith, what force of all kinds, man has lavished for nothing, on that dream, and for how many thousand years. Who is it laughing at man? Ivan! For the last time, once for all, is there a God or not? I ask for the last time!\"\n\"And for the last time there is not.\"\n\"Who is laughing at mankind, Ivan?\"\n\"It must be the devil,\" said Ivan, smiling.\n\"And the devil? Does he exist?\"\n\"No, there's no devil either.\"\n\"It's a pity. Damn it all, what wouldn't I do to the man who first invented God! Hanging on a bitter aspen tree would be too good for him.\"\n\"There would have been no civilization if they hadn't invented God.\"\n\"Wouldn't there have been? Without God?\"\n\"No. And there would have been no brandy either. But I must take your brandy away from you, anyway.\"\n\"Stop, stop, stop, dear boy, one more little glass. I've hurt Alyosha's feelings. You're not angry with me, Alyosha? My dear little Alexey!\"\n\"No, I am not angry. I know your thoughts. Your heart is better than your head.\"\n\"My heart better than my head, is it? Oh, Lord! And that from you. Ivan, do you love Alyosha?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"You must love him\" (Fyodor Pavlovitch was by this time very drunk). \"Listen, Alyosha, I was rude to your elder this morning. But I was excited. But there's wit in that elder, don't you think, Ivan?\"\n\"Very likely.\"\n\"There is, there is. Il y a du Piron là-dedans. He's a Jesuit, a Russian one, that is. As he's an honorable person there's a hidden indignation boiling within him at having to pretend and affect holiness.\"\n\"But, of course, he believes in God.\"\n\"Not a bit of it. Didn't you know? Why, he tells every one so, himself. That is, not every one, but all the clever people who come to him. He said straight out to Governor Schultz not long ago: 'Credo, but I don't know in what.'\"\n\"Really?\"", "chosen": "[\"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Get\", \"Jesuits\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Grigory\", \"Marfa\", \"Ivan\", \"Nothing\", \"Balaam\", \"Alyosha\", \"Russian\", \"Russia\", \"Wait\", \"Mokroe\", \"Sades\", \"Superior\", \"God\", \"Truth\", \"Almighty\", \"Himself\", \"Very\", \"None\", \"Absolute\", \"Wouldn\", \"Stop\", \"Alexey\", \"Listen\", \"Piron\", \"Jesuit\", \"Not\", \"Governor\", \"Schultz\", \"Really\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Get\", \"Jesuits\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Grigory\", \"Marfa\", \"Ivan\", \"Nothing\", \"Balaam\", \"Alyosha\", \"Russian\", \"Russia\", \"Wait\", \"Mokroe\", \"Sades\", \"Superior\", \"God\", \"Truth\", \"Almighty\", \"Himself\", \"Very\", \"None\", \"Absolute\", \"Wouldn\", \"Stop\", \"Alexey\", \"Listen\", \"Piron\", \"Jesuit\", \"Not\", \"Governor\", \"Schultz\", \"Really\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-021-00-d7d7b4bf", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nAlong the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. Six tumbrils carry the day's wine to La Guillotine. All the devouring and insatiate Monsters imagined since imagination could record itself, are fused in the one realisation, Guillotine. And yet there is not in France, with its rich variety of soil and climate, a blade, a leaf, a root, a sprig, a peppercorn, which will grow to maturity under conditions more certain than those that have produced this horror. Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious license and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind.\nSix tumbrils roll along the streets. Change these back again to what they were, thou powerful enchanter, Time, and they shall be seen to be the carriages of absolute monarchs, the equipages of feudal nobles, the toilettes of flaring Jezebels, the churches that are not my father's house but dens of thieves, the huts of millions of starving peasants! No; the great magician who majestically works out the appointed order of the Creator, never reverses his transformations. \"If thou be changed into this shape by the will of God,\" say the seers to the enchanted, in the wise Arabian stories, \"then remain so! But, if thou wear this form through mere passing conjuration, then resume thy former aspect!\" Changeless and hopeless, the tumbrils roll along.\nAs the sombre wheels of the six carts go round, they seem to plough up a long crooked furrow among the populace in the streets. Ridges of faces are thrown to this side and to that, and the ploughs go steadily onward. So used are the regular inhabitants of the houses to the spectacle, that in many windows there are no people, and in some the occupation of the hands is not so much as suspended, while the eyes survey the faces in the tumbrils. Here and there, the inmate has visitors to see the sight; then he points his finger, with something of the complacency of a curator or authorised exponent, to this cart and to this, and seems to tell who sat here yesterday, and who there the day before.\nOf the riders in the tumbrils, some observe these things, and all things on their last roadside, with an impassive stare; others, with a lingering interest in the ways of life and men. Some, seated with drooping heads, are sunk in silent despair; again, there are some so heedful of their looks that they cast upon the multitude such glances as they have seen in theatres, and in pictures. Several close their eyes, and think, or try to get their straying thoughts together. Only one, and he a miserable creature, of a crazed aspect, is so shattered and made drunk by horror, that he sings, and tries to dance. Not one of the whole number appeals by look or gesture, to the pity of the people.\nThere is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the tumbrils, and faces are often turned up to some of them, and they are asked some question. It would seem to be always the same question, for, it is always followed by a press of people towards the third cart. The horsemen abreast of that cart, frequently point out one man in it with their swords. The leading curiosity is, to know which is he; he stands at the back of the tumbril with his head bent down, to converse with a mere girl who sits on the side of the cart, and holds his hand. He has no curiosity or care for the scene about him, and always speaks to the girl. Here and there in the long street of St. Honore, cries are raised against him. If they move him at all, it is only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair a little more loosely about his face. He cannot easily touch his face, his arms being bound.\nOn the steps of a church, awaiting the coming-up of the tumbrils, stands the Spy and prison-sheep. He looks into the first of them: not there. He looks into the second: not there. He already asks himself, \"Has he sacrificed me?\" when his face clears, as he looks into the third.\n\"Which is Evrémonde?\" says a man behind him.\n\"That. At the back there.\"\n\"With his hand in the girl's?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nThe man cries, \"Down, Evrémonde! To the Guillotine all aristocrats! Down, Evrémonde!\"\n\"Hush, hush!\" the Spy entreats him, timidly.\n\"And why not, citizen?\"\n\"He is going to pay the forfeit: it will be paid in five minutes more. Let him be at peace.\"\nBut the man continuing to exclaim, \"Down, Evrémonde!\" the face of Evrémonde is for a moment turned towards him. Evrémonde then sees the Spy, and looks attentively at him, and goes his way.\nThe clocks are on the stroke of three, and the furrow ploughed among the populace is turning round, to come on into the place of execution, and end. The ridges thrown to this side and to that, now crumble in and close behind the last plough as it passes on, for all are following to the Guillotine. In front of it, seated in chairs, as in a garden of public diversion, are a number of women, busily knitting. On one of the fore-most chairs, stands The Vengeance, looking about for her friend.\n\"Thérèse!\" she cries, in her shrill tones. \"Who has seen her? Thérèse Defarge!\"\n\"She never missed before,\" says a knitting-woman of the sisterhood.\n\"No; nor will she miss now,\" cries The Vengeance, petulantly. \"Thérèse.\"\n\"Louder,\" the woman recommends.\nAy! Louder, Vengeance, much louder, and still she will scarcely hear thee. Louder yet, Vengeance, with a little oath or so added, and yet it will hardly bring her. Send other women up and down to seek her, lingering somewhere; and yet, although the messengers have done dread deeds, it is questionable whether of their own wills they will go far enough to find her!\n\"Bad Fortune!\" cries The Vengeance, stamping her foot in the chair, \"and here are the tumbrils! And Evrémonde will be despatched in a wink, and she not here! See her knitting in my hand, and her empty chair ready for her. I cry with vexation and disappointment!\"\nAs The Vengeance descends from her elevation to do it, the tumbrils begin to discharge their loads. The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are robed and ready. Crash!--A head is held up, and the knitting-women who scarcely lifted their eyes to look at it a moment ago when it could think and speak, count One.\nThe second tumbril empties and moves on; the third comes up. Crash!--And the knitting-women, never faltering or pausing in their Work, count Two.\nThe supposed Evrémonde descends, and the seamstress is lifted out next after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, but still holds it as he promised. He gently places her with her back to the crashing engine that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into his face and thanks him.\n\"But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have hope and comfort here to-day. I think you were sent to me by Heaven.\"\n\"Or you to me,\" says Sydney Carton. \"Keep your eyes upon me, dear child, and mind no other object.\"\n\"I mind nothing while I hold your hand. I shall mind nothing when I let it go, if they are rapid.\"\n\"They will be rapid. Fear not!\"\nThe two stand in the fast-thinning throng of victims, but they speak as if they were alone. Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, heart to heart, these two children of the Universal Mother, else so wide apart and differing, have come together on the dark highway, to repair home together, and to rest in her bosom.\n\"Brave and generous friend, will you let me ask you one last question? I am very ignorant, and it troubles me--just a little.\"\n\"Tell me what it is.\"", "chosen": "Along, Six, All, And, Crush, Sow, Six, Change, No;, If, But,, As, Ridges, So, Here, Of, Some,, Several, Only, Not, There, It, The, The, He, Here, Honore,, If, He, On, He, He, He, Which, That., At, To, Down,, And, Let, Evrémonde, The, The, In, On, Thérèse!\", Who, Thérèse, No;, Thérèse.\", Ay!, Louder,, Louder, Send, Bad, And, See, I, The, Crash!--A, The, Crash!--And, The, He, He, But, I, Keep, I, Fear, Eye, Brave, I", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nAlong, Six, All, And, Crush, Sow, Six, Change, No;, If, But,, As, Ridges, So, Here, Of, Some,, Several, Only, Not, There, It, The, The, He, Here, Honore,, If, He, On, He, He, He, Which, That., At, To, Down,, And, Let, Evrémonde, The, The, In, On, Thérèse!\", Who, Thérèse, No;, Thérèse.\", Ay!, Louder,, Louder, Send, Bad, And, See, I, The, Crash!--A, The, Crash!--And, The, He, He, But, I, Keep, I, Fear, Eye, Brave, I\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-045-00-c6a08deb", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Bought it off'n Ben Rogers two weeks ago for a hoop-stick.\"\n\"Say—what is dead cats good for, Huck?\"\n\"Good for? Cure warts with.\"\n\"No! Is that so? I know something that's better.\"\n\"I bet you don't. What is it?\"\n\"Why, spunk-water.\"\n\"Spunk-water! I wouldn't give a dern for spunk-water.\"\n\"You wouldn't, wouldn't you? D'you ever try it?\"\n\"No, I hain't. But Bob Tanner did.\"\n\"Who told you so!\"\n\"Why, he told Jeff Thatcher, and Jeff told Johnny Baker, and Johnny told Jim Hollis, and Jim told Ben Rogers, and Ben told a nigger, and the nigger told me. There now!\"\n\"Well, what of it? They'll all lie. Leastways all but the nigger. I don't know him. But I never see a nigger that wouldn't lie. Shucks! Now you tell me how Bob Tanner done it, Huck.\"\n\"Why, he took and dipped his hand in a rotten stump where the rain-water was.\"\n\"In the daytime?\"\n\"Certainly.\"\n\"With his face to the stump?\"\n\"Yes. Least I reckon so.\"\n\"Did he say anything?\"\n\"I don't reckon he did. I don't know.\"\n\"Aha! Talk about trying to cure warts with spunk-water such a blame fool way as that! Why, that ain't a-going to do any good. You got to go all by yourself, to the middle of the woods, where you know there's a spunk-water stump, and just as it's midnight you back up against the stump and jam your hand in and say:\n'Barley-corn, barley-corn, injun-meal shorts, Spunk-water, spunk-water, swaller these warts,'\nand then walk away quick, eleven steps, with your eyes shut, and then turn around three times and walk home without speaking to anybody. Because if you speak the charm's busted.\"\n\"Well, that sounds like a good way; but that ain't the way Bob Tanner done.\"\n\"No, sir, you can bet he didn't, becuz he's the wartiest boy in this town; and he wouldn't have a wart on him if he'd knowed how to work spunk-water. I've took off thousands of warts off of my hands that way, Huck. I play with frogs so much that I've always got considerable many warts. Sometimes I take 'em off with a bean.\"\n\"Yes, bean's good. I've done that.\"\n\"Have you? What's your way?\"\n\"You take and split the bean, and cut the wart so as to get some blood, and then you put the blood on one piece of the bean and take and dig a hole and bury it 'bout midnight at the crossroads in the dark of the moon, and then you burn up the rest of the bean. You see that piece that's got the blood on it will keep drawing and drawing, trying to fetch the other piece to it, and so that helps the blood to draw the wart, and pretty soon off she comes.\"\n\"Yes, that's it, Huck—that's it; though when you're burying it if you say 'Down bean; off wart; come no more to bother me!' it's better. That's the way Joe Harper does, and he's been nearly to Coonville and most everywheres. But say—how do you cure 'em with dead cats?\"\n\"Why, you take your cat and go and get in the grave-yard 'long about midnight when somebody that was wicked has been buried; and when it's midnight a devil will come, or maybe two or three, but you can't see 'em, you can only hear something like the wind, or maybe hear 'em talk; and when they're taking that feller away, you heave your cat after 'em and say, 'Devil follow corpse, cat follow devil, warts follow cat, I'm done with ye!' That'll fetch any wart.\"\n\"Sounds right. D'you ever try it, Huck?\"\n\"No, but old Mother Hopkins told me.\"\n\"Well, I reckon it's so, then. Becuz they say she's a witch.\"\n\"Say! Why, Tom, I know she is. She witched pap. Pap says so his own self. He come along one day, and he see she was a-witching him, so he took up a rock, and if she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her. Well, that very night he rolled off'n a shed wher' he was a layin drunk, and broke his arm.\"\n\"Why, that's awful. How did he know she was a-witching him?\"\n\"Lord, pap can tell, easy. Pap says when they keep looking at you right stiddy, they're a-witching you. Specially if they mumble. Becuz when they mumble they're saying the Lord's Prayer backards.\"\n\"Say, Hucky, when you going to try the cat?\"\n\"To-night. I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to-night.\"\n\"But they buried him Saturday. Didn't they get him Saturday night?\"\n\"Why, how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight?—and then it's Sunday. Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I don't reckon.\"\n\"I never thought of that. That's so. Lemme go with you?\"\n\"Of course—if you ain't afeard.\"\n\"Afeard! 'Tain't likely. Will you meow?\"\n\"Yes—and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kep' me a-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says 'Dern that cat!' and so I hove a brick through his window—but don't you tell.\"\n\"I won't. I couldn't meow that night, becuz auntie was watching me, but I'll meow this time. Say—what's that?\"\n\"Nothing but a tick.\"\n\"Where'd you get him?\"\n\"Out in the woods.\"\n\"What'll you take for him?\"\n\"I don't know. I don't want to sell him.\"\n\"All right. It's a mighty small tick, anyway.\"\n\"Oh, anybody can run a tick down that don't belong to them. I'm satisfied with it. It's a good enough tick for me.\"\n\"Sho, there's ticks a plenty. I could have a thousand of 'em if I wanted to.\"\n\"Well, why don't you? Becuz you know mighty well you can't. This is a pretty early tick, I reckon. It's the first one I've seen this year.\"\n\"Say, Huck—I'll give you my tooth for him.\"\n\"Less see it.\"\nTom got out a bit of paper and carefully unrolled it. Huckleberry viewed it wistfully. The temptation was very strong. At last he said:\n\"Is it genuwyne?\"\nTom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.\n\"Well, all right,\" said Huckleberry, \"it's a trade.\"\nTom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been the pinchbug's prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier than before.\nWhen Tom reached the little isolated frame school-house, he strode in briskly, with the manner of one who had come with all honest speed. He hung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with business-like alacrity. The master, throned on high in his great splint-bottom arm-chair, was dozing, lulled by the drowsy hum of study. The interruption roused him.\n\"Thomas Sawyer!\"\nTom knew that when his name was pronounced in full, it meant trouble.\n\"Sir!\"\n\"Come up here. Now, sir, why are you late again, as usual?\"\nTom was about to take refuge in a lie, when he saw two long tails of yellow hair hanging down a back that he recognized by the electric sympathy of love; and by that form was the only vacant place on the girls' side of the school-house. He instantly said:\n\"I stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn!\"\nThe master's pulse stood still, and he stared helplessly. The buzz of study ceased. The pupils wondered if this foolhardy boy had lost his mind. The master said:\n\"You—you did what?\"\n\"Stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn.\"\nThere was no mistaking the words.\n\"Thomas Sawyer, this is the most astounding confession I have ever listened to. No mere ferule will answer for this offence. Take off your jacket.\"\nThe master's arm performed until it was tired and the stock of switches notably diminished. Then the order followed:\n\"Now, sir, go and sit with the girls! And let this be a warning to you.\"\nThe titter that rippled around the room appeared to abash the boy, but in reality that result was caused rather more by his worshipful awe of his unknown idol and the dread pleasure that lay in his high good fortune. He sat down upon the end of the pine bench and the girl hitched herself away from him with a toss of her head. Nudges and winks and whispers traversed the room, but Tom sat still, with his arms upon the long, low desk before him, and seemed to study his book.", "chosen": "81", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n81\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-74-006-01-5a629a84", "source": "pg-74", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"A worm i' the bud.\"\nOne day the reviewer said, \"Let us go to the cliffs again, Elfride;\" and, without consulting her wishes, he moved as if to start at once.\n\"The cliff of our dreadful adventure?\" she inquired, with a shudder. \"Death stares me in the face in the person of that cliff.\"\nNevertheless, so entirely had she sunk her individuality in his that the remark was not uttered as an expostulation, and she immediately prepared to accompany him.\n\"No, not that place,\" said Knight. \"It is ghastly to me, too. That other, I mean; what is its name?—Windy Beak.\"\nWindy Beak was the second cliff in height along that coast, and, as is frequently the case with the natural features of the globe no less than with the intellectual features of men, it enjoyed the reputation of being the first. Moreover, it was the cliff to which Elfride had ridden with Stephen Smith, on a well-remembered morning of his summer visit.\nSo, though thought of the former cliff had caused her to shudder at the perils to which her lover and herself had there been exposed, by being associated with Knight only it was not so objectionable as Windy Beak. That place was worse than gloomy, it was a perpetual reproach to her.\nBut not liking to refuse, she said, \"It is further than the other cliff.\"\n\"Yes; but you can ride.\"\n\"And will you too?\"\n\"No, I'll walk.\"\nA duplicate of her original arrangement with Stephen. Some fatality must be hanging over her head. But she ceased objecting.\n\"Very well, Harry, I'll ride,\" she said meekly.\nA quarter of an hour later she was in the saddle. But how different the mood from that of the former time. She had, indeed, given up her position as queen of the less to be vassal of the greater. Here was no showing off now; no scampering out of sight with Pansy, to perplex and tire her companion; no saucy remarks on LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI. Elfride was burdened with the very intensity of her love.\nKnight did most of the talking along the journey. Elfride silently listened, and entirely resigned herself to the motions of the ambling horse upon which she sat, alternately rising and sinking gently, like a sea bird upon a sea wave.\nWhen they had reached the limit of a quadruped's possibilities in walking, Knight tenderly lifted her from the saddle, tied the horse, and rambled on with her to the seat in the rock. Knight sat down, and drew Elfride deftly beside him, and they looked over the sea.\nTwo or three degrees above that melancholy and eternally level line, the ocean horizon, hung a sun of brass, with no visible rays, in a sky of ashen hue. It was a sky the sun did not illuminate or enkindle, as is usual at sunsets. This sheet of sky was met by the salt mass of gray water, flecked here and there with white. A waft of dampness occasionally rose to their faces, which was probably rarefied spray from the blows of the sea upon the foot of the cliff.\nElfride wished it could be a longer time ago that she had sat there with Stephen as her lover, and agreed to be his wife. The significant closeness of that time to the present was another item to add to the list of passionate fears which were chronic with her now.\nYet Knight was very tender this evening, and sustained her close to him as they sat.\nNot a word had been uttered by either since sitting down, when Knight said musingly, looking still afar—\n\"I wonder if any lovers in past years ever sat here with arms locked, as we do now. Probably they have, for the place seems formed for a seat.\"\nHer recollection of a well-known pair who had, and the much-talked-of loss which had ensued therefrom, and how the young man had been sent back to look for the missing article, led Elfride to glance down to her side, and behind her back. Many people who lose a trinket involuntarily give a momentary look for it in passing the spot ever so long afterwards. They do not often find it. Elfride, in turning her head, saw something shine weakly from a crevice in the rocky sedile. Only for a few minutes during the day did the sun light the alcove to its innermost rifts and slits, but these were the minutes now, and its level rays did Elfride the good or evil turn of revealing the lost ornament.\nElfride's thoughts instantly reverted to the words she had unintentionally uttered upon what had been going on when the earring was lost. And she was immediately seized with a misgiving that Knight, on seeing the object, would be reminded of her words. Her instinctive act therefore was to secure it privately.\nIt was so deep in the crack that Elfride could not pull it out with her hand, though she made several surreptitious trials.\n\"What are you doing, Elfie?\" said Knight, noticing her attempts, and looking behind him likewise.\nShe had relinquished the endeavour, but too late.\nKnight peered into the joint from which her hand had been withdrawn, and saw what she had seen. He instantly took a penknife from his pocket, and by dint of probing and scraping brought the earring out upon open ground.\n\"It is not yours, surely?\" he inquired.\n\"Yes, it is,\" she said quietly.\n\"Well, that is a most extraordinary thing, that we should find it like this!\" Knight then remembered more circumstances; \"What, is it the one you have told me of?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nThe unfortunate remark of hers at the kiss came into his mind, if eyes were ever an index to be trusted. Trying to repress the words he yet spoke on the subject, more to obtain assurance that what it had seemed to imply was not true than from a wish to pry into bygones.\n\"Were you really engaged to be married to that lover?\" he said, looking straight forward at the sea again.\n\"Yes—but not exactly. Yet I think I was.\"\n\"O Elfride, engaged to be married!\" he murmured.\n\"It would have been called a—secret engagement, I suppose. But don't look so disappointed; don't blame me.\"\n\"No, no.\"\n\"Why do you say 'No, no,' in such a way? Sweetly enough, but so barely?\"\nKnight made no direct reply to this. \"Elfride, I told you once,\" he said, following out his thoughts, \"that I never kissed a woman as a sweetheart until I kissed you. A kiss is not much, I suppose, and it happens to few young people to be able to avoid all blandishments and attentions except from the one they afterwards marry. But I have peculiar weaknesses, Elfride; and because I have led a peculiar life, I must suffer for it, I suppose. I had hoped—well, what I had no right to hope in connection with you. You naturally granted your former lover the privileges you grant me.\"\nA \"yes\" came from her like the last sad whisper of a breeze.\n\"And he used to kiss you—of course he did.\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"And perhaps you allowed him a more free manner in his love-making than I have shown in mine.\"\n\"No, I did not.\" This was rather more alertly spoken.\n\"But he adopted it without being allowed?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"How much I have made of you, Elfride, and how I have kept aloof!\" said Knight in deep and shaken tones. \"So many days and hours as I have hoped in you—I have feared to kiss you more than those two times. And he made no scruples to...\"\nShe crept closer to him and trembled as if with cold. Her dread that the whole story, with random additions, would become known to him, caused her manner to be so agitated that Knight was alarmed and perplexed into stillness. The actual innocence which made her think so fearfully of what, as the world goes, was not a great matter, magnified her apparent guilt. It may have said to Knight that a woman who was so flurried in the preliminaries must have a dreadful sequel to her tale.", "chosen": "Probably they have, for the place seems formed for a seat.\"\nHer recollection of a well-known pair who had, and the much-talked-of loss which had ensued therefrom, and how the young man had been sent back to look for the missing article, led Elfride to glance down to her side, and behind her back.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nProbably they have, for the place seems formed for a seat.\"\nHer recollection of a well-known pair who had, and the much-talked-of loss which had ensued therefrom, and how the young man had been sent back to look for the missing article, led Elfride to glance down to her side, and behind her back.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-030-00-48be2691", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAlyosha remained for some time irresolute after hearing the command his father shouted to him from the carriage. But in spite of his uneasiness he did not stand still. That was not his way. He went at once to the kitchen to find out what his father had been doing above. Then he set off, trusting that on the way he would find some answer to the doubt tormenting him. I hasten to add that his father's shouts, commanding him to return home \"with his mattress and pillow\" did not frighten him in the least. He understood perfectly that those peremptory shouts were merely \"a flourish\" to produce an effect. In the same way a tradesman in our town who was celebrating his name-day with a party of friends, getting angry at being refused more vodka, smashed up his own crockery and furniture and tore his own and his wife's clothes, and finally broke his windows, all for the sake of effect. Next day, of course, when he was sober, he regretted the broken cups and saucers. Alyosha knew that his father would let him go back to the monastery next day, possibly even that evening. Moreover, he was fully persuaded that his father might hurt any one else, but would not hurt him. Alyosha was certain that no one in the whole world ever would want to hurt him, and, what is more, he knew that no one could hurt him. This was for him an axiom, assumed once for all without question, and he went his way without hesitation, relying on it.\nBut at that moment an anxiety of a different sort disturbed him, and worried him the more because he could not formulate it. It was the fear of a woman, of Katerina Ivanovna, who had so urgently entreated him in the note handed to him by Madame Hohlakov to come and see her about something. This request and the necessity of going had at once aroused an uneasy feeling in his heart, and this feeling had grown more and more painful all the morning in spite of the scenes at the hermitage and at the Father Superior's. He was not uneasy because he did not know what she would speak of and what he must answer. And he was not afraid of her simply as a woman. Though he knew little of women, he had spent his life, from early childhood till he entered the monastery, entirely with women. He was afraid of that woman, Katerina Ivanovna. He had been afraid of her from the first time he saw her. He had only seen her two or three times, and had only chanced to say a few words to her. He thought of her as a beautiful, proud, imperious girl. It was not her beauty which troubled him, but something else. And the vagueness of his apprehension increased the apprehension itself. The girl's aims were of the noblest, he knew that. She was trying to save his brother Dmitri simply through generosity, though he had already behaved badly to her. Yet, although Alyosha recognized and did justice to all these fine and generous sentiments, a shiver began to run down his back as soon as he drew near her house.\nHe reflected that he would not find Ivan, who was so intimate a friend, with her, for Ivan was certainly now with his father. Dmitri he was even more certain not to find there, and he had a foreboding of the reason. And so his conversation would be with her alone. He had a great longing to run and see his brother Dmitri before that fateful interview. Without showing him the letter, he could talk to him about it. But Dmitri lived a long way off, and he was sure to be away from home too. Standing still for a minute, he reached a final decision. Crossing himself with a rapid and accustomed gesture, and at once smiling, he turned resolutely in the direction of his terrible lady.\nHe knew her house. If he went by the High Street and then across the market-place, it was a long way round. Though our town is small, it is scattered, and the houses are far apart. And meanwhile his father was expecting him, and perhaps had not yet forgotten his command. He might be unreasonable, and so he had to make haste to get there and back. So he decided to take a short cut by the back-way, for he knew every inch of the ground. This meant skirting fences, climbing over hurdles, and crossing other people's back-yards, where every one he met knew him and greeted him. In this way he could reach the High Street in half the time.\nHe had to pass the garden adjoining his father's, and belonging to a little tumbledown house with four windows. The owner of this house, as Alyosha knew, was a bedridden old woman, living with her daughter, who had been a genteel maid-servant in generals' families in Petersburg. Now she had been at home a year, looking after her sick mother. She always dressed up in fine clothes, though her old mother and she had sunk into such poverty that they went every day to Fyodor Pavlovitch's kitchen for soup and bread, which Marfa gave readily. Yet, though the young woman came up for soup, she had never sold any of her dresses, and one of these even had a long train—a fact which Alyosha had learned from Rakitin, who always knew everything that was going on in the town. He had forgotten it as soon as he heard it, but now, on reaching the garden, he remembered the dress with the train, raised his head, which had been bowed in thought, and came upon something quite unexpected.\nOver the hurdle in the garden, Dmitri, mounted on something, was leaning forward, gesticulating violently, beckoning to him, obviously afraid to utter a word for fear of being overheard. Alyosha ran up to the hurdle.\n\"It's a good thing you looked up. I was nearly shouting to you,\" Mitya said in a joyful, hurried whisper. \"Climb in here quickly! How splendid that you've come! I was just thinking of you!\"\nAlyosha was delighted too, but he did not know how to get over the hurdle. Mitya put his powerful hand under his elbow to help him jump. Tucking up his cassock, Alyosha leapt over the hurdle with the agility of a bare-legged street urchin.\n\"Well done! Now come along,\" said Mitya in an enthusiastic whisper.\n\"Where?\" whispered Alyosha, looking about him and finding himself in a deserted garden with no one near but themselves. The garden was small, but the house was at least fifty paces away.\n\"There's no one here. Why do you whisper?\" asked Alyosha.\n\"Why do I whisper? Deuce take it!\" cried Dmitri at the top of his voice. \"You see what silly tricks nature plays one. I am here in secret, and on the watch. I'll explain later on, but, knowing it's a secret, I began whispering like a fool, when there's no need. Let us go. Over there. Till then be quiet. I want to kiss you.\nGlory to God in the world, Glory to God in me ...\nI was just repeating that, sitting here, before you came.\"\nThe garden was about three acres in extent, and planted with trees only along the fence at the four sides. There were apple-trees, maples, limes and birch-trees. The middle of the garden was an empty grass space, from which several hundredweight of hay was carried in the summer. The garden was let out for a few roubles for the summer. There were also plantations of raspberries and currants and gooseberries laid out along the sides; a kitchen garden had been planted lately near the house.", "chosen": "[\"with his mattress and pillow\", \"a flourish\", \"It's a good thing you looked up. I was nearly shouting to you,\", \"Climb in here quickly! How splendid that you've come! I was just thinking of you!\", \"Well done! Now come along,\", \"Where?\", \"There's no one here. Why do you whisper?\", \"Why do I whisper? Deuce take it!\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"with his mattress and pillow\", \"a flourish\", \"It's a good thing you looked up. I was nearly shouting to you,\", \"Climb in here quickly! How splendid that you've come! I was just thinking of you!\", \"Well done! Now come along,\", \"Where?\", \"There's no one here. Why do you whisper?\", \"Why do I whisper? Deuce take it!\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-016-00-ad7472c3", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nSurely, with existence such a dreary blank for them as this, we might provide a little row for their amusement now and then, even if we do not feel inclined for it ourselves. A really sensible man does so and is loved accordingly, for it is little acts of kindness such as this that go straight to a woman's heart. It is such like proofs of loving self-sacrifice that make her tell her female friends what a good husband he was--after he is dead.\nYes, poor Xantippe must have had a hard time of it. The bucket episode was particularly sad for her. Poor woman! she did think she would rouse him up a bit with that. She had taken the trouble to fill the bucket, perhaps been a long way to get specially dirty water. And she waited for him. And then to be met in such a way, after all! Most likely she sat down and had a good cry afterward. It must have seemed all so hopeless to the poor child; and for all we know she had no mother to whom she could go and abuse him.\nWhat was it to her that her husband was a great philosopher? Great philosophy don't count in married life.\nThere was a very good little boy once who wanted to go to sea. And the captain asked him what he could do. He said he could do the multiplication-table backward and paste sea-weed in a book; that he knew how many times the word \"begat\" occurred in the Old Testament; and could recite \"The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck\" and Wordsworth's \"We Are Seven.\"\n\"Werry good--werry good, indeed,\" said the man of the sea, \"and ken ye kerry coals?\"\nIt is just the same when you want to marry. Great ability is not required so much as little usefulness. Brains are at a discount in the married state. There is no demand for them, no appreciation even. Our wives sum us up according to a standard of their own, in which brilliancy of intellect obtains no marks. Your lady and mistress is not at all impressed by your cleverness and talent, my dear reader--not in the slightest. Give her a man who can do an errand neatly, without attempting to use his own judgment over it or any nonsense of that kind; and who can be trusted to hold a child the right way up, and not make himself objectionable whenever there is lukewarm mutton for dinner. That is the sort of a husband a sensible woman likes; not one of your scientific or literary nuisances, who go upsetting the whole house and putting everybody out with their foolishness.", "chosen": "foolishness", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nfoolishness\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-849-013-02-71768d39", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nWhen he went into Sonia's room, it was already getting dark. All day Sonia had been waiting for him in terrible anxiety. Dounia had been waiting with her. She had come to her that morning, remembering Svidrigaïlov's words that Sonia knew. We will not describe the conversation and tears of the two girls, and how friendly they became. Dounia gained one comfort at least from that interview, that her brother would not be alone. He had gone to her, Sonia, first with his confession; he had gone to her for human fellowship when he needed it; she would go with him wherever fate might send him. Dounia did not ask, but she knew it was so. She looked at Sonia almost with reverence and at first almost embarrassed her by it. Sonia was almost on the point of tears. She felt herself, on the contrary, hardly worthy to look at Dounia. Dounia's gracious image when she had bowed to her so attentively and respectfully at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's room had remained in her mind as one of the fairest visions of her life.\nDounia at last became impatient and, leaving Sonia, went to her brother's room to await him there; she kept thinking that he would come there first. When she had gone, Sonia began to be tortured by the dread of his committing suicide, and Dounia too feared it. But they had spent the day trying to persuade each other that that could not be, and both were less anxious while they were together. As soon as they parted, each thought of nothing else. Sonia remembered how Svidrigaïlov had said to her the day before that Raskolnikov had two alternatives--Siberia or... Besides she knew his vanity, his pride and his lack of faith.\n\"Is it possible that he has nothing but cowardice and fear of death to make him live?\" she thought at last in despair.\nMeanwhile the sun was setting. Sonia was standing in dejection, looking intently out of the window, but from it she could see nothing but the unwhitewashed blank wall of the next house. At last when she began to feel sure of his death--he walked into the room.\nShe gave a cry of joy, but looking carefully into his face she turned pale.\n\"Yes,\" said Raskolnikov, smiling. \"I have come for your cross, Sonia. It was you told me to go to the cross-roads; why is it you are frightened now it's come to that?\"\nSonia gazed at him astonished. His tone seemed strange to her; a cold shiver ran over her, but in a moment she guessed that the tone and the words were a mask. He spoke to her looking away, as though to avoid meeting her eyes.\n\"You see, Sonia, I've decided that it will be better so. There is one fact.... But it's a long story and there's no need to discuss it. But do you know what angers me? It annoys me that all those stupid brutish faces will be gaping at me directly, pestering me with their stupid questions, which I shall have to answer--they'll point their fingers at me.... Tfoo! You know I am not going to Porfiry, I am sick of him. I'd rather go to my friend, the Explosive Lieutenant; how I shall surprise him, what a sensation I shall make! But I must be cooler; I've become too irritable of late. You know I was nearly shaking my fist at my sister just now, because she turned to take a last look at me. It's a brutal state to be in! Ah! what am I coming to! Well, where are the crosses?\"\nHe seemed hardly to know what he was doing. He could not stay still or concentrate his attention on anything; his ideas seemed to gallop after one another, he talked incoherently, his hands trembled slightly.\nWithout a word Sonia took out of the drawer two crosses, one of cypress wood and one of copper. She made the sign of the cross over herself and over him, and put the wooden cross on his neck.\n\"It's the symbol of my taking up the cross,\" he laughed. \"As though I had not suffered much till now! The wooden cross, that is the peasant one; the copper one, that is Lizaveta's--you will wear yourself, show me! So she had it on... at that moment? I remember two things like these too, a silver one and a little ikon. I threw them back on the old woman's neck. Those would be appropriate now, really, those are what I ought to put on now.... But I am talking nonsense and forgetting what matters; I'm somehow forgetful.... You see I have come to warn you, Sonia, so that you might know... that's all--that's all I came for. But I thought I had more to say. You wanted me to go yourself. Well, now I am going to prison and you'll have your wish. Well, what are you crying for? You too? Don't. Leave off! Oh, how I hate it all!\"\nBut his feeling was stirred; his heart ached, as he looked at her. \"Why is she grieving too?\" he thought to himself. \"What am I to her? Why does she weep? Why is she looking after me, like my mother or Dounia? She'll be my nurse.\"\n\"Cross yourself, say at least one prayer,\" Sonia begged in a timid broken voice.\n\"Oh certainly, as much as you like! And sincerely, Sonia, sincerely....\"\nBut he wanted to say something quite different.\nHe crossed himself several times. Sonia took up her shawl and put it over her head. It was the green drap de dames shawl of which Marmeladov had spoken, \"the family shawl.\" Raskolnikov thought of that looking at it, but he did not ask. He began to feel himself that he was certainly forgetting things and was disgustingly agitated. He was frightened at this. He was suddenly struck too by the thought that Sonia meant to go with him.\n\"What are you doing? Where are you going? Stay here, stay! I'll go alone,\" he cried in cowardly vexation, and almost resentful, he moved towards the door. \"What's the use of going in procession?\" he muttered going out.\nSonia remained standing in the middle of the room. He had not even said good-bye to her; he had forgotten her. A poignant and rebellious doubt surged in his heart.\n\"Was it right, was it right, all this?\" he thought again as he went down the stairs. \"Couldn't he stop and retract it all... and not go?\"\nBut still he went. He felt suddenly once for all that he mustn't ask himself questions. As he turned into the street he remembered that he had not said good-bye to Sonia, that he had left her in the middle of the room in her green shawl, not daring to stir after he had shouted at her, and he stopped short for a moment. At the same instant, another thought dawned upon him, as though it had been lying in wait to strike him then.\n\"Why, with what object did I go to her just now? I told her--on business; on what business? I had no sort of business! To tell her I was going; but where was the need? Do I love her? No, no, I drove her away just now like a dog. Did I want her crosses? Oh, how low I've sunk! No, I wanted her tears, I wanted to see her terror, to see how her heart ached! I had to have something to cling to, something to delay me, some friendly face to see! And I dared to believe in myself, to dream of what I would do! I am a beggarly contemptible wretch, contemptible!\"\nHe walked along the canal bank, and he had not much further to go. But on reaching the bridge he stopped and turning out of his way along it went to the Hay Market.", "chosen": "[\"Sonia\", \"Svidriga\", \"Dounia\", \"Raskolnikov\", \"Porfiry\", \"Explosive\", \"Lieutenant\", \"Lizaveta\", \"Cross\", \"Marmeladov\", \"Was\", \"Couldn\", \"Hay\", \"Market\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Sonia\", \"Svidriga\", \"Dounia\", \"Raskolnikov\", \"Porfiry\", \"Explosive\", \"Lieutenant\", \"Lizaveta\", \"Cross\", \"Marmeladov\", \"Was\", \"Couldn\", \"Hay\", \"Market\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2554-009-00-7d2a73f6", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"You are wrong,\" said the Secretary, drawing his black brows together. \"The knife was merely the expression of the old personal quarrel with a personal tyrant. Dynamite is not only our best tool, but our best symbol. It is as perfect a symbol of us as is incense of the prayers of the Christians. It expands; it only destroys because it broadens; even so, thought only destroys because it broadens. A man's brain is a bomb,\" he cried out, loosening suddenly his strange passion and striking his own skull with violence. \"My brain feels like a bomb, night and day. It must expand! It must expand! A man's brain must expand, if it breaks up the universe.\"\n\"I don't want the universe broken up just yet,\" drawled the Marquis. \"I want to do a lot of beastly things before I die. I thought of one yesterday in bed.\"\n\"No, if the only end of the thing is nothing,\" said Dr. Bull with his sphinx-like smile, \"it hardly seems worth doing.\"\nThe old Professor was staring at the ceiling with dull eyes.\n\"Every man knows in his heart,\" he said, \"that nothing is worth doing.\"\nThere was a singular silence, and then the Secretary said—\n\"We are wandering, however, from the point. The only question is how Wednesday is to strike the blow. I take it we should all agree with the original notion of a bomb. As to the actual arrangements, I should suggest that tomorrow morning he should go first of all to—\"\nThe speech was broken off short under a vast shadow. President Sunday had risen to his feet, seeming to fill the sky above them.\n\"Before we discuss that,\" he said in a small, quiet voice, \"let us go into a private room. I have something very particular to say.\"\nSyme stood up before any of the others. The instant of choice had come at last, the pistol was at his head. On the pavement before he could hear the policeman idly stir and stamp, for the morning, though bright, was cold.\nA barrel-organ in the street suddenly sprang with a jerk into a jovial tune. Syme stood up taut, as if it had been a bugle before the battle. He found himself filled with a supernatural courage that came from nowhere. That jingling music seemed full of the vivacity, the vulgarity, and the irrational valour of the poor, who in all those unclean streets were all clinging to the decencies and the charities of Christendom. His youthful prank of being a policeman had faded from his mind; he did not think of himself as the representative of the corps of gentlemen turned into fancy constables, or of the old eccentric who lived in the dark room. But he did feel himself as the ambassador of all these common and kindly people in the street, who every day marched into battle to the music of the barrel-organ. And this high pride in being human had lifted him unaccountably to an infinite height above the monstrous men around him. For an instant, at least, he looked down upon all their sprawling eccentricities from the starry pinnacle of the commonplace. He felt towards them all that unconscious and elementary superiority that a brave man feels over powerful beasts or a wise man over powerful errors. He knew that he had neither the intellectual nor the physical strength of President Sunday; but in that moment he minded it no more than the fact that he had not the muscles of a tiger or a horn on his nose like a rhinoceros. All was swallowed up in an ultimate certainty that the President was wrong and that the barrel-organ was right. There clanged in his mind that unanswerable and terrible truism in the song of Roland—\n\"Païens ont tort et Chrétiens ont droit,\"\nwhich in the old nasal French has the clang and groan of great iron. This liberation of his spirit from the load of his weakness went with a quite clear decision to embrace death. If the people of the barrel-organ could keep their old-world obligations, so could he. This very pride in keeping his word was that he was keeping it to miscreants. It was his last triumph over these lunatics to go down into their dark room and die for something that they could not even understand. The barrel-organ seemed to give the marching tune with the energy and the mingled noises of a whole orchestra; and he could hear deep and rolling, under all the trumpets of the pride of life, the drums of the pride of death.\nThe conspirators were already filing through the open window and into the rooms behind. Syme went last, outwardly calm, but with all his brain and body throbbing with romantic rhythm. The President led them down an irregular side stair, such as might be used by servants, and into a dim, cold, empty room, with a table and benches, like an abandoned boardroom. When they were all in, he closed and locked the door.\nThe first to speak was Gogol, the irreconcilable, who seemed bursting with inarticulate grievance.\n\"Zso! Zso!\" he cried, with an obscure excitement, his heavy Polish accent becoming almost impenetrable. \"You zay you nod 'ide. You zay you show himselves. It is all nuzzinks. Ven you vant talk importance you run yourselves in a dark box!\"\nThe President seemed to take the foreigner's incoherent satire with entire good humour.\n\"You can't get hold of it yet, Gogol,\" he said in a fatherly way. \"When once they have heard us talking nonsense on that balcony they will not care where we go afterwards. If we had come here first, we should have had the whole staff at the keyhole. You don't seem to know anything about mankind.\"\n\"I die for zem,\" cried the Pole in thick excitement, \"and I slay zare oppressors. I care not for these games of gonzealment. I would zmite ze tyrant in ze open square.\"\n\"I see, I see,\" said the President, nodding kindly as he seated himself at the top of a long table. \"You die for mankind first, and then you get up and smite their oppressors. So that's all right. And now may I ask you to control your beautiful sentiments, and sit down with the other gentlemen at this table. For the first time this morning something intelligent is going to be said.\"\nSyme, with the perturbed promptitude he had shown since the original summons, sat down first. Gogol sat down last, grumbling in his brown beard about gombromise. No one except Syme seemed to have any notion of the blow that was about to fall. As for him, he had merely the feeling of a man mounting the scaffold with the intention, at any rate, of making a good speech.\n\"Comrades,\" said the President, suddenly rising, \"we have spun out this farce long enough. I have called you down here to tell you something so simple and shocking that even the waiters upstairs (long inured to our levities) might hear some new seriousness in my voice. Comrades, we were discussing plans and naming places. I propose, before saying anything else, that those plans and places should not be voted by this meeting, but should be left wholly in the control of some one reliable member. I suggest Comrade Saturday, Dr. Bull.\"\nThey all stared at him; then they all started in their seats, for the next words, though not loud, had a living and sensational emphasis. Sunday struck the table.\n\"Not one word more about the plans and places must be said at this meeting. Not one tiny detail more about what we mean to do must be mentioned in this company.\"\nSunday had spent his life in astonishing his followers; but it seemed as if he had never really astonished them until now. They all moved feverishly in their seats, except Syme. He sat stiff in his, with his hand in his pocket, and on the handle of his loaded revolver. When the attack on him came he would sell his life dear. He would find out at least if the President was mortal.\nSunday went on smoothly—", "chosen": "You, The, Dynamite, It, It, A, My, It, It, A, I, I, Bull, Every, The, I, As, President, Before, I, The, On, A, Syme, He, That, His, But, And, For, He, He, All, There, This, If, This, It, The, The, Syme, The, When, The, Zso!, Zso!\", You, You, It, Ven, You, When, If, You, I, I, You, So, And, For, Gogol, No, As, Comrades,\", I, Comrades,, I, I, Bull.\", Sunday, Not, Not, They, He, When, He, Sunday", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nYou, The, Dynamite, It, It, A, My, It, It, A, I, I, Bull, Every, The, I, As, President, Before, I, The, On, A, Syme, He, That, His, But, And, For, He, He, All, There, This, If, This, It, The, The, Syme, The, When, The, Zso!, Zso!\", You, You, It, Ven, You, When, If, You, I, I, You, So, And, For, Gogol, No, As, Comrades,\", I, Comrades,, I, I, Bull.\", Sunday, Not, Not, They, He, When, He, Sunday\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-1695-006-01-b020ed84", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"My dear Jack! So glad to see you!\"\n\"Get off your greatcoat, bright boy, and sit down here in your own corner. Your feet are not wet? Pull your boots off. Do pull your boots off.\"\n\"My dear Jack, I am as dry as a bone. Don't moddley-coddley, there's a good fellow. I like anything better than being moddley-coddleyed.\"\nWith the check upon him of being unsympathetically restrained in a genial outburst of enthusiasm, Mr. Jasper stands still, and looks on intently at the young fellow, divesting himself of his outward coat, hat, gloves, and so forth. Once for all, a look of intentness and intensity—a look of hungry, exacting, watchful, and yet devoted affection—is always, now and ever afterwards, on the Jasper face whenever the Jasper face is addressed in this direction. And whenever it is so addressed, it is never, on this occasion or on any other, dividedly addressed; it is always concentrated.\n\"Now I am right, and now I'll take my corner, Jack. Any dinner, Jack?\"\nMr. Jasper opens a door at the upper end of the room, and discloses a small inner room pleasantly lighted and prepared, wherein a comely dame is in the act of setting dishes on table.\n\"What a jolly old Jack it is!\" cries the young fellow, with a clap of his hands. \"Look here, Jack; tell me; whose birthday is it?\"\n\"Not yours, I know,\" Mr. Jasper answers, pausing to consider.\n\"Not mine, you know? No; not mine, I know! Pussy's!\"\nFixed as the look the young fellow meets is, there is yet in it some strange power of suddenly including the sketch over the chimneypiece.\n\"Pussy's, Jack! We must drink Many happy returns to her. Come, uncle; take your dutiful and sharp-set nephew in to dinner.\"\nAs the boy (for he is little more) lays a hand on Jasper's shoulder, Jasper cordially and gaily lays a hand on his shoulder, and so Marseillaise-wise they go in to dinner.\n\"And, Lord! here's Mrs. Tope!\" cries the boy. \"Lovelier than ever!\"\n\"Never you mind me, Master Edwin,\" retorts the Verger's wife; \"I can take care of myself.\"\n\"You can't. You're much too handsome. Give me a kiss because it's Pussy's birthday.\"\n\"I'd Pussy you, young man, if I was Pussy, as you call her,\" Mrs. Tope blushingly retorts, after being saluted. \"Your uncle's too much wrapt up in you, that's where it is. He makes so much of you, that it's my opinion you think you've only to call your Pussys by the dozen, to make 'em come.\"\n\"You forget, Mrs. Tope,\" Mr. Jasper interposes, taking his place at the table with a genial smile, \"and so do you, Ned, that Uncle and Nephew are words prohibited here by common consent and express agreement. For what we are going to receive His holy name be praised!\"\n\"Done like the Dean! Witness, Edwin Drood! Please to carve, Jack, for I can't.\"\nThis sally ushers in the dinner. Little to the present purpose, or to any purpose, is said, while it is in course of being disposed of. At length the cloth is drawn, and a dish of walnuts and a decanter of rich-coloured sherry are placed upon the table.\n\"I say! Tell me, Jack,\" the young fellow then flows on: \"do you really and truly feel as if the mention of our relationship divided us at all? I don't.\"\n\"Uncles as a rule, Ned, are so much older than their nephews,\" is the reply, \"that I have that feeling instinctively.\"\n\"As a rule! Ah, may-be! But what is a difference in age of half-a-dozen years or so? And some uncles, in large families, are even younger than their nephews. By George, I wish it was the case with us!\"\n\"Why?\"\n\"Because if it was, I'd take the lead with you, Jack, and be as wise as Begone, dull Care! that turned a young man gray, and Begone, dull Care! that turned an old man to clay.—Halloa, Jack! Don't drink.\"\n\"Why not?\"\n\"Asks why not, on Pussy's birthday, and no Happy returns proposed! Pussy, Jack, and many of 'em! Happy returns, I mean.\"\nLaying an affectionate and laughing touch on the boy's extended hand, as if it were at once his giddy head and his light heart, Mr. Jasper drinks the toast in silence.\n\"Hip, hip, hip, and nine times nine, and one to finish with, and all that, understood. Hooray, hooray, hooray!—And now, Jack, let's have a little talk about Pussy. Two pairs of nut-crackers? Pass me one, and take the other.\" Crack. \"How's Pussy getting on Jack?\"\n\"With her music? Fairly.\"\n\"What a dreadfully conscientious fellow you are, Jack! But I know, Lord bless you! Inattentive, isn't she?\"\n\"She can learn anything, if she will.\"\n\"If she will! Egad, that's it. But if she won't?\"\nCrack!—on Mr. Jasper's part.\n\"How's she looking, Jack?\"\nMr. Jasper's concentrated face again includes the portrait as he returns: \"Very like your sketch indeed.\"\n\"I am a little proud of it,\" says the young fellow, glancing up at the sketch with complacency, and then shutting one eye, and taking a corrected prospect of it over a level bridge of nut-crackers in the air: \"Not badly hit off from memory. But I ought to have caught that expression pretty well, for I have seen it often enough.\"\nCrack!—on Edwin Drood's part.\nCrack!—on Mr. Jasper's part.\n\"In point of fact,\" the former resumes, after some silent dipping among his fragments of walnut with an air of pique, \"I see it whenever I go to see Pussy. If I don't find it on her face, I leave it there.—You know I do, Miss Scornful Pert. Booh!\" With a twirl of the nut-crackers at the portrait.\nCrack! crack! crack. Slowly, on Mr. Jasper's part.\nCrack. Sharply on the part of Edwin Drood.\nSilence on both sides.\n\"Have you lost your tongue, Jack?\"\n\"Have you found yours, Ned?\"\n\"No, but really;—isn't it, you know, after all—\"\nMr. Jasper lifts his dark eyebrows inquiringly.\n\"Isn't it unsatisfactory to be cut off from choice in such a matter? There, Jack! I tell you! If I could choose, I would choose Pussy from all the pretty girls in the world.\"\n\"But you have not got to choose.\"\n\"That's what I complain of. My dead and gone father and Pussy's dead and gone father must needs marry us together by anticipation. Why the—Devil, I was going to say, if it had been respectful to their memory—couldn't they leave us alone?\"\n\"Tut, tut, dear boy,\" Mr. Jasper remonstrates, in a tone of gentle deprecation.\n\"Tut, tut? Yes, Jack, it's all very well for you. You can take it easily. Your life is not laid down to scale, and lined and dotted out for you, like a surveyor's plan. You have no uncomfortable suspicion that you are forced upon anybody, nor has anybody an uncomfortable suspicion that she is forced upon you, or that you are forced upon her. You can choose for yourself. Life, for you, is a plum with the natural bloom on; it hasn't been over-carefully wiped off for you—\"\n\"Don't stop, dear fellow. Go on.\"\n\"Can I anyhow have hurt your feelings, Jack?\"\n\"How can you have hurt my feelings?\"\n\"Good Heaven, Jack, you look frightfully ill! There's a strange film come over your eyes.\"\nMr. Jasper, with a forced smile, stretches out his right hand, as if at once to disarm apprehension and gain time to get better. After a while he says faintly:\n\"I have been taking opium for a pain—an agony—that sometimes overcomes me. The effects of the medicine steal over me like a blight or a cloud, and pass. You see them in the act of passing; they will be gone directly. Look away from me. They will go all the sooner.\"", "chosen": "102", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n102\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-564-002-01-3956b6ed", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Odd fish!\"\n\"Poor fellow!\"\n\"Who can he be?\"\n\"Casper Hauser.\"\n\"Bless my soul!\"\n\"Uncommon countenance.\"\n\"Green prophet from Utah.\"\n\"Humbug!\"\n\"Singular innocence.\"\n\"Means something.\"\n\"Spirit-rapper.\"\n\"Moon-calf.\"\n\"Piteous.\"\n\"Trying to enlist interest.\"\n\"Beware of him.\"\n\"Fast asleep here, and, doubtless, pick-pockets on board.\"\n\"Kind of daylight Endymion.\"\n\"Escaped convict, worn out with dodging.\"\n\"Jacob dreaming at Luz.\"\nSuch the epitaphic comments, conflictingly spoken or thought, of a miscellaneous company, who, assembled on the overlooking, cross-wise balcony at the forward end of the upper deck near by, had not witnessed preceding occurrences.\nMeantime, like some enchanted man in his grave, happily oblivious of all gossip, whether chiseled or chatted, the deaf and dumb stranger still tranquilly slept, while now the boat started on her voyage.\nThe great ship-canal of Ving-King-Ching, in the Flowery Kingdom, seems the Mississippi in parts, where, amply flowing between low, vine-tangled banks, flat as tow-paths, it bears the huge toppling steamers, bedizened and lacquered within like imperial junks.\nPierced along its great white bulk with two tiers of small embrasure-like windows, well above the waterline, the Fiddle, though, might at distance have been taken by strangers for some whitewashed fort on a floating isle.\nMerchants on 'change seem the passengers that buzz on her decks, while, from quarters unseen, comes a murmur as of bees in the comb. Fine promenades, domed saloons, long galleries, sunny balconies, confidential passages, bridal chambers, state-rooms plenty as pigeon-holes, and out-of-the-way retreats like secret drawers in an escritoire, present like facilities for publicity or privacy. Auctioneer or coiner, with equal ease, might somewhere here drive his trade.\nThough her voyage of twelve hundred miles extends from apple to orange, from clime to clime, yet, like any small ferry-boat, to right and left, at every landing, the huge Fidèle still receives additional passengers in exchange for those that disembark; so that, though always full of strangers, she continually, in some degree, adds to, or replaces them with strangers still more strange; like Rio Janeiro fountain, fed from the Cocovarde mountains, which is ever overflowing with strange waters, but never with the same strange particles in every part.\nThough hitherto, as has been seen, the man in cream-colors had by no means passed unobserved, yet by stealing into retirement, and there going asleep and continuing so, he seemed to have courted oblivion, a boon not often withheld from so humble an applicant as he. Those staring crowds on the shore were now left far behind, seen dimly clustering like swallows on eaves; while the passengers' attention was soon drawn away to the rapidly shooting high bluffs and shot-towers on the Missouri shore, or the bluff-looking Missourians and towering Kentuckians among the throngs on the decks.\nBy-and-by--two or three random stoppages having been made, and the last transient memory of the slumberer vanished, and he himself, not unlikely, waked up and landed ere now--the crowd, as is usual, began in all parts to break up from a concourse into various clusters or squads, which in some cases disintegrated again into quartettes, trios, and couples, or even solitaires; involuntarily submitting to that natural law which ordains dissolution equally to the mass, as in time to the member.\nAs among Chaucer's Canterbury pilgrims, or those oriental ones crossing the Red Sea towards Mecca in the festival month, there was no lack of variety. Natives of all sorts, and foreigners; men of business and men of pleasure; parlor men and backwoodsmen; farm-hunters and fame-hunters; heiress-hunters, gold-hunters, buffalo-hunters, bee-hunters, happiness-hunters, truth-hunters, and still keener hunters after all these hunters. Fine ladies in slippers, and moccasined squaws; Northern speculators and Eastern philosophers; English, Irish, German, Scotch, Danes; Santa Fé traders in striped blankets, and Broadway bucks in cravats of cloth of gold; fine-looking Kentucky boatmen, and Japanese-looking Mississippi cotton-planters; Quakers in full drab, and United States soldiers in full regimentals; slaves, black, mulatto, quadroon; modish young Spanish Creoles, and old-fashioned French Jews; Mormons and Papists Dives and Lazarus; jesters and mourners, teetotalers and convivialists, deacons and blacklegs; hard-shell Baptists and clay-eaters; grinning negroes, and Sioux chiefs solemn as high-priests. In short, a piebald parliament, an Anacharsis Cloots congress of all kinds of that multiform pilgrim species, man.\nAs pine, beech, birch, ash, hackmatack, hemlock, spruce, bass-wood, maple, interweave their foliage in the natural wood, so these mortals blended their varieties of visage and garb. A Tartar-like picturesqueness; a sort of pagan abandonment and assurance. Here reigned the dashing and all-fusing spirit of the West, whose type is the Mississippi itself, which, uniting the streams of the most distant and opposite zones, pours them along, helter-skelter, in one cosmopolitan and confident tide.", "chosen": "\"Odd fish!\"\n\"Poor fellow!\"\n\"Who can he be?\"\n\"Casper Hauser.\"\n\"Bless my soul!\"\n\"Uncommon countenance.\"\n\"Green prophet from Utah.\"\n\"Humbug!\"\n\"Singular innocence.\"\n\"Means something.\"\n\"Spirit-rapper.\"\n\"Moon-calf.\"\n\"Piteous.\"\n\"Trying to enlist interest.\"\n\"Beware of him.\"\n\"Fast asleep here, and, doubtless, pick-pockets on board.\"\n\"Kind of daylight Endymion.\"\n\"Escaped convict, worn out with dodging.\"\n\"Jacob dreaming at Luz.\"\nSuch the epitaphic comments, conflictingly spoken or thought, of a miscellaneous company, who, assembled on the overlooking, cross-wise balcony at the forward end of the upper deck near by, had not witnessed preceding occurrences.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n\"Odd fish!\"\n\"Poor fellow!\"\n\"Who can he be?\"\n\"Casper Hauser.\"\n\"Bless my soul!\"\n\"Uncommon countenance.\"\n\"Green prophet from Utah.\"\n\"Humbug!\"\n\"Singular innocence.\"\n\"Means something.\"\n\"Spirit-rapper.\"\n\"Moon-calf.\"\n\"Piteous.\"\n\"Trying to enlist interest.\"\n\"Beware of him.\"\n\"Fast asleep here, and, doubtless, pick-pockets on board.\"\n\"Kind of daylight Endymion.\"\n\"Escaped convict, worn out with dodging.\"\n\"Jacob dreaming at Luz.\"\nSuch the epitaphic comments, conflictingly spoken or thought, of a miscellaneous company, who, assembled on the overlooking, cross-wise balcony at the forward end of the upper deck near by, had not witnessed preceding occurrences.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21816-002-00-6ebed4f1", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Am I? Would you believe it, I was aware of that, too, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, and let me tell you, indeed, I foresaw I should as soon as I began to speak. And do you know I foresaw, too, that you'd be the first to remark on it. The minute I see my joke isn't coming off, your reverence, both my cheeks feel as though they were drawn down to the lower jaw and there is almost a spasm in them. That's been so since I was young, when I had to make jokes for my living in noblemen's families. I am an inveterate buffoon, and have been from birth up, your reverence, it's as though it were a craze in me. I dare say it's a devil within me. But only a little one. A more serious one would have chosen another lodging. But not your soul, Pyotr Alexandrovitch; you're not a lodging worth having either. But I do believe—I believe in God, though I have had doubts of late. But now I sit and await words of wisdom. I'm like the philosopher, Diderot, your reverence. Did you ever hear, most Holy Father, how Diderot went to see the Metropolitan Platon, in the time of the Empress Catherine? He went in and said straight out, 'There is no God.' To which the great bishop lifted up his finger and answered, 'The fool hath said in his heart there is no God.' And he fell down at his feet on the spot. 'I believe,' he cried, 'and will be christened.' And so he was. Princess Dashkov was his godmother, and Potyomkin his godfather.\"\n\"Fyodor Pavlovitch, this is unbearable! You know you're telling lies and that that stupid anecdote isn't true. Why are you playing the fool?\" cried Miüsov in a shaking voice.\n\"I suspected all my life that it wasn't true,\" Fyodor Pavlovitch cried with conviction. \"But I'll tell you the whole truth, gentlemen. Great elder! Forgive me, the last thing about Diderot's christening I made up just now. I never thought of it before. I made it up to add piquancy. I play the fool, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, to make myself agreeable. Though I really don't know myself, sometimes, what I do it for. And as for Diderot, I heard as far as 'the fool hath said in his heart' twenty times from the gentry about here when I was young. I heard your aunt, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, tell the story. They all believe to this day that the infidel Diderot came to dispute about God with the Metropolitan Platon....\"\nMiüsov got up, forgetting himself in his impatience. He was furious, and conscious of being ridiculous.\nWhat was taking place in the cell was really incredible. For forty or fifty years past, from the times of former elders, no visitors had entered that cell without feelings of the profoundest veneration. Almost every one admitted to the cell felt that a great favor was being shown him. Many remained kneeling during the whole visit. Of those visitors, many had been men of high rank and learning, some even freethinkers, attracted by curiosity, but all without exception had shown the profoundest reverence and delicacy, for here there was no question of money, but only, on the one side love and kindness, and on the other penitence and eager desire to decide some spiritual problem or crisis. So that such buffoonery amazed and bewildered the spectators, or at least some of them. The monks, with unchanged countenances, waited, with earnest attention, to hear what the elder would say, but seemed on the point of standing up, like Miüsov. Alyosha stood, with hanging head, on the verge of tears. What seemed to him strangest of all was that his brother Ivan, on whom alone he had rested his hopes, and who alone had such influence on his father that he could have stopped him, sat now quite unmoved, with downcast eyes, apparently waiting with interest to see how it would end, as though he had nothing to do with it. Alyosha did not dare to look at Rakitin, the divinity student, whom he knew almost intimately. He alone in the monastery knew Rakitin's thoughts.\n\"Forgive me,\" began Miüsov, addressing Father Zossima, \"for perhaps I seem to be taking part in this shameful foolery. I made a mistake in believing that even a man like Fyodor Pavlovitch would understand what was due on a visit to so honored a personage. I did not suppose I should have to apologize simply for having come with him....\"\nPyotr Alexandrovitch could say no more, and was about to leave the room, overwhelmed with confusion.\n\"Don't distress yourself, I beg.\" The elder got on to his feeble legs, and taking Pyotr Alexandrovitch by both hands, made him sit down again. \"I beg you not to disturb yourself. I particularly beg you to be my guest.\" And with a bow he went back and sat down again on his little sofa.\n\"Great elder, speak! Do I annoy you by my vivacity?\" Fyodor Pavlovitch cried suddenly, clutching the arms of his chair in both hands, as though ready to leap up from it if the answer were unfavorable.\n\"I earnestly beg you, too, not to disturb yourself, and not to be uneasy,\" the elder said impressively. \"Do not trouble. Make yourself quite at home. And, above all, do not be so ashamed of yourself, for that is at the root of it all.\"\n\"Quite at home? To be my natural self? Oh, that is much too much, but I accept it with grateful joy. Do you know, blessed Father, you'd better not invite me to be my natural self. Don't risk it.... I will not go so far as that myself. I warn you for your own sake. Well, the rest is still plunged in the mists of uncertainty, though there are people who'd be pleased to describe me for you. I mean that for you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. But as for you, holy being, let me tell you, I am brimming over with ecstasy.\"\nHe got up, and throwing up his hands, declaimed, \"Blessed be the womb that bare thee, and the paps that gave thee suck—the paps especially. When you said just now, 'Don't be so ashamed of yourself, for that is at the root of it all,' you pierced right through me by that remark, and read me to the core. Indeed, I always feel when I meet people that I am lower than all, and that they all take me for a buffoon. So I say, 'Let me really play the buffoon. I am not afraid of your opinion, for you are every one of you worse than I am.' That is why I am a buffoon. It is from shame, great elder, from shame; it's simply over-sensitiveness that makes me rowdy. If I had only been sure that every one would accept me as the kindest and wisest of men, oh, Lord, what a good man I should have been then! Teacher!\" he fell suddenly on his knees, \"what must I do to gain eternal life?\"\nIt was difficult even now to decide whether he was joking or really moved.\nFather Zossima, lifting his eyes, looked at him, and said with a smile:\n\"You have known for a long time what you must do. You have sense enough: don't give way to drunkenness and incontinence of speech; don't give way to sensual lust; and, above all, to the love of money. And close your taverns. If you can't close all, at least two or three. And, above all—don't lie.\"\n\"You mean about Diderot?\"", "chosen": "[\"Fyodor Pavlovitch, this is unbearable! You know you're telling lies and that that stupid anecdote isn't true. Why are you playing the fool?\", \"I suspected all my life that it wasn't true,\", \"Forgive me,\", \"\\nPyotr Alexandrovitch could say no more, and was about to leave the room, overwhelmed with confusion.\\n\", \" The elder got on to his feeble legs, and taking Pyotr Alexandrovitch by both hands, made him sit down again. \", \" And with a bow he went back and sat down again on his little sofa.\\n\", \" Fyodor Pavlovitch cried suddenly, clutching the arms of his chair in both hands, as though ready to leap up from it if the answer were unfavorable.\\n\", \" the elder said impressively. \", \"\\nHe got up, and throwing up his hands, declaimed, \", \" he fell suddenly on his knees, \", \"\\nIt was difficult even now to decide whether he was joking or really moved.\\nFather Zossima, lifting his eyes, looked at him, and said with a smile:\\n\", \"You mean about Diderot?\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Fyodor Pavlovitch, this is unbearable! You know you're telling lies and that that stupid anecdote isn't true. Why are you playing the fool?\", \"I suspected all my life that it wasn't true,\", \"Forgive me,\", \"\\nPyotr Alexandrovitch could say no more, and was about to leave the room, overwhelmed with confusion.\\n\", \" The elder got on to his feeble legs, and taking Pyotr Alexandrovitch by both hands, made him sit down again. \", \" And with a bow he went back and sat down again on his little sofa.\\n\", \" Fyodor Pavlovitch cried suddenly, clutching the arms of his chair in both hands, as though ready to leap up from it if the answer were unfavorable.\\n\", \" the elder said impressively. \", \"\\nHe got up, and throwing up his hands, declaimed, \", \" he fell suddenly on his knees, \", \"\\nIt was difficult even now to decide whether he was joking or really moved.\\nFather Zossima, lifting his eyes, looked at him, and said with a smile:\\n\", \"You mean about Diderot?\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-007-01-ea5b8c85", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nAt the end of a quarter of an hour, after several ineffectual attempts, he found that each photograph would peel from the card on which it was mounted. This done, he threw into the fire the original likeness and the recent card, stuck upon the original card the recent likeness from the album, dried it before the fire, and placed it in the envelope with the other scraps.\nThe result he had obtained, then, was this: in the envelope were now two photographs, both having the same photographer's name on the back and consecutive numbers attached. At the bottom of the one which showed his own likeness, his own name was written down; on the other his wife's name was written; whilst the central feature, and whole matter to which this latter card and writing referred, the likeness of a lady mounted upon it, had been changed.\nMrs. Manston entered the room, and begged him to come to breakfast. He followed her and they sat down. During the meal he told her what he had done, with scrupulous regard to every detail, and showed her the result.\n'It is indeed a great risk to run,' she said, sipping her tea.\n'But it would be a greater not to do it.'\n'Yes.'\nThe envelope was again fastened up as before, and Manston put it in his pocket and went out. Shortly afterwards he was seen, on horseback, riding in a direction towards Tolchurch. Keeping to the fields, as well as he could, for the greater part of the way, he dropped into the road by the vicarage letter-box, and looking carefully about, to ascertain that no person was near, he restored the letter to its nook, placed the key in its hiding-place, as he had promised the postman, and again rode homewards by a roundabout way.\n3. AFTERNOON\nThe letter was brought to Owen Graye, the same afternoon, by one of the vicar's servants who had been to the box with a duplicate key, as usual, to leave letters for the evening post. The man found that the index had told falsely that morning for the first time within his recollection; but no particular attention was paid to the mistake, as it was considered. The contents of the envelope were scrutinized by Owen and flung aside as useless.\nThe next morning brought Springrove's second letter, the existence of which was unknown to Manston. The sight of Edward's handwriting again raised the expectations of brother and sister, till Owen had opened the envelope and pulled out the twig and verse.\n'Nothing that's of the slightest use, after all,' he said to her; 'we are as far as ever from the merest shadow of legal proof that would convict him of what I am morally certain he did, marry you, suspecting, if not knowing, her to be alive all the time.'\n'What has Edward sent?' said Cytherea.\n'An old amatory verse in Manston's writing. Fancy,' he said bitterly, 'this is the strain he addressed her in when they were courting--as he did you, I suppose.'\nHe handed her the verse and she read--\n'EUNICE.\n'Whoso for hours or lengthy days Shall catch her aspect's changeful rays, Then turn away, can none recall Beyond a galaxy of all In hazy portraiture; Lit by the light of azure eyes Like summer days by summer skies: Her sweet transitions seem to be A kind of pictured melody, And not a set contour. 'AE. M.'\nA strange expression had overspread Cytherea's countenance. It rapidly increased to the most death-like anguish. She flung down the paper, seized Owen's hand tremblingly, and covered her face.\n'Cytherea! What is it, for Heaven's sake?'\n'Owen--suppose--O, you don't know what I think.'\n'What?'\n'\"The light of azure eyes,\"' she repeated with ashy lips.\n'Well, \"the light of azure eyes\"?' he said, astounded at her manner.\n'Mrs. Morris said in her letter to me that her eyes are black!'\n'H'm. Mrs. Morris must have made a mistake--nothing likelier.'\n'She didn't.'\n'They might be either in this photograph,' said Owen, looking at the card bearing Mrs. Manston's name.\n'Blue eyes would scarcely photograph so deep in tone as that,' said Cytherea. 'No, they seem black here, certainly.'\n'Well, then, Manston must have blundered in writing his verses.'\n'But could he? Say a man in love may forget his own name, but not that he forgets the colour of his mistress's eyes. Besides she would have seen the mistake when she read them, and have had it corrected.'\n'That's true, she would,' mused Owen. 'Then, Cytherea, it comes to this--you must have been misinformed by Mrs. Morris, since there is no other alternative.'\n'I suppose I must.'\nHer looks belied her words.\n'What makes you so strange--ill?' said Owen again.\n'I can't believe Mrs. Morris wrong.'\n'But look at this, Cytherea. If it is clear to us that the woman had blue eyes two years ago, she must have blue eyes now, whatever Mrs. Morris or anybody else may fancy. Any one would think that Manston could change the colour of a woman's eyes to hear you.'\n'Yes,' she said, and paused.\n'You say yes, as if he could,' said Owen impatiently.\n'By changing the woman herself,' she exclaimed. 'Owen, don't you see the horrid--what I dread?--that the woman he lives with is not Mrs. Manston--that she was burnt after all--and that I am his wife!'\nShe tried to support a stoicism under the weight of this new trouble, but no! The unexpected revulsion of ideas was so overwhelming that she crept to him and leant against his breast.\nBefore reflecting any further upon the subject Graye led her upstairs and got her to lie down. Then he went to the window and stared out of it up the lane, vainly endeavouring to come to some conclusion upon the fantastic enigma that confronted him. Cytherea's new view seemed incredible, yet it had such a hold upon her that it would be necessary to clear it away by positive proof before contemplation of her fear should have preyed too deeply upon her.\n'Cytherea,' he said, 'this will not do. You must stay here alone all the afternoon whilst I go to Carriford. I shall know all when I return.'\n'No, no, don't go!' she implored.\n'Soon, then, not directly.' He saw her subtle reasoning--that it was folly to be wise.\nReflection still convinced him that good would come of persevering in his intention and dispelling his sister's idle fears. Anything was better than this absurd doubt in her mind. But he resolved to wait till Sunday, the first day on which he might reckon upon seeing Mrs. Manston without suspicion. In the meantime he wrote to Edward Springrove, requesting him to go again to Mrs. Manston's former lodgings.", "chosen": "lodgings", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nlodgings\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-3044-012-02-a9b4e309", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Miss Brobity at that time kept, I will not call it the rival establishment to the establishment at the Nuns' House opposite, but I will call it the other parallel establishment down town. The world did have it that she showed a passion for attending my sales, when they took place on half holidays, or in vacation time. The world did put it about, that she admired my style. The world did notice that as time flowed by, my style became traceable in the dictation-exercises of Miss Brobity's pupils. Young man, a whisper even sprang up in obscure malignity, that one ignorant and besotted Churl (a parent) so committed himself as to object to it by name. But I do not believe this. For is it likely that any human creature in his right senses would so lay himself open to be pointed at, by what I call the finger of scorn?\"\nMr. Jasper shakes his head. Not in the least likely. Mr. Sapsea, in a grandiloquent state of absence of mind, seems to refill his visitor's glass, which is full already; and does really refill his own, which is empty.\n\"Miss Brobity's Being, young man, was deeply imbued with homage to Mind. She revered Mind, when launched, or, as I say, precipitated, on an extensive knowledge of the world. When I made my proposal, she did me the honour to be so overshadowed with a species of Awe, as to be able to articulate only the two words, 'O Thou!' meaning myself. Her limpid blue eyes were fixed upon me, her semi-transparent hands were clasped together, pallor overspread her aquiline features, and, though encouraged to proceed, she never did proceed a word further. I disposed of the parallel establishment by private contract, and we became as nearly one as could be expected under the circumstances. But she never could, and she never did, find a phrase satisfactory to her perhaps-too-favourable estimate of my intellect. To the very last (feeble action of liver), she addressed me in the same unfinished terms.\"\nMr. Jasper has closed his eyes as the auctioneer has deepened his voice. He now abruptly opens them, and says, in unison with the deepened voice \"Ah!\"—rather as if stopping himself on the extreme verge of adding—\"men!\"\n\"I have been since,\" says Mr. Sapsea, with his legs stretched out, and solemnly enjoying himself with the wine and the fire, \"what you behold me; I have been since a solitary mourner; I have been since, as I say, wasting my evening conversation on the desert air. I will not say that I have reproached myself; but there have been times when I have asked myself the question: What if her husband had been nearer on a level with her? If she had not had to look up quite so high, what might the stimulating action have been upon the liver?\"\nMr. Jasper says, with an appearance of having fallen into dreadfully low spirits, that he \"supposes it was to be.\"\n\"We can only suppose so, sir,\" Mr. Sapsea coincides. \"As I say, Man proposes, Heaven disposes. It may or may not be putting the same thought in another form; but that is the way I put it.\"\nMr. Jasper murmurs assent.\n\"And now, Mr. Jasper,\" resumes the auctioneer, producing his scrap of manuscript, \"Mrs. Sapsea's monument having had full time to settle and dry, let me take your opinion, as a man of taste, on the inscription I have (as I before remarked, not without some little fever of the brow) drawn out for it. Take it in your own hand. The setting out of the lines requires to be followed with the eye, as well as the contents with the mind.\"\nMr. Jasper complying, sees and reads as follows:\nETHELINDA, Reverential Wife of MR. THOMAS SAPSEA, AUCTIONEER, VALUER, ESTATE AGENT, &c., OF THIS CITY. Whose Knowledge of the World, Though somewhat extensive, Never brought him acquainted with A SPIRIT More capable of LOOKING UP TO HIM. STRANGER, PAUSE And ask thyself the Question, CANST THOU DO LIKEWISE? If Not, WITH A BLUSH RETIRE.\nMr. Sapsea having risen and stationed himself with his back to the fire, for the purpose of observing the effect of these lines on the countenance of a man of taste, consequently has his face towards the door, when his serving-maid, again appearing, announces, \"Durdles is come, sir!\" He promptly draws forth and fills the third wineglass, as being now claimed, and replies, \"Show Durdles in.\"\n\"Admirable!\" quoth Mr. Jasper, handing back the paper.\n\"You approve, sir?\"\n\"Impossible not to approve. Striking, characteristic, and complete.\"\nThe auctioneer inclines his head, as one accepting his due and giving a receipt; and invites the entering Durdles to take off that glass of wine (handing the same), for it will warm him.\nDurdles is a stonemason; chiefly in the gravestone, tomb, and monument way, and wholly of their colour from head to foot. No man is better known in Cloisterham. He is the chartered libertine of the place. Fame trumpets him a wonderful workman—which, for aught that anybody knows, he may be (as he never works); and a wonderful sot—which everybody knows he is. With the Cathedral crypt he is better acquainted than any living authority; it may even be than any dead one. It is said that the intimacy of this acquaintance began in his habitually resorting to that secret place, to lock-out the Cloisterham boy-populace, and sleep off fumes of liquor: he having ready access to the Cathedral, as contractor for rough repairs. Be this as it may, he does know much about it, and, in the demolition of impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, and pavement, has seen strange sights. He often speaks of himself in the third person; perhaps, being a little misty as to his own identity, when he narrates; perhaps impartially adopting the Cloisterham nomenclature in reference to a character of acknowledged distinction. Thus he will say, touching his strange sights: \"Durdles come upon the old chap,\" in reference to a buried magnate of ancient time and high degree, \"by striking right into the coffin with his pick. The old chap gave Durdles a look with his open eyes, as much as to say, 'Is your name Durdles? Why, my man, I've been waiting for you a devil of a time!' And then he turned to powder.\" With a two-foot rule always in his pocket, and a mason's hammer all but always in his hand, Durdles goes continually sounding and tapping all about and about the Cathedral; and whenever he says to Tope: \"Tope, here's another old 'un in here!\" Tope announces it to the Dean as an established discovery.\nIn a suit of coarse flannel with horn buttons, a yellow neckerchief with draggled ends, an old hat more russet-coloured than black, and laced boots of the hue of his stony calling, Durdles leads a hazy, gipsy sort of life, carrying his dinner about with him in a small bundle, and sitting on all manner of tombstones to dine. This dinner of Durdles's has become quite a Cloisterham institution: not only because of his never appearing in public without it, but because of its having been, on certain renowned occasions, taken into custody along with Durdles (as drunk and incapable), and exhibited before the Bench of justices at the townhall. These occasions, however, have been few and far apart: Durdles being as seldom drunk as sober. For the rest, he is an old bachelor, and he lives in a little antiquated hole of a house that was never finished: supposed to be built, so far, of stones stolen from the city wall. To this abode there is an approach, ankle-deep in stone chips, resembling a petrified grove of tombstones, urns, draperies, and broken columns, in all stages of sculpture. Herein two journeymen incessantly chip, while other two journeymen, who face each other, incessantly saw stone; dipping as regularly in and out of their sheltering sentry-boxes, as if they were mechanical figures emblematical of Time and Death.\nTo Durdles, when he had consumed his glass of port, Mr. Sapsea intrusts that precious effort of his Muse. Durdles unfeelingly takes out his two-foot rule, and measures the lines calmly, alloying them with stone-grit.\n\"This is for the monument, is it, Mr. Sapsea?\"\n\"The Inscription. Yes.\" Mr. Sapsea waits for its effect on a common mind.", "chosen": "[\"Brobity\", \"Nuns\", \"House\", \"Churl\", \"Being\", \"Mind\", \"Awe\", \"Thou\", \"Man\", \"Heaven\", \"Reverential\", \"Wife\", \"Knowledge\", \"World\", \"Though\", \"Never\", \"More\", \"Question\", \"Not\", \"Durdles\", \"Show\", \"Admirable\", \"Impossible\", \"Cloisterham\", \"Cathedral\", \"With\", \"Tope\", \"Dean\", \"Bench\", \"Time\", \"Death\", \"Muse\", \"Inscription\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Brobity\", \"Nuns\", \"House\", \"Churl\", \"Being\", \"Mind\", \"Awe\", \"Thou\", \"Man\", \"Heaven\", \"Reverential\", \"Wife\", \"Knowledge\", \"World\", \"Though\", \"Never\", \"More\", \"Question\", \"Not\", \"Durdles\", \"Show\", \"Admirable\", \"Impossible\", \"Cloisterham\", \"Cathedral\", \"With\", \"Tope\", \"Dean\", \"Bench\", \"Time\", \"Death\", \"Muse\", \"Inscription\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-564-004-01-dd9d63f3", "source": "pg-564", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nVicksburg During the Trouble\nWE used to plow past the lofty hill-city, Vicksburg, down-stream; but we cannot do that now. A cut-off has made a country town of it, like Osceola, St. Genevieve, and several others. There is currentless water--also a big island--in front of Vicksburg now. You come down the river the other side of the island, then turn and come up to the town; that is, in high water: in low water you can't come up, but must land some distance below it.\nSigns and scars still remain, as reminders of Vicksburg's tremendous war experiences; earthworks, trees crippled by the cannon balls, cave-refuges in the clay precipices, etc. The caves did good service during the six weeks' bombardment of the city--May 8 to July 4, 1863. They were used by the non-combatants--mainly by the women and children; not to live in constantly, but to fly to for safety on occasion. They were mere holes, tunnels, driven into the perpendicular clay bank, then branched Y shape, within the hill. Life in Vicksburg, during the six weeks was perhaps--but wait; here are some materials out of which to reproduce it:--\nPopulation, twenty-seven thousand soldiers and three thousand non-combatants; the city utterly cut off from the world--walled solidly in, the frontage by gunboats, the rear by soldiers and batteries; hence, no buying and selling with the outside; no passing to and fro; no God-speeding a parting guest, no welcoming a coming one; no printed acres of world-wide news to be read at breakfast, mornings--a tedious dull absence of such matter, instead; hence, also, no running to see steamboats smoking into view in the distance up or down, and plowing toward the town--for none came, the river lay vacant and undisturbed; no rush and turmoil around the railway station, no struggling over bewildered swarms of passengers by noisy mobs of hackmen--all quiet there; flour two hundred dollars a barrel, sugar thirty, corn ten dollars a bushel, bacon five dollars a pound, rum a hundred dollars a gallon; other things in proportion: consequently, no roar and racket of drays and carriages tearing along the streets; nothing for them to do, among that handful of non-combatants of exhausted means; at three o'clock in the morning, silence; silence so dead that the measured tramp of a sentinel can be heard a seemingly impossible distance; out of hearing of this lonely sound, perhaps the stillness is absolute: all in a moment come ground-shaking thunder-crashes of artillery, the sky is cobwebbed with the crisscrossing red lines streaming from soaring bomb-shells, and a rain of iron fragments descends upon the city; descends upon the empty streets: streets which are not empty a moment later, but mottled with dim figures of frantic women and children scurrying from home and bed toward the cave dungeons--encouraged by the humorous grim soldiery, who shout 'Rats, to your holes!' and laugh.\nThe cannon-thunder rages, shells scream and crash overhead, the iron rain pours down, one hour, two hours, three, possibly six, then stops; silence follows, but the streets are still empty; the silence continues; by-and-bye a head projects from a cave here and there and yonder, and reconnoitres, cautiously; the silence still continuing, bodies follow heads, and jaded, half smothered creatures group themselves about, stretch their cramped limbs, draw in deep draughts of the grateful fresh air, gossip with the neighbors from the next cave; maybe straggle off home presently, or take a lounge through the town, if the stillness continues; and will scurry to the holes again, by-and-bye, when the war-tempest breaks forth once more.\nThere being but three thousand of these cave-dwellers--merely the population of a village--would they not come to know each other, after a week or two, and familiarly; insomuch that the fortunate or unfortunate experiences of one would be of interest to all?\nThose are the materials furnished by history. From them might not almost anybody reproduce for himself the life of that time in Vicksburg? Could you, who did not experience it, come nearer to reproducing it to the imagination of another non-participant than could a Vicksburger who did experience it? It seems impossible; and yet there are reasons why it might not really be. When one makes his first voyage in a ship, it is an experience which multitudinously bristles with striking novelties; novelties which are in such sharp contrast with all this person's former experiences that they take a seemingly deathless grip upon his imagination and memory. By tongue or pen he can make a landsman live that strange and stirring voyage over with him; make him see it all and feel it all. But if he wait? If he make ten voyages in succession--what then? Why, the thing has lost color, snap, surprise; and has become commonplace. The man would have nothing to tell that would quicken a landsman's pulse.\nYears ago, I talked with a couple of the Vicksburg non-combatants--a man and his wife. Left to tell their story in their own way, those people told it without fire, almost without interest.\nA week of their wonderful life there would have made their tongues eloquent for ever perhaps; but they had six weeks of it, and that wore the novelty all out; they got used to being bomb-shelled out of home and into the ground; the matter became commonplace. After that, the possibility of their ever being startlingly interesting in their talks about it was gone. What the man said was to this effect:--\n'It got to be Sunday all the time. Seven Sundays in the week--to us, anyway. We hadn't anything to do, and time hung heavy. Seven Sundays, and all of them broken up at one time or another, in the day or in the night, by a few hours of the awful storm of fire and thunder and iron. At first we used to shin for the holes a good deal faster than we did afterwards. The first time, I forgot the children, and Maria fetched them both along. When she was all safe in the cave she fainted. Two or three weeks afterwards, when she was running for the holes, one morning, through a shell-shower, a big shell burst near her, and covered her all over with dirt, and a piece of the iron carried away her game-bag of false hair from the back of her head. Well, she stopped to get that game-bag before she shoved along again! Was getting used to things already, you see. We all got so that we could tell a good deal about shells; and after that we didn't always go under shelter if it was a light shower. Us men would loaf around and talk; and a man would say, 'There she goes!' and name the kind of shell it was from the sound of it, and go on talking--if there wasn't any danger from it. If a shell was bursting close over us, we stopped talking and stood still;--uncomfortable, yes, but it wasn't safe to move. When it let go, we went on talking again, if nobody hurt--maybe saying, 'That was a ripper!' or some such commonplace comment before we resumed; or, maybe, we would see a shell poising itself away high in the air overhead. In that case, every fellow just whipped out a sudden, 'See you again, gents!' and shoved. Often and often I saw gangs of ladies promenading the streets, looking as cheerful as you please, and keeping an eye canted up watching the shells; and I've seen them stop still when they were uncertain about what a shell was going to do, and wait and make certain; and after that they sa'ntered along again, or lit out for shelter, according to the verdict. Streets in some towns have a litter of pieces of paper, and odds and ends of one sort or another lying around. Ours hadn't; they had _iron _litter. Sometimes a man would gather up all the iron fragments and unbursted shells in his neighborhood, and pile them into a kind of monument in his front yard--a ton of it, sometimes. No glass left; glass couldn't stand such a bombardment; it was all shivered out. Windows of the houses vacant--looked like eye-holes in a skull. _Whole _panes were as scarce as news.", "chosen": "Vicksburg, A, Genevieve,, There, You, Signs, The, They, They, Life, The, There, Those, From, Could, It, When, By, But, If, Why,, The, Years, Left, A, After, What, Seven, We, Seven, At, The, When, Two, Well,, Was, We, Us, If, When, In, Often, Streets, Ours, Sometimes, No, Windows, _Whole", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nVicksburg, A, Genevieve,, There, You, Signs, The, They, They, Life, The, There, Those, From, Could, It, When, By, But, If, Why,, The, Years, Left, A, After, What, Seven, We, Seven, At, The, When, Two, Well,, Was, We, Us, If, When, In, Often, Streets, Ours, Sometimes, No, Windows, _Whole\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-245-035-00-e6b68794", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nHaving uttered these words Mitya sat down again on his chair. Grushenka stood up and crossed herself devoutly before the ikon. \"Thanks be to Thee, O Lord,\" she said, in a voice thrilled with emotion, and still standing, she turned to Nikolay Parfenovitch and added:\n\"As he has spoken now, believe it! I know him. He'll say anything as a joke or from obstinacy, but he'll never deceive you against his conscience. He's telling the whole truth, you may believe it.\"\n\"Thanks, Agrafena Alexandrovna, you've given me fresh courage,\" Mitya responded in a quivering voice.\nAs to the money spent the previous day, she declared that she did not know what sum it was, but had heard him tell several people that he had three thousand with him. And to the question where he got the money, she said that he had told her that he had \"stolen\" it from Katerina Ivanovna, and that she had replied to that that he hadn't stolen it, and that he must pay the money back next day. On the prosecutor's asking her emphatically whether the money he said he had stolen from Katerina Ivanovna was what he had spent yesterday, or what he had squandered here a month ago, she declared that he meant the money spent a month ago, and that that was how she understood him.\nGrushenka was at last released, and Nikolay Parfenovitch informed her impulsively that she might at once return to the town and that if he could be of any assistance to her, with horses for example, or if she would care for an escort, he ... would be—\n\"I thank you sincerely,\" said Grushenka, bowing to him, \"I'm going with this old gentleman, I am driving him back to town with me, and meanwhile, if you'll allow me, I'll wait below to hear what you decide about Dmitri Fyodorovitch.\"\nShe went out. Mitya was calm, and even looked more cheerful, but only for a moment. He felt more and more oppressed by a strange physical weakness. His eyes were closing with fatigue. The examination of the witnesses was, at last, over. They proceeded to a final revision of the protocol. Mitya got up, moved from his chair to the corner by the curtain, lay down on a large chest covered with a rug, and instantly fell asleep.\nHe had a strange dream, utterly out of keeping with the place and the time.\nHe was driving somewhere in the steppes, where he had been stationed long ago, and a peasant was driving him in a cart with a pair of horses, through snow and sleet. He was cold, it was early in November, and the snow was falling in big wet flakes, melting as soon as it touched the earth. And the peasant drove him smartly, he had a fair, long beard. He was not an old man, somewhere about fifty, and he had on a gray peasant's smock. Not far off was a village, he could see the black huts, and half the huts were burnt down, there were only the charred beams sticking up. And as they drove in, there were peasant women drawn up along the road, a lot of women, a whole row, all thin and wan, with their faces a sort of brownish color, especially one at the edge, a tall, bony woman, who looked forty, but might have been only twenty, with a long thin face. And in her arms was a little baby crying. And her breasts seemed so dried up that there was not a drop of milk in them. And the child cried and cried, and held out its little bare arms, with its little fists blue from cold.\n\"Why are they crying? Why are they crying?\" Mitya asked, as they dashed gayly by.\n\"It's the babe,\" answered the driver, \"the babe weeping.\"\nAnd Mitya was struck by his saying, in his peasant way, \"the babe,\" and he liked the peasant's calling it a \"babe.\" There seemed more pity in it.\n\"But why is it weeping?\" Mitya persisted stupidly, \"why are its little arms bare? Why don't they wrap it up?\"\n\"The babe's cold, its little clothes are frozen and don't warm it.\"\n\"But why is it? Why?\" foolish Mitya still persisted.\n\"Why, they're poor people, burnt out. They've no bread. They're begging because they've been burnt out.\"\n\"No, no,\" Mitya, as it were, still did not understand. \"Tell me why it is those poor mothers stand there? Why are people poor? Why is the babe poor? Why is the steppe barren? Why don't they hug each other and kiss? Why don't they sing songs of joy? Why are they so dark from black misery? Why don't they feed the babe?\"\nAnd he felt that, though his questions were unreasonable and senseless, yet he wanted to ask just that, and he had to ask it just in that way. And he felt that a passion of pity, such as he had never known before, was rising in his heart, that he wanted to cry, that he wanted to do something for them all, so that the babe should weep no more, so that the dark-faced, dried-up mother should not weep, that no one should shed tears again from that moment, and he wanted to do it at once, at once, regardless of all obstacles, with all the recklessness of the Karamazovs.\n\"And I'm coming with you. I won't leave you now for the rest of my life, I'm coming with you,\" he heard close beside him Grushenka's tender voice, thrilling with emotion. And his heart glowed, and he struggled forward towards the light, and he longed to live, to live, to go on and on, towards the new, beckoning light, and to hasten, hasten, now, at once!\n\"What! Where?\" he exclaimed opening his eyes, and sitting up on the chest, as though he had revived from a swoon, smiling brightly. Nikolay Parfenovitch was standing over him, suggesting that he should hear the protocol read aloud and sign it. Mitya guessed that he had been asleep an hour or more, but he did not hear Nikolay Parfenovitch. He was suddenly struck by the fact that there was a pillow under his head, which hadn't been there when he had leant back, exhausted, on the chest.\n\"Who put that pillow under my head? Who was so kind?\" he cried, with a sort of ecstatic gratitude, and tears in his voice, as though some great kindness had been shown him.\nHe never found out who this kind man was; perhaps one of the peasant witnesses, or Nikolay Parfenovitch's little secretary, had compassionately thought to put a pillow under his head; but his whole soul was quivering with tears. He went to the table and said that he would sign whatever they liked.\n\"I've had a good dream, gentlemen,\" he said in a strange voice, with a new light, as of joy, in his face.", "chosen": "58", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n58\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-28054-059-02-27280f01", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Alone! God help him, who should be with him!\" said the other, in the same low voice.\n\"Is he always alone, then?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Of his own desire?\"\n\"Of his own necessity. As he was, when I first saw him after they found me and demanded to know if I would take him, and, at my peril be discreet--as he was then, so he is now.\"\n\"He is greatly changed?\"\n\"Changed!\"\nThe keeper of the wine-shop stopped to strike the wall with his hand, and mutter a tremendous curse. No direct answer could have been half so forcible. Mr. Lorry's spirits grew heavier and heavier, as he and his two companions ascended higher and higher.\nSuch a staircase, with its accessories, in the older and more crowded parts of Paris, would be bad enough now; but, at that time, it was vile indeed to unaccustomed and unhardened senses. Every little habitation within the great foul nest of one high building--that is to say, the room or rooms within every door that opened on the general staircase--left its own heap of refuse on its own landing, besides flinging other refuse from its own windows. The uncontrollable and hopeless mass of decomposition so engendered, would have polluted the air, even if poverty and deprivation had not loaded it with their intangible impurities; the two bad sources combined made it almost insupportable. Through such an atmosphere, by a steep dark shaft of dirt and poison, the way lay. Yielding to his own disturbance of mind, and to his young companion's agitation, which became greater every instant, Mr. Jarvis Lorry twice stopped to rest. Each of these stoppages was made at a doleful grating, by which any languishing good airs that were left uncorrupted, seemed to escape, and all spoilt and sickly vapours seemed to crawl in. Through the rusted bars, tastes, rather than glimpses, were caught of the jumbled neighbourhood; and nothing within range, nearer or lower than the summits of the two great towers of Notre-Dame, had any promise on it of healthy life or wholesome aspirations.\nAt last, the top of the staircase was gained, and they stopped for the third time. There was yet an upper staircase, of a steeper inclination and of contracted dimensions, to be ascended, before the garret story was reached. The keeper of the wine-shop, always going a little in advance, and always going on the side which Mr. Lorry took, as though he dreaded to be asked any question by the young lady, turned himself about here, and, carefully feeling in the pockets of the coat he carried over his shoulder, took out a key.\n\"The door is locked then, my friend?\" said Mr. Lorry, surprised.\n\"Ay. Yes,\" was the grim reply of Monsieur Defarge.\n\"You think it necessary to keep the unfortunate gentleman so retired?\"\n\"I think it necessary to turn the key.\" Monsieur Defarge whispered it closer in his ear, and frowned heavily.\n\"Why?\"\n\"Why! Because he has lived so long, locked up, that he would be frightened--rave--tear himself to pieces--die--come to I know not what harm--if his door was left open.\"\n\"Is it possible!\" exclaimed Mr. Lorry.\n\"Is it possible!\" repeated Defarge, bitterly. \"Yes. And a beautiful world we live in, when it is possible, and when many other such things are possible, and not only possible, but done--done, see you!--under that sky there, every day. Long live the Devil. Let us go on.\"\nThis dialogue had been held in so very low a whisper, that not a word of it had reached the young lady's ears. But, by this time she trembled under such strong emotion, and her face expressed such deep anxiety, and, above all, such dread and terror, that Mr. Lorry felt it incumbent on him to speak a word or two of reassurance.\n\"Courage, dear miss! Courage! Business! The worst will be over in a moment; it is but passing the room-door, and the worst is over. Then, all the good you bring to him, all the relief, all the happiness you bring to him, begin. Let our good friend here, assist you on that side. That's well, friend Defarge. Come, now. Business, business!\"\nThey went up slowly and softly. The staircase was short, and they were soon at the top. There, as it had an abrupt turn in it, they came all at once in sight of three men, whose heads were bent down close together at the side of a door, and who were intently looking into the room to which the door belonged, through some chinks or holes in the wall. On hearing footsteps close at hand, these three turned, and rose, and showed themselves to be the three of one name who had been drinking in the wine-shop.\n\"I forgot them in the surprise of your visit,\" explained Monsieur Defarge. \"Leave us, good boys; we have business here.\"\nThe three glided by, and went silently down.\nThere appearing to be no other door on that floor, and the keeper of the wine-shop going straight to this one when they were left alone, Mr. Lorry asked him in a whisper, with a little anger:\n\"Do you make a show of Monsieur Manette?\"\n\"I show him, in the way you have seen, to a chosen few.\"\n\"Is that well?\"\n\"I think it is well.\"\n\"Who are the few? How do you choose them?\"\n\"I choose them as real men, of my name--Jacques is my name--to whom the sight is likely to do good. Enough; you are English; that is another thing. Stay there, if you please, a little moment.\"\nWith an admonitory gesture to keep them back, he stooped, and looked in through the crevice in the wall. Soon raising his head again, he struck twice or thrice upon the door--evidently with no other object than to make a noise there. With the same intention, he drew the key across it, three or four times, before he put it clumsily into the lock, and turned it as heavily as he could.\nThe door slowly opened inward under his hand, and he looked into the room and said something. A faint voice answered something. Little more than a single syllable could have been spoken on either side.\nHe looked back over his shoulder, and beckoned them to enter. Mr. Lorry got his arm securely round the daughter's waist, and held her; for he felt that she was sinking.\n\"A-a-a-business, business!\" he urged, with a moisture that was not of business shining on his cheek. \"Come in, come in!\"\n\"I am afraid of it,\" she answered, shuddering.\n\"Of it? What?\"\n\"I mean of him. Of my father.\"\nRendered in a manner desperate, by her state and by the beckoning of their conductor, he drew over his neck the arm that shook upon his shoulder, lifted her a little, and hurried her into the room. He sat her down just within the door, and held her, clinging to him.\nDefarge drew out the key, closed the door, locked it on the inside, took out the key again, and held it in his hand. All this he did, methodically, and with as loud and harsh an accompaniment of noise as he could make. Finally, he walked across the room with a measured tread to where the window was. He stopped there, and faced round.\nThe garret, built to be a depository for firewood and the like, was dim and dark: for, the window of dormer shape, was in truth a door in the roof, with a little crane over it for the hoisting up of stores from the street: unglazed, and closing up the middle in two pieces, like any other door of French construction. To exclude the cold, one half of this door was fast closed, and the other was opened but a very little way. Such a scanty portion of light was admitted through these means, that it was difficult, on first coming in, to see anything; and long habit alone could have slowly formed in any one, the ability to do any work requiring nicety in such obscurity. Yet, work of that kind was being done in the garret; for, with his back towards the door, and his face towards the window where the keeper of the wine-shop stood looking at him, a white-haired man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making shoes.", "chosen": "The garret, built to be a depository for firewood and the like, was dim and dark: for, the window of dormer shape, was in truth a door in the roof, with a little crane over it for the hoisting up of stores from the street: unglazed, and closing up the middle in two pieces, like any other door of French construction.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nThe garret, built to be a depository for firewood and the like, was dim and dark: for, the window of dormer shape, was in truth a door in the roof, with a little crane over it for the hoisting up of stores from the street: unglazed, and closing up the middle in two pieces, like any other door of French construction.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-98-005-02-58371091", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nNothing more happened on the passage worthy the mentioning; so, after a fine run, we safely arrived in Nantucket.\nNantucket! Take out your map and look at it. See what a real corner of the world it occupies; how it stands there, away off shore, more lonely than the Eddystone lighthouse. Look at it—a mere hillock, and elbow of sand; all beach, without a background. There is more sand there than you would use in twenty years as a substitute for blotting paper. Some gamesome wights will tell you that they have to plant weeds there, they don't grow naturally; that they import Canada thistles; that they have to send beyond seas for a spile to stop a leak in an oil cask; that pieces of wood in Nantucket are carried about like bits of the true cross in Rome; that people there plant toadstools before their houses, to get under the shade in summer time; that one blade of grass makes an oasis, three blades in a day's walk a prairie; that they wear quicksand shoes, something like Laplander snow-shoes; that they are so shut up, belted about, every way inclosed, surrounded, and made an utter island of by the ocean, that to their very chairs and tables small clams will sometimes be found adhering, as to the backs of sea turtles. But these extravaganzas only show that Nantucket is no Illinois.\nLook now at the wondrous traditional story of how this island was settled by the red-men. Thus goes the legend. In olden times an eagle swooped down upon the New England coast, and carried off an infant Indian in his talons. With loud lament the parents saw their child borne out of sight over the wide waters. They resolved to follow in the same direction. Setting out in their canoes, after a perilous passage they discovered the island, and there they found an empty ivory casket,—the poor little Indian's skeleton.\nWhat wonder, then, that these Nantucketers, born on a beach, should take to the sea for a livelihood! They first caught crabs and quohogs in the sand; grown bolder, they waded out with nets for mackerel; more experienced, they pushed off in boats and captured cod; and at last, launching a navy of great ships on the sea, explored this watery world; put an incessant belt of circumnavigations round it; peeped in at Behring's Straits; and in all seasons and all oceans declared everlasting war with the mightiest animated mass that has survived the flood; most monstrous and most mountainous! That Himmalehan, salt-sea Mastodon, clothed with such portentousness of unconscious power, that his very panics are more to be dreaded than his most fearless and malicious assaults!\nAnd thus have these naked Nantucketers, these sea hermits, issuing from their ant-hill in the sea, overrun and conquered the watery world like so many Alexanders; parcelling out among them the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans, as the three pirate powers did Poland. Let America add Mexico to Texas, and pile Cuba upon Canada; let the English overswarm all India, and hang out their blazing banner from the sun; two thirds of this terraqueous globe are the Nantucketer's. For the sea is his; he owns it, as Emperors own empires; other seamen having but a right of way through it. Merchant ships are but extension bridges; armed ones but floating forts; even pirates and privateers, though following the sea as highwaymen the road, they but plunder other ships, other fragments of the land like themselves, without seeking to draw their living from the bottomless deep itself. The Nantucketer, he alone resides and riots on the sea; he alone, in Bible language, goes down to it in ships; to and fro ploughing it as his own special plantation. There is his home; there lies his business, which a Noah's flood would not interrupt, though it overwhelmed all the millions in China. He lives on the sea, as prairie cocks in the prairie; he hides among the waves, he climbs them as chamois hunters climb the Alps. For years he knows not the land; so that when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, more strangely than the moon would to an Earthsman. With the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; so at nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales.", "chosen": "whales", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nwhales\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-014-00-784b024a", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHad Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could not have formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal felicity or domestic comfort. Her father, captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good-humour which youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind had very early in their marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and confidence had vanished for ever; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own imprudence had brought on in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice. He was fond of the country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal enjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted than as her ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his wife; but where other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true philosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.\nElizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her father's behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook, and to banish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own children, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so strongly as now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents--talents which, rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.\nWhen Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's departure, she found little other cause for satisfaction in the loss of the regiment. Their parties abroad were less varied than before; and at home she had a mother and sister, whose constant repinings at the dulness of everything around them threw a real gloom over their domestic circle; and, though Kitty might in time regain her natural degree of sense, since the disturbers of her brain were removed, her other sister, from whose disposition greater evil might be apprehended, was likely to be hardened in all her folly and assurance, by a situation of such double danger as a watering-place and a camp. Upon the whole, therefore, she found, what has been sometimes found before, that an event to which she had looked forward with impatient desire, did not, in taking place, bring all the satisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently necessary to name some other period for the commencement of actual felicity; to have some other point on which her wishes and hopes might be fixed, and by again enjoying the pleasure of anticipation, console herself for the present, and prepare for another disappointment. Her tour to the Lakes was now the object of her happiest thoughts: it was her best consolation for all the uncomfortable hours which the discontentedness of her mother and Kitty made inevitable; and could she have included Jane in the scheme, every part of it would have been perfect.\n\"But it is fortunate,\" thought she, \"that I have something to wish for. Were the whole arrangement complete, my disappointment would be certain. But here, by carrying with me one ceaseless source of regret in my sister's absence, I may reasonably hope to have all my expectations of pleasure realized. A scheme of which every part promises delight can never be successful; and general disappointment is only warded off by the defence of some little peculiar vexation.\"\nWhen Lydia went away she promised to write very often and very minutely to her mother and Kitty; but her letters were always long expected, and always very short. Those to her mother contained little else than that they were just returned from the library, where such and such officers had attended them, and where she had seen such beautiful ornaments as made her quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a new parasol, which she would have described more fully, but was obliged to leave off in a violent hurry, as Mrs. Forster called her, and they were going to the camp; and from her correspondence with her sister there was still less to be learnt, for her letters to Kitty, though rather longer, were much too full of lines under the words to be made public.\nAfter the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence, health, good-humour, and cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbourn. Everything wore a happier aspect. The families who had been in town for the winter came back again, and summer finery and summer engagements arose. Mrs. Bennet was restored to her usual querulous serenity; and by the middle of June Kitty was so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton without tears,--an event of such happy promise as to make Elizabeth hope, that by the following Christmas she might be so tolerably reasonable as not to mention an officer above once a day, unless, by some cruel and malicious arrangement at the War Office, another regiment should be quartered in Meryton.\nThe time fixed for the beginning of their northern tour was now fast approaching; and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when a letter arrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement and curtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented by business from setting out till a fortnight later in July, and must be in London again within a month; and as that left too short a period for them to go so far, and see so much as they had proposed, or at least to see it with the leisure and comfort they had built on, they were obliged to give up the Lakes, and substitute a more contracted tour; and, according to the present plan, were to go no farther northward than Derbyshire. In that county there was enough to be seen to occupy the chief of their three weeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a peculiarly strong attraction. The town where she had formerly passed some years of her life, and where they were now to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of her curiosity as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale, or the Peak.\nElizabeth was excessively disappointed: she had set her heart on seeing the Lakes; and still thought there might have been time enough. But it was her business to be satisfied--and certainly her temper to be happy; and all was soon right again.\nWith the mention of Derbyshire, there were many ideas connected. It was impossible for her to see the word without thinking of Pemberley and its owner. \"But surely,\" said she, \"I may enter his county with impunity, and rob it of a few petrified spars, without his perceiving me.\"\nThe period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks were to pass away before her uncle and aunt's arrival. But they did pass away, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, with their four children, did at length appear at Longbourn. The children, two girls of six and eight years old, and two younger boys, were to be left under the particular care of their cousin Jane, who was the general favourite, and whose steady sense and sweetness of temper exactly adapted her for attending to them in every way--teaching them, playing with them, and loving them.\nThe Gardiners stayed only one night at Longbourn, and set off the next morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and amusement. One enjoyment was certain--that of suitableness as companions; a suitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear inconveniences--cheerfulness to enhance every pleasure--and affection and intelligence, which might supply it among themselves if there were disappointments abroad.", "chosen": "[\"Elizabeth\", \"Wickham\", \"Kitty\", \"Lakes\", \"Jane\", \"Lydia\", \"Longbourn\", \"June\", \"Meryton\", \"Christmas\", \"War\", \"Office\", \"July\", \"London\", \"Derbyshire\", \"Matlock\", \"Chatsworth\", \"Dovedale\", \"Peak\", \"Pemberley\", \"Gardiners\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Elizabeth\", \"Wickham\", \"Kitty\", \"Lakes\", \"Jane\", \"Lydia\", \"Longbourn\", \"June\", \"Meryton\", \"Christmas\", \"War\", \"Office\", \"July\", \"London\", \"Derbyshire\", \"Matlock\", \"Chatsworth\", \"Dovedale\", \"Peak\", \"Pemberley\", \"Gardiners\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1342-042-00-38b2ef6f", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nOn his quitting the room, she sat down, unable to support herself, and looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her, or to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration, \"Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill.\"\n\"No, I thank you,\" she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. \"There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well, I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.\"\nShe burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his\nconcern, and observe her in compassionate silence. At length she spoke again. \"I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My youngest sister has left all her friends--has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of--of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to--she is lost for ever.\"\nDarcy was fixed in astonishment.\n\"When I consider,\" she added, in a yet more agitated voice, \"that I might have prevented it! I who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only--some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now.\"\n\"I am grieved, indeed,\" cried Darcy: \"grieved--shocked. But is it certain, absolutely certain?\"\n\"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond: they are certainly not gone to Scotland.\"\n\"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?\"\n\"My father has gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. But nothing can be done; I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!\"\nDarcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.\n\"When my eyes were opened to his real character, oh! had I known what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not--I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!\"\nDarcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation; his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her power was sinking; everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder nor condemn; but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be vain.\nBut self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia--the humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all--soon swallowed up every private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else; and, after a pause of several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said,--\n\"I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing concern. Would to Heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part, that might offer consolation to such distress! But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley to-day.\"\n\"Oh, yes! Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. I know it cannot be long.\"\nHe readily assured her of his secrecy, again expressed his sorrow for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present reason to hope, and, leaving his compliments for her relations, with only one serious parting look, went away.\nAs he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as had marked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now have promoted its continuance, and would formerly have rejoiced in its termination.\nIf gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if otherwise, if the regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or unnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising on a first interview with its object, and even before two words have been exchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given somewhat of a trial to the latter method, in her partiality for Wickham, and that its ill success might, perhaps, authorize her to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him go with regret; and in this early example of what Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched business. Never since reading Jane's second letter had she entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the least of all her feelings on this development. While the contents of the first letter remained on her mind, she was all surprise, all astonishment, that Wickham should marry a girl whom it was impossible he could marry for money; and how Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared incomprehensible. But now it was all too natural. For such an attachment as this, she might have sufficient charms; and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an elopement, without the intention of marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither her virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling an easy prey.\nShe had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that Lydia had any partiality for him; but she was convinced that Lydia had wanted only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes one officer, sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions raised them in her opinion. Her affections had been continually fluctuating, but never without an object. The mischief of neglect and mistaken indulgence towards such a girl--oh! how acutely did she now feel it!", "chosen": "On, Is, A, You, There, I, Darcy,, At, I, It, My, Wickham., They, You, She, When, I, Had, Had, But, But, They, But, How, How, I, It, When, had, But, Wretched,, He, Elizabeth, Her, She, It, But, Lydia--the, Would, But, This, Be, Say, Conceal, I, As, If, But, Be, Never, No, Surprise, While, But, For, She, Sometimes, Her, The, how", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nOn, Is, A, You, There, I, Darcy,, At, I, It, My, Wickham., They, You, She, When, I, Had, Had, But, But, They, But, How, How, I, It, When, had, But, Wretched,, He, Elizabeth, Her, She, It, But, Lydia--the, Would, But, This, Be, Say, Conceal, I, As, If, But, Be, Never, No, Surprise, While, But, For, She, Sometimes, Her, The, how\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-1342-046-01-2b39ae89", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nWhen Ethan was called back to the farm by his father's illness his mother gave him, for his own use, a small room behind the untenanted \"best parlour.\" Here he had nailed up shelves for his books, built himself a box-sofa out of boards and a mattress, laid out his papers on a kitchen-table, hung on the rough plaster wall an engraving of Abraham Lincoln and a calendar with \"Thoughts from the Poets,\" and tried, with these meagre properties, to produce some likeness to the study of a \"minister\" who had been kind to him and lent him books when he was at Worcester. He still took refuge there in summer, but when Mattie came to live at the farm he had to give her his stove, and consequently the room was uninhabitable for several months of the year.\nTo this retreat he descended as soon as the house was quiet, and Zeena's steady breathing from the bed had assured him that there was to be no sequel to the scene in the kitchen. After Zeena's departure he and Mattie had stood speechless, neither seeking to approach the other. Then the girl had returned to her task of clearing up the kitchen for the night and he had taken his lantern and gone on his usual round outside the house. The kitchen was empty when he came back to it; but his tobacco-pouch and pipe had been laid on the table, and under them was a scrap of paper torn from the back of a seedsman's catalogue, on which three words were written: \"Don't trouble, Ethan.\"\nGoing into his cold dark \"study\" he placed the lantern on the table and, stooping to its light, read the message again and again. It was the first time that Mattie had ever written to him, and the possession of the paper gave him a strange new sense of her nearness; yet it deepened his anguish by reminding him that henceforth they would have no other way of communicating with each other. For the life of her smile, the warmth of her voice, only cold paper and dead words!\nConfused motions of rebellion stormed in him. He was too young, too strong, too full of the sap of living, to submit so easily to the destruction of his hopes. Must he wear out all his years at the side of a bitter querulous woman? Other possibilities had been in him, possibilities sacrificed, one by one, to Zeena's narrow-mindedness and ignorance. And what good had come of it? She was a hundred times bitterer and more discontented than when he had married her: the one pleasure left her was to inflict pain on him. All the healthy instincts of self-defence rose up in him against such waste....\nHe bundled himself into his old coon-skin coat and lay down on the box-sofa to think. Under his cheek he felt a hard object with strange protuberances. It was a cushion which Zeena had made for him when they were engaged—the only piece of needlework he had ever seen her do. He flung it across the floor and propped his head against the wall....\nHe knew a case of a man over the mountain—a young fellow of about his own age—who had escaped from just such a life of misery by going West with the girl he cared for. His wife had divorced him, and he had married the girl and prospered. Ethan had seen the couple the summer before at Shadd's Falls, where they had come to visit relatives. They had a little girl with fair curls, who wore a gold locket and was dressed like a princess. The deserted wife had not done badly either. Her husband had given her the farm and she had managed to sell it, and with that and the alimony she had started a lunch-room at Bettsbridge and bloomed into activity and importance. Ethan was fired by the thought. Why should he not leave with Mattie the next day, instead of letting her go alone? He would hide his valise under the seat of the sleigh, and Zeena would suspect nothing till she went upstairs for her afternoon nap and found a letter on the bed....\nHis impulses were still near the surface, and he sprang up, re-lit the lantern, and sat down at the table. He rummaged in the drawer for a sheet of paper, found one, and began to write.\n\"Zeena, I've done all I could for you, and I don't see as it's been any use. I don't blame you, nor I don't blame myself. Maybe both of us will do better separate. I'm going to try my luck West, and you can sell the farm and mill, and keep the money—\"\nHis pen paused on the word, which brought home to him the relentless conditions of his lot. If he gave the farm and mill to Zeena what would be left him to start his own life with? Once in the West he was sure of picking up work—he would not have feared to try his chance alone. But with Mattie depending on him the case was different. And what of Zeena's fate? Farm and mill were mortgaged to the limit of their value, and even if she found a purchaser—in itself an unlikely chance—it was doubtful if she could clear a thousand dollars on the sale. Meanwhile, how could she keep the farm going? It was only by incessant labour and personal supervision that Ethan drew a meagre living from his land, and his wife, even if she were in better health than she imagined, could never carry such a burden alone.\nWell, she could go back to her people, then, and see what they would do for her. It was the fate she was forcing on Mattie—why not let her try it herself? By the time she had discovered his whereabouts, and brought suit for divorce, he would probably—wherever he was—be earning enough to pay her a sufficient alimony. And the alternative was to let Mattie go forth alone, with far less hope of ultimate provision....\nHe had scattered the contents of the table-drawer in his search for a sheet of paper, and as he took up his pen his eye fell on an old copy of the Bettsbridge Eagle. The advertising sheet was folded uppermost, and he read the seductive words: \"Trips to the West: Reduced Rates.\"\nHe drew the lantern nearer and eagerly scanned the fares; then the paper fell from his hand and he pushed aside his unfinished letter. A moment ago he had wondered what he and Mattie were to live on when they reached the West; now he saw that he had not even the money to take her there. Borrowing was out of the question: six months before he had given his only security to raise funds for necessary repairs to the mill, and he knew that without security no one at Starkfield would lend him ten dollars. The inexorable facts closed in on him like prison-warders handcuffing a convict. There was no way out—none. He was a prisoner for life, and now his one ray of light was to be extinguished.\nHe crept back heavily to the sofa, stretching himself out with limbs so leaden that he felt as if they would never move again. Tears rose in his throat and slowly burned their way to his lids.\nAs he lay there, the window-pane that faced him, growing gradually lighter, inlaid upon the darkness a square of moon-suffused sky. A crooked tree-branch crossed it, a branch of the apple-tree under which, on summer evenings, he had sometimes found Mattie sitting when he came up from the mill. Slowly the rim of the rainy vapours caught fire and burnt away, and a pure moon swung into the blue. Ethan, rising on his elbow, watched the landscape whiten and shape itself under the sculpture of the moon. This was the night on which he was to have taken Mattie coasting, and there hung the lamp to light them! He looked out at the slopes bathed in lustre, the silver-edged darkness of the woods, the spectral purple of the hills against the sky, and it seemed as though all the beauty of the night had been poured out to mock his wretchedness....", "chosen": "60", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n60\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-4517-009-00-7e2a952e", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nGrigory and Smerdyakov ran into the room after Dmitri. They had been struggling with him in the passage, refusing to admit him, acting on instructions given them by Fyodor Pavlovitch some days before. Taking advantage of the fact that Dmitri stopped a moment on entering the room to look about him, Grigory ran round the table, closed the double doors on the opposite side of the room leading to the inner apartments, and stood before the closed doors, stretching wide his arms, prepared to defend the entrance, so to speak, with the last drop of his blood. Seeing this, Dmitri uttered a scream rather than a shout and rushed at Grigory.\n\"Then she's there! She's hidden there! Out of the way, scoundrel!\"\nHe tried to pull Grigory away, but the old servant pushed him back. Beside himself with fury, Dmitri struck out, and hit Grigory with all his might. The old man fell like a log, and Dmitri, leaping over him, broke in the door. Smerdyakov remained pale and trembling at the other end of the room, huddling close to Fyodor Pavlovitch.\n\"She's here!\" shouted Dmitri. \"I saw her turn towards the house just now, but I couldn't catch her. Where is she? Where is she?\"\nThat shout, \"She's here!\" produced an indescribable effect on Fyodor Pavlovitch. All his terror left him.\n\"Hold him! Hold him!\" he cried, and dashed after Dmitri. Meanwhile Grigory had got up from the floor, but still seemed stunned. Ivan and Alyosha ran after their father. In the third room something was heard to fall on the floor with a ringing crash: it was a large glass vase—not an expensive one—on a marble pedestal which Dmitri had upset as he ran past it.\n\"At him!\" shouted the old man. \"Help!\"\nIvan and Alyosha caught the old man and were forcibly bringing him back.\n\"Why do you run after him? He'll murder you outright,\" Ivan cried wrathfully at his father.\n\"Ivan! Alyosha! She must be here. Grushenka's here. He said he saw her himself, running.\"\nHe was choking. He was not expecting Grushenka at the time, and the sudden news that she was here made him beside himself. He was trembling all over. He seemed frantic.\n\"But you've seen for yourself that she hasn't come,\" cried Ivan.\n\"But she may have come by that other entrance.\"\n\"You know that entrance is locked, and you have the key.\"\nDmitri suddenly reappeared in the drawing-room. He had, of course, found the other entrance locked, and the key actually was in Fyodor Pavlovitch's pocket. The windows of all the rooms were also closed, so Grushenka could not have come in anywhere nor have run out anywhere.\n\"Hold him!\" shrieked Fyodor Pavlovitch, as soon as he saw him again. \"He's been stealing money in my bedroom.\" And tearing himself from Ivan he rushed again at Dmitri. But Dmitri threw up both hands and suddenly clutched the old man by the two tufts of hair that remained on his temples, tugged at them, and flung him with a crash on the floor. He kicked him two or three times with his heel in the face. The old man moaned shrilly. Ivan, though not so strong as Dmitri, threw his arms round him, and with all his might pulled him away. Alyosha helped him with his slender strength, holding Dmitri in front.\n\"Madman! You've killed him!\" cried Ivan.\n\"Serve him right!\" shouted Dmitri breathlessly. \"If I haven't killed him, I'll come again and kill him. You can't protect him!\"\n\"Dmitri! Go away at once!\" cried Alyosha commandingly.\n\"Alexey! You tell me. It's only you I can believe; was she here just now, or not? I saw her myself creeping this way by the fence from the lane. I shouted, she ran away.\"\n\"I swear she's not been here, and no one expected her.\"\n\"But I saw her.... So she must ... I'll find out at once where she is.... Good-by, Alexey! Not a word to Æsop about the money now. But go to Katerina Ivanovna at once and be sure to say, 'He sends his compliments to you!' Compliments, his compliments! Just compliments and farewell! Describe the scene to her.\"\nMeanwhile Ivan and Grigory had raised the old man and seated him in an arm-chair. His face was covered with blood, but he was conscious and listened greedily to Dmitri's cries. He was still fancying that Grushenka really was somewhere in the house. Dmitri looked at him with hatred as he went out.\n\"I don't repent shedding your blood!\" he cried. \"Beware, old man, beware of your dream, for I have my dream, too. I curse you, and disown you altogether.\"\nHe ran out of the room.\n\"She's here. She must be here. Smerdyakov! Smerdyakov!\" the old man wheezed, scarcely audibly, beckoning to him with his finger.\n\"No, she's not here, you old lunatic!\" Ivan shouted at him angrily. \"Here, he's fainting! Water! A towel! Make haste, Smerdyakov!\"\nSmerdyakov ran for water. At last they got the old man undressed, and put him to bed. They wrapped a wet towel round his head. Exhausted by the brandy, by his violent emotion, and the blows he had received, he shut his eyes and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Ivan and Alyosha went back to the drawing-room. Smerdyakov removed the fragments of the broken vase, while Grigory stood by the table looking gloomily at the floor.\n\"Shouldn't you put a wet bandage on your head and go to bed, too?\" Alyosha said to him. \"We'll look after him. My brother gave you a terrible blow—on the head.\"\n\"He's insulted me!\" Grigory articulated gloomily and distinctly.\n\"He's 'insulted' his father, not only you,\" observed Ivan with a forced smile.\n\"I used to wash him in his tub. He's insulted me,\" repeated Grigory.\n\"Damn it all, if I hadn't pulled him away perhaps he'd have murdered him. It wouldn't take much to do for Æsop, would it?\" whispered Ivan to Alyosha.\n\"God forbid!\" cried Alyosha.\n\"Why should He forbid?\" Ivan went on in the same whisper, with a malignant grimace. \"One reptile will devour the other. And serve them both right, too.\"\nAlyosha shuddered.\n\"Of course I won't let him be murdered as I didn't just now. Stay here, Alyosha, I'll go for a turn in the yard. My head's begun to ache.\"\nAlyosha went to his father's bedroom and sat by his bedside behind the screen for about an hour. The old man suddenly opened his eyes and gazed for a long while at Alyosha, evidently remembering and meditating. All at once his face betrayed extraordinary excitement.\n\"Alyosha,\" he whispered apprehensively, \"where's Ivan?\"\n\"In the yard. He's got a headache. He's on the watch.\"\n\"Give me that looking-glass. It stands over there. Give it me.\"\nAlyosha gave him a little round folding looking-glass which stood on the chest of drawers. The old man looked at himself in it; his nose was considerably swollen, and on the left side of his forehead there was a rather large crimson bruise.\n\"What does Ivan say? Alyosha, my dear, my only son, I'm afraid of Ivan. I'm more afraid of Ivan than the other. You're the only one I'm not afraid of....\"\n\"Don't be afraid of Ivan either. He is angry, but he'll defend you.\"\n\"Alyosha, and what of the other? He's run to Grushenka. My angel, tell me the truth, was she here just now or not?\"\n\"No one has seen her. It was a mistake. She has not been here.\"\n\"You know Mitya wants to marry her, to marry her.\"\n\"She won't marry him.\"\n\"She won't. She won't. She won't. She won't on any account!\"\nThe old man fairly fluttered with joy, as though nothing more comforting could have been said to him. In his delight he seized Alyosha's hand and pressed it warmly to his heart. Tears positively glittered in his eyes.\n\"That image of the Mother of God of which I was telling you just now,\" he said. \"Take it home and keep it for yourself. And I'll let you go back to the monastery.... I was joking this morning, don't be angry with me. My head aches, Alyosha.... Alyosha, comfort my heart. Be an angel and tell me the truth!\"\n\"You're still asking whether she has been here or not?\" Alyosha said sorrowfully.", "chosen": "Taking advantage of the fact that Dmitri stopped a moment on entering the room to look about him, Grigory ran round the table, closed the double doors on the opposite side of the room leading to the inner apartments, and stood before the closed doors, stretching wide his arms, prepared to defend the entrance, so to speak, with the last drop of his blood.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nTaking advantage of the fact that Dmitri stopped a moment on entering the room to look about him, Grigory ran round the table, closed the double doors on the opposite side of the room leading to the inner apartments, and stood before the closed doors, stretching wide his arms, prepared to defend the entrance, so to speak, with the last drop of his blood.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-022-00-39ec2588", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing's ten days old. I forgot it in my pocket, I suppose.\"\nBut he did not throw the old thing away. Before returning it to his pocket he stole a glance at the last lines of a paragraph. They ran thus: \"An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever over this act of madness or despair.\"\nSuch were the end words of an item of news headed: \"Suicide of Lady Passenger from a cross-Channel Boat.\" Comrade Ossipon was familiar with the beauties of its journalistic style. \"An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever. . . . \" He knew every word by heart. \"An impenetrable mystery. . . . \"\nAnd the robust anarchist, hanging his head on his breast, fell into a long reverie.\nHe was menaced by this thing in the very sources of his existence. He could not issue forth to meet his various conquests, those that he courted on benches in Kensington Gardens, and those he met near area railings, without the dread of beginning to talk to them of an impenetrable mystery destined. . . . He was becoming scientifically afraid of insanity lying in wait for him amongst these lines. \"To hang for ever over.\" It was an obsession, a torture. He had lately failed to keep several of these appointments, whose note used to be an unbounded trustfulness in the language of sentiment and manly tenderness. The confiding disposition of various classes of women satisfied the needs of his self-love, and put some material means into his hand. He needed it to live. It was there. But if he could no longer make use of it, he ran the risk of starving his ideals and his body . . . \"This act of madness or despair.\"\n\"An impenetrable mystery\" was sure \"to hang for ever\" as far as all mankind was concerned. But what of that if he alone of all men could never get rid of the cursed knowledge? And Comrade Ossipon's knowledge was as precise as the newspaper man could make it—up to the very threshold of the \"mystery destined to hang for ever. . . .\"\nComrade Ossipon was well informed. He knew what the gangway man of the steamer had seen: \"A lady in a black dress and a black veil, wandering at midnight alongside, on the quay. 'Are you going by the boat, ma'am,' he had asked her encouragingly. 'This way.' She seemed not to know what to do. He helped her on board. She seemed weak.\"\nAnd he knew also what the stewardess had seen: A lady in black with a white face standing in the middle of the empty ladies' cabin. The stewardess induced her to lie down there. The lady seemed quite unwilling to speak, and as if she were in some awful trouble. The next the stewardess knew she was gone from the ladies' cabin. The stewardess then went on deck to look for her, and Comrade Ossipon was informed that the good woman found the unhappy lady lying down in one of the hooded seats. Her eyes were open, but she would not answer anything that was said to her. She seemed very ill. The stewardess fetched the chief steward, and those two people stood by the side of the hooded seat consulting over their extraordinary and tragic passenger. They talked in audible whispers (for she seemed past hearing) of St Malo and the Consul there, of communicating with her people in England. Then they went away to arrange for her removal down below, for indeed by what they could see of her face she seemed to them to be dying. But Comrade Ossipon knew that behind that white mask of despair there was struggling against terror and despair a vigour of vitality, a love of life that could resist the furious anguish which drives to murder and the fear, the blind, mad fear of the gallows. He knew. But the stewardess and the chief steward knew nothing, except that when they came back for her in less than five minutes the lady in black was no longer in the hooded seat. She was nowhere. She was gone. It was then five o'clock in the morning, and it was no accident either. An hour afterwards one of the steamer's hands found a wedding ring left lying on the seat. It had stuck to the wood in a bit of wet, and its glitter caught the man's eye. There was a date, 24th June 1879, engraved inside. \"An impenetrable mystery is destined to hang for ever. . . . \"\nAnd Comrade Ossipon raised his bowed head, beloved of various humble women of these isles, Apollo-like in the sunniness of its bush of hair.\nThe Professor had grown restless meantime. He rose.\n\"Stay,\" said Ossipon hurriedly. \"Here, what do you know of madness and despair?\"\nThe Professor passed the tip of his tongue on his dry, thin lips, and said doctorally:\n\"There are no such things. All passion is lost now. The world is mediocre, limp, without force. And madness and despair are a force. And force is a crime in the eyes of the fools, the weak and the silly who rule the roost. You are mediocre. Verloc, whose affair the police has managed to smother so nicely, was mediocre. And the police murdered him. He was mediocre. Everybody is mediocre. Madness and despair! Give me that for a lever, and I'll move the world. Ossipon, you have my cordial scorn. You are incapable of conceiving even what the fat-fed citizen would call a crime. You have no force.\" He paused, smiling sardonically under the fierce glitter of his thick glasses.\n\"And let me tell you that this little legacy they say you've come into has not improved your intelligence. You sit at your beer like a dummy. Good-bye.\"\n\"Will you have it?\" said Ossipon, looking up with an idiotic grin.\n\"Have what?\"\n\"The legacy. All of it.\"\nThe incorruptible Professor only smiled. His clothes were all but falling off him, his boots, shapeless with repairs, heavy like lead, let water in at every step. He said:\n\"I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain chemicals which I shall order to-morrow. I need them badly. Understood—eh?\"\nOssipon lowered his head slowly. He was alone. \"An impenetrable mystery. . . . \" It seemed to him that suspended in the air before him he saw his own brain pulsating to the rhythm of an impenetrable mystery. It was diseased clearly. . . . \"This act of madness or despair.\"\nThe mechanical piano near the door played through a valse cheekily, then fell silent all at once, as if gone grumpy.\nComrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, went out of the Silenus beer-hall. At the door he hesitated, blinking at a not too splendid sunlight—and the paper with the report of the suicide of a lady was in his pocket. His heart was beating against it. The suicide of a lady—this act of madness or despair.\nHe walked along the street without looking where he put his feet; and he walked in a direction which would not bring him to the place of appointment with another lady (an elderly nursery governess putting her trust in an Apollo-like ambrosial head). He was walking away from it. He could face no woman. It was ruin. He could neither think, work, sleep, nor eat. But he was beginning to drink with pleasure, with anticipation, with hope. It was ruin. His revolutionary career, sustained by the sentiment and trustfulness of many women, was menaced by an impenetrable mystery—the mystery of a human brain pulsating wrongfully to the rhythm of journalistic phrases. \" . . . Will hang for ever over this act. . . . It was inclining towards the gutter . . . of madness or despair.\"", "chosen": "[\"Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing's ten days old. I forgot it in my pocket, I suppose.\", \"An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever over this act of madness or despair.\", \"Suicide of Lady Passenger from a cross-Channel Boat.\", \"An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever. . . . \", \"An impenetrable mystery. . . . \", \"To hang for ever over.\", \"This act of madness or despair.\", \"An impenetrable mystery\", \"to hang for ever\", \"mystery destined to hang for ever. . . .\", \"An impenetrable mystery is destined to hang for ever. . . . \", \"Stay,\", \"Here, what do you know of madness and despair?\", \" He paused, smiling sardonically under the fierce glitter of his thick glasses.\\n\", \"Will you have it?\", \"Have what?\", \"The legacy. All of it.\", \"I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain chemicals which I shall order to-morrow. I need them badly. Understood\\u2014eh?\", \"An impenetrable mystery. . . . \", \"This act of madness or despair.\", \" . . . Will hang for ever over this act. . . . It was inclining towards the gutter . . . of madness or despair.\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing's ten days old. I forgot it in my pocket, I suppose.\", \"An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever over this act of madness or despair.\", \"Suicide of Lady Passenger from a cross-Channel Boat.\", \"An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever. . . . \", \"An impenetrable mystery. . . . \", \"To hang for ever over.\", \"This act of madness or despair.\", \"An impenetrable mystery\", \"to hang for ever\", \"mystery destined to hang for ever. . . .\", \"An impenetrable mystery is destined to hang for ever. . . . \", \"Stay,\", \"Here, what do you know of madness and despair?\", \" He paused, smiling sardonically under the fierce glitter of his thick glasses.\\n\", \"Will you have it?\", \"Have what?\", \"The legacy. All of it.\", \"I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain chemicals which I shall order to-morrow. I need them badly. Understood\\u2014eh?\", \"An impenetrable mystery. . . . \", \"This act of madness or despair.\", \" . . . Will hang for ever over this act. . . . It was inclining towards the gutter . . . of madness or despair.\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-974-007-01-7cd81f9c", "source": "pg-974", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Love was in the next degree.\"\nKnight had none of those light familiarities of speech which, by judicious touches of epigrammatic flattery, obliterate a woman's recollection of the speaker's abstract opinions. So no more was said by either on the subject of hair, eyes, or development. Elfride's mind had been impregnated with sentiments of her own smallness to an uncomfortable degree of distinctness, and her discomfort was visible in her face. The whole tendency of the conversation latterly had been to quietly but surely disparage her; and she was fain to take Stephen into favour in self-defence. He would not have been so unloving, she said, as to admire an idiosyncrasy and features different from her own. True, Stephen had declared he loved her: Mr. Knight had never done anything of the sort. Somehow this did not mend matters, and the sensation of her smallness in Knight's eyes still remained. Had the position been reversed—had Stephen loved her in spite of a differing taste, and had Knight been indifferent in spite of her resemblance to his ideal, it would have engendered far happier thoughts. As matters stood, Stephen's admiration might have its root in a blindness the result of passion. Perhaps any keen man's judgment was condemnatory of her.\nDuring the remainder of Saturday they were more or less thrown with their seniors, and no conversation arose which was exclusively their own. When Elfride was in bed that night her thoughts recurred to the same subject. At one moment she insisted that it was ill-natured of him to speak so decisively as he had done; the next, that it was sterling honesty.\n\"Ah, what a poor nobody I am!\" she said, sighing. \"People like him, who go about the great world, don't care in the least what I am like either in mood or feature.\"\nPerhaps a man who has got thoroughly into a woman's mind in this manner, is half way to her heart; the distance between those two stations is proverbially short.\n\"And are you really going away this week?\" said Mrs. Swancourt to Knight on the following evening, which was Sunday.\nThey were all leisurely climbing the hill to the church, where a last service was now to be held at the rather exceptional time of evening instead of in the afternoon, previous to the demolition of the ruinous portions.\n\"I am intending to cross to Cork from Bristol,\" returned Knight; \"and then I go on to Dublin.\"\n\"Return this way, and stay a little longer with us,\" said the vicar. \"A week is nothing. We have hardly been able to realize your presence yet. I remember a story which——\"\nThe vicar suddenly stopped. He had forgotten it was Sunday, and would probably have gone on in his week-day mode of thought had not a turn in the breeze blown the skirt of his college gown within the range of his vision, and so reminded him. He at once diverted the current of his narrative with the dexterity the occasion demanded.\n\"The story of the Levite who journeyed to Bethlehem-judah, from which I took my text the Sunday before last, is quite to the point,\" he continued, with the pronunciation of a man who, far from having intended to tell a week-day story a moment earlier, had thought of nothing but Sabbath matters for several weeks. \"What did he gain after all by his restlessness? Had he remained in the city of the Jebusites, and not been so anxious for Gibeah, none of his troubles would have arisen.\"\n\"But he had wasted five days already,\" said Knight, closing his eyes to the vicar's commendable diversion. \"His fault lay in beginning the tarrying system originally.\"\n\"True, true; my illustration fails.\"\n\"But not the hospitality which prompted the story.\"\n\"So you are to come just the same,\" urged Mrs. Swancourt, for she had seen an almost imperceptible fall of countenance in her stepdaughter at Knight's announcement.\nKnight half promised to call on his return journey; but the uncertainty with which he spoke was quite enough to fill Elfride with a regretful interest in all he did during the few remaining hours. The curate having already officiated twice that day in the two churches, Mr. Swancourt had undertaken the whole of the evening service, and Knight read the lessons for him. The sun streamed across from the dilapidated west window, and lighted all the assembled worshippers with a golden glow, Knight as he read being illuminated by the same mellow lustre. Elfride at the organ regarded him with a throbbing sadness of mood which was fed by a sense of being far removed from his sphere. As he went deliberately through the chapter appointed—a portion of the history of Elijah—and ascended that magnificent climax of the wind, the earthquake, the fire, and the still small voice, his deep tones echoed past with such apparent disregard of her existence, that his presence inspired her with a forlorn sense of unapproachableness, which his absence would hardly have been able to cause.\nAt the same time, turning her face for a moment to catch the glory of the dying sun as it fell on his form, her eyes were arrested by the shape and aspect of a woman in the west gallery. It was the bleak barren countenance of the widow Jethway, whom Elfride had not seen much of since the morning of her return with Stephen Smith. Possessing the smallest of competencies, this unhappy woman appeared to spend her life in journeyings between Endelstow Churchyard and that of a village near Southampton, where her father and mother were laid.\nShe had not attended the service here for a considerable time, and she now seemed to have a reason for her choice of seat. From the gallery window the tomb of her son was plainly visible—standing as the nearest object in a prospect which was closed outwardly by the changeless horizon of the sea.\nThe streaming rays, too, flooded her face, now bent towards Elfride with a hard and bitter expression that the solemnity of the place raised to a tragic dignity it did not intrinsically possess. The girl resumed her normal attitude with an added disquiet.\nElfride's emotion was cumulative, and after a while would assert itself on a sudden. A slight touch was enough to set it free—a poem, a sunset, a cunningly contrived chord of music, a vague imagining, being the usual accidents of its exhibition. The longing for Knight's respect, which was leading up to an incipient yearning for his love, made the present conjuncture a sufficient one. Whilst kneeling down previous to leaving, when the sunny streaks had gone upward to the roof, and the lower part of the church was in soft shadow, she could not help thinking of Coleridge's morbid poem \"The Three Graves,\" and shuddering as she wondered if Mrs. Jethway were cursing her, she wept as if her heart would break.\nThey came out of church just as the sun went down, leaving the landscape like a platform from which an eloquent speaker has retired, and nothing remains for the audience to do but to rise and go home. Mr. and Mrs. Swancourt went off in the carriage, Knight and Elfride preferring to walk, as the skilful old matchmaker had imagined. They descended the hill together.\n\"I liked your reading, Mr. Knight,\" Elfride presently found herself saying. \"You read better than papa.\"\n\"I will praise anybody that will praise me. You played excellently, Miss Swancourt, and very correctly.\"\n\"Correctly—yes.\"\n\"It must be a great pleasure to you to take an active part in the service.\"\n\"I want to be able to play with more feeling. But I have not a good selection of music, sacred or secular. I wish I had a nice little music-library—well chosen, and that the only new pieces sent me were those of genuine merit.\"\n\"I am glad to hear such a wish from you. It is extraordinary how many women have no honest love of music as an end and not as a means, even leaving out those who have nothing in them. They mostly like it for its accessories. I have never met a woman who loves music as do ten or a dozen men I know.\"\n\"How would you draw the line between women with something and women with nothing in them?\"", "chosen": "them", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nthem\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-018-00-7e0f7bdc", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nThe court was packed and overflowing long before the judges made their appearance. Our court is the best hall in the town—spacious, lofty, and good for sound. On the right of the judges, who were on a raised platform, a table and two rows of chairs had been put ready for the jury. On the left was the place for the prisoner and the counsel for the defense. In the middle of the court, near the judges, was a table with the \"material proofs.\" On it lay Fyodor Pavlovitch's white silk dressing-gown, stained with blood; the fatal brass pestle with which the supposed murder had been committed; Mitya's shirt, with a blood-stained sleeve; his coat, stained with blood in patches over the pocket in which he had put his handkerchief; the handkerchief itself, stiff with blood and by now quite yellow; the pistol loaded by Mitya at Perhotin's with a view to suicide, and taken from him on the sly at Mokroe by Trifon Borissovitch; the envelope in which the three thousand roubles had been put ready for Grushenka, the narrow pink ribbon with which it had been tied, and many other articles I don't remember. In the body of the hall, at some distance, came the seats for the public. But in front of the balustrade a few chairs had been placed for witnesses who remained in the court after giving their evidence.\nAt ten o'clock the three judges arrived—the President, one honorary justice of the peace, and one other. The prosecutor, of course, entered immediately after. The President was a short, stout, thick-set man of fifty, with a dyspeptic complexion, dark hair turning gray and cut short, and a red ribbon, of what Order I don't remember. The prosecutor struck me and the others, too, as looking particularly pale, almost green. His face seemed to have grown suddenly thinner, perhaps in a single night, for I had seen him looking as usual only two days before. The President began with asking the court whether all the jury were present.\nBut I see I can't go on like this, partly because some things I did not hear, others I did not notice, and others I have forgotten, but most of all because, as I have said before, I have literally no time or space to mention everything that was said and done. I only know that neither side objected to very many of the jurymen. I remember the twelve jurymen—four were petty officials of the town, two were merchants, and six peasants and artisans of the town. I remember, long before the trial, questions were continually asked with some surprise, especially by ladies: \"Can such a delicate, complex and psychological case be submitted for decision to petty officials and even peasants?\" and \"What can an official, still more a peasant, understand in such an affair?\" All the four officials in the jury were, in fact, men of no consequence and of low rank. Except one who was rather younger, they were gray-headed men, little known in society, who had vegetated on a pitiful salary, and who probably had elderly, unpresentable wives and crowds of children, perhaps even without shoes and stockings. At most, they spent their leisure over cards and, of course, had never read a single book. The two merchants looked respectable, but were strangely silent and stolid. One of them was close-shaven, and was dressed in European style; the other had a small, gray beard, and wore a red ribbon with some sort of a medal upon it on his neck. There is no need to speak of the artisans and the peasants. The artisans of Skotoprigonyevsk are almost peasants, and even work on the land. Two of them also wore European dress, and, perhaps for that reason, were dirtier and more uninviting-looking than the others. So that one might well wonder, as I did as soon as I had looked at them, \"what men like that could possibly make of such a case?\" Yet their faces made a strangely imposing, almost menacing, impression; they were stern and frowning.\nAt last the President opened the case of the murder of Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov. I don't quite remember how he described him. The court usher was told to bring in the prisoner, and Mitya made his appearance. There was a hush through the court. One could have heard a fly. I don't know how it was with others, but Mitya made a most unfavorable impression on me. He looked an awful dandy in a brand-new frock-coat. I heard afterwards that he had ordered it in Moscow expressly for the occasion from his own tailor, who had his measure. He wore immaculate black kid gloves and exquisite linen. He walked in with his yard-long strides, looking stiffly straight in front of him, and sat down in his place with a most unperturbed air.\nAt the same moment the counsel for defense, the celebrated Fetyukovitch, entered, and a sort of subdued hum passed through the court. He was a tall, spare man, with long thin legs, with extremely long, thin, pale fingers, clean-shaven face, demurely brushed, rather short hair, and thin lips that were at times curved into something between a sneer and a smile. He looked about forty. His face would have been pleasant, if it had not been for his eyes, which, in themselves small and inexpressive, were set remarkably close together, with only the thin, long nose as a dividing line between them. In fact, there was something strikingly birdlike about his face. He was in evening dress and white tie.\nI remember the President's first questions to Mitya, about his name, his calling, and so on. Mitya answered sharply, and his voice was so unexpectedly loud that it made the President start and look at the prisoner with surprise. Then followed a list of persons who were to take part in the proceedings—that is, of the witnesses and experts. It was a long list. Four of the witnesses were not present—Miüsov, who had given evidence at the preliminary inquiry, but was now in Paris; Madame Hohlakov and Maximov, who were absent through illness; and Smerdyakov, through his sudden death, of which an official statement from the police was presented. The news of Smerdyakov's death produced a sudden stir and whisper in the court. Many of the audience, of course, had not heard of the sudden suicide. What struck people most was Mitya's sudden outburst. As soon as the statement of Smerdyakov's death was made, he cried out aloud from his place:\n\"He was a dog and died like a dog!\"\nI remember how his counsel rushed to him, and how the President addressed him, threatening to take stern measures, if such an irregularity were repeated. Mitya nodded and in a subdued voice repeated several times abruptly to his counsel, with no show of regret:\n\"I won't again, I won't. It escaped me. I won't do it again.\"\nAnd, of course, this brief episode did him no good with the jury or the public. His character was displayed, and it spoke for itself. It was under the influence of this incident that the opening statement was read. It was rather short, but circumstantial. It only stated the chief reasons why he had been arrested, why he must be tried, and so on. Yet it made a great impression on me. The clerk read it loudly and distinctly. The whole tragedy was suddenly unfolded before us, concentrated, in bold relief, in a fatal and pitiless light. I remember how, immediately after it had been read, the President asked Mitya in a loud impressive voice:\n\"Prisoner, do you plead guilty?\"\nMitya suddenly rose from his seat.\n\"I plead guilty to drunkenness and dissipation,\" he exclaimed, again in a startling, almost frenzied, voice, \"to idleness and debauchery. I meant to become an honest man for good, just at the moment when I was struck down by fate. But I am not guilty of the death of that old man, my enemy and my father. No, no, I am not guilty of robbing him! I could not be. Dmitri Karamazov is a scoundrel, but not a thief.\"", "chosen": "[\"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Mitya\", \"Perhotin\", \"Mokroe\", \"Trifon\", \"Borissovitch\", \"Grushenka\", \"President\", \"Order\", \"Can\", \"All\", \"European\", \"Skotoprigonyevsk\", \"Yet\", \"Karamazov\", \"Moscow\", \"Fetyukovitch\", \"Paris\", \"Madame\", \"Hohlakov\", \"Maximov\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Prisoner\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Mitya\", \"Perhotin\", \"Mokroe\", \"Trifon\", \"Borissovitch\", \"Grushenka\", \"President\", \"Order\", \"Can\", \"All\", \"European\", \"Skotoprigonyevsk\", \"Yet\", \"Karamazov\", \"Moscow\", \"Fetyukovitch\", \"Paris\", \"Madame\", \"Hohlakov\", \"Maximov\", \"Smerdyakov\", \"Prisoner\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-078-01-8cea6863", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"I have saved him.\" It was not another of the dreams in which he had often come back; he was really here. And yet his wife trembled, and a vague but heavy fear was upon her.\nAll the air round was so thick and dark, the people were so passionately revengeful and fitful, the innocent were so constantly put to death on vague suspicion and black malice, it was so impossible to forget that many as blameless as her husband and as dear to others as he was to her, every day shared the fate from which he had been clutched, that her heart could not be as lightened of its load as she felt it ought to be. The shadows of the wintry afternoon were beginning to fall, and even now the dreadful carts were rolling through the streets. Her mind pursued them, looking for him among the Condemned; and then she clung closer to his real presence and trembled more.\nHer father, cheering her, showed a compassionate superiority to this woman's weakness, which was wonderful to see. No garret, no shoemaking, no One Hundred and Five, North Tower, now! He had accomplished the task he had set himself, his promise was redeemed, he had saved Charles. Let them all lean upon him.\nTheir housekeeping was of a very frugal kind: not only because that was the safest way of life, involving the least offence to the people, but because they were not rich, and Charles, throughout his imprisonment, had had to pay heavily for his bad food, and for his guard, and towards the living of the poorer prisoners. Partly on this account, and partly to avoid a domestic spy, they kept no servant; the citizen and citizeness who acted as porters at the courtyard gate, rendered them occasional service; and Jerry (almost wholly transferred to them by Mr. Lorry) had become their daily retainer, and had his bed there every night.\nIt was an ordinance of the Republic One and Indivisible of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, that on the door or doorpost of every house, the name of every inmate must be legibly inscribed in letters of a certain size, at a certain convenient height from the ground. Mr. Jerry Cruncher's name, therefore, duly embellished the doorpost down below; and, as the afternoon shadows deepened, the owner of that name himself appeared, from overlooking a painter whom Doctor Manette had employed to add to the list the name of Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay.\nIn the universal fear and distrust that darkened the time, all the usual harmless ways of life were changed. In the Doctor's little household, as in very many others, the articles of daily consumption that were wanted were purchased every evening, in small quantities and at various small shops. To avoid attracting notice, and to give as little occasion as possible for talk and envy, was the general desire.\nFor some months past, Miss Pross and Mr. Cruncher had discharged the office of purveyors; the former carrying the money; the latter, the basket. Every afternoon at about the time when the public lamps were lighted, they fared forth on this duty, and made and brought home such purchases as were needful. Although Miss Pross, through her long association with a French family, might have known as much of their language as of her own, if she had had a mind, she had no mind in that direction; consequently she knew no more of that \"nonsense\" (as she was pleased to call it) than Mr. Cruncher did. So her manner of marketing was to plump a noun-substantive at the head of a shopkeeper without any introduction in the nature of an article, and, if it happened not to be the name of the thing she wanted, to look round for that thing, lay hold of it, and hold on by it until the bargain was concluded. She always made a bargain for it, by holding up, as a statement of its just price, one finger less than the merchant held up, whatever his number might be.\n\"Now, Mr. Cruncher,\" said Miss Pross, whose eyes were red with felicity; \"if you are ready, I am.\"\nJerry hoarsely professed himself at Miss Pross's service. He had worn all his rust off long ago, but nothing would file his spiky head down.\n\"There's all manner of things wanted,\" said Miss Pross, \"and we shall have a precious time of it. We want wine, among the rest. Nice toasts these Redheads will be drinking, wherever we buy it.\"\n\"It will be much the same to your knowledge, miss, I should think,\" retorted Jerry, \"whether they drink your health or the Old Un's.\"\n\"Who's he?\" said Miss Pross.\nMr. Cruncher, with some diffidence, explained himself as meaning \"Old Nick's.\"\n\"Ha!\" said Miss Pross, \"it doesn't need an interpreter to explain the meaning of these creatures. They have but one, and it's Midnight Murder, and Mischief.\"\n\"Hush, dear! Pray, pray, be cautious!\" cried Lucie.\n\"Yes, yes, yes, I'll be cautious,\" said Miss Pross; \"but I may say among ourselves, that I do hope there will be no oniony and tobaccoey smotherings in the form of embracings all round, going on in the streets. Now, Ladybird, never you stir from that fire till I come back! Take care of the dear husband you have recovered, and don't move your pretty head from his shoulder as you have it now, till you see me again! May I ask a question, Doctor Manette, before I go?\"\n\"I think you may take that liberty,\" the Doctor answered, smiling.\n\"For gracious sake, don't talk about Liberty; we have quite enough of that,\" said Miss Pross.\n\"Hush, dear! Again?\" Lucie remonstrated.\n\"Well, my sweet,\" said Miss Pross, nodding her head emphatically, \"the short and the long of it is, that I am a subject of His Most Gracious Majesty King George the Third;\" Miss Pross curtseyed at the name; \"and as such, my maxim is, Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the King!\"\nMr. Cruncher, in an access of loyalty, growlingly repeated the words after Miss Pross, like somebody at church.\n\"I am glad you have so much of the Englishman in you, though I wish you had never taken that cold in your voice,\" said Miss Pross, approvingly. \"But the question, Doctor Manette. Is there\"--it was the good creature's way to affect to make light of anything that was a great anxiety with them all, and to come at it in this chance manner--\"is there any prospect yet, of our getting out of this place?\"\n\"I fear not yet. It would be dangerous for Charles yet.\"\n\"Heigh-ho-hum!\" said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing a sigh as she glanced at her darling's golden hair in the light of the fire, \"then we must have patience and wait: that's all. We must hold up our heads and fight low, as my brother Solomon used to say. Now, Mr. Cruncher!--Don't you move, Ladybird!\"\nThey went out, leaving Lucie, and her husband, her father, and the child, by a bright fire. Mr. Lorry was expected back presently from the Banking House. Miss Pross had lighted the lamp, but had put it aside in a corner, that they might enjoy the fire-light undisturbed. Little Lucie sat by her grandfather with her hands clasped through his arm: and he, in a tone not rising much above a whisper, began to tell her a story of a great and powerful Fairy who had opened a prison-wall and let out a captive who had once done the Fairy a service. All was subdued and quiet, and Lucie was more at ease than she had been.\n\"What is that?\" she cried, all at once.\n\"My dear!\" said her father, stopping in his story, and laying his hand on hers, \"command yourself. What a disordered state you are in! The least thing--nothing--startles you! You, your father's daughter!\"\n\"I thought, my father,\" said Lucie, excusing herself, with a pale face and in a faltering voice, \"that I heard strange feet upon the stairs.\"\n\"My love, the staircase is as still as Death.\"\nAs he said the word, a blow was struck upon the door.\n\"Oh father, father. What can this be! Hide Charles. Save him!\"", "chosen": "I, And, All, The, Her, Her, No, He, Let, Their, Partly, Lorry), It, Mr., Jerry, In, In, To, For, Cruncher, Every, Although, Cruncher, So, She, Now,, Cruncher,\", He, There's, We, Nice, Mr., Cruncher,, They, Pray,, Yes,, Now,, Take, May, For, Hush,, Again?\", Well,, Cruncher,, I, But, Is, It, We, Now,, Cruncher!--Don't, Mr., Lorry, Miss, Little, All, What, My, What, The, You,, Oh, What, Hide, Save", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nI, And, All, The, Her, Her, No, He, Let, Their, Partly, Lorry), It, Mr., Jerry, In, In, To, For, Cruncher, Every, Although, Cruncher, So, She, Now,, Cruncher,\", He, There's, We, Nice, Mr., Cruncher,, They, Pray,, Yes,, Now,, Take, May, For, Hush,, Again?\", Well,, Cruncher,, I, But, Is, It, We, Now,, Cruncher!--Don't, Mr., Lorry, Miss, Little, All, What, My, What, The, You,, Oh, What, Hide, Save\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-037-00-e967e049", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap.\"\nFor reasons of his own, Stephen Smith was stirring a short time after dawn the next morning. From the window of his room he could see, first, two bold escarpments sloping down together like the letter V. Towards the bottom, like liquid in a funnel, appeared the sea, gray and small. On the brow of one hill, of rather greater altitude than its neighbour, stood the church which was to be the scene of his operations. The lonely edifice was black and bare, cutting up into the sky from the very tip of the hill. It had a square mouldering tower, owning neither battlement nor pinnacle, and seemed a monolithic termination, of one substance with the ridge, rather than a structure raised thereon. Round the church ran a low wall; over-topping the wall in general level was the graveyard; not as a graveyard usually is, a fragment of landscape with its due variety of chiaro-oscuro, but a mere profile against the sky, serrated with the outlines of graves and a very few memorial stones. Not a tree could exist up there: nothing but the monotonous gray-green grass.\nFive minutes after this casual survey was made his bedroom was empty, and its occupant had vanished quietly from the house.\nAt the end of two hours he was again in the room, looking warm and glowing. He now pursued the artistic details of dressing, which on his first rising had been entirely omitted. And a very blooming boy he looked, after that mysterious morning scamper. His mouth was a triumph of its class. It was the cleanly-cut, piquantly pursed-up mouth of William Pitt, as represented in the well or little known bust by Nollekens—a mouth which is in itself a young man's fortune, if properly exercised. His round chin, where its upper part turned inward, still continued its perfect and full curve, seeming to press in to a point the bottom of his nether lip at their place of junction.\nOnce he murmured the name of Elfride. Ah, there she was! On the lawn in a plain dress, without hat or bonnet, running with a boy's velocity, superadded to a girl's lightness, after a tame rabbit she was endeavouring to capture, her strategic intonations of coaxing words alternating with desperate rushes so much out of keeping with them, that the hollowness of such expressions was but too evident to her pet, who darted and dodged in carefully timed counterpart.\nThe scene down there was altogether different from that of the hills. A thicket of shrubs and trees enclosed the favoured spot from the wilderness without; even at this time of the year the grass was luxuriant there. No wind blew inside the protecting belt of evergreens, wasting its force upon the higher and stronger trees forming the outer margin of the grove.\nThen he heard a heavy person shuffling about in slippers, and calling \"Mr. Smith!\" Smith proceeded to the study, and found Mr. Swancourt. The young man expressed his gladness to see his host downstairs.\n\"Oh yes; I knew I should soon be right again. I have not made the acquaintance of gout for more than two years, and it generally goes off the second night. Well, where have you been this morning? I saw you come in just now, I think!\"\n\"Yes; I have been for a walk.\"\n\"Start early?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Very early, I think?\"\n\"Yes, it was rather early.\"\n\"Which way did you go? To the sea, I suppose. Everybody goes seaward.\"\n\"No; I followed up the river as far as the park wall.\"\n\"You are different from your kind. Well, I suppose such a wild place is a novelty, and so tempted you out of bed?\"\n\"Not altogether a novelty. I like it.\"\nThe youth seemed averse to explanation.\n\"You must, you must; to go cock-watching the morning after a journey of fourteen or sixteen hours. But there's no accounting for tastes, and I am glad to see that yours are no meaner. After breakfast, but not before, I shall be good for a ten miles' walk, Master Smith.\"\nCertainly there seemed nothing exaggerated in that assertion. Mr. Swancourt by daylight showed himself to be a man who, in common with the other two people under his roof, had really strong claims to be considered handsome,—handsome, that is, in the sense in which the moon is bright: the ravines and valleys which, on a close inspection, are seen to diversify its surface being left out of the argument. His face was of a tint that never deepened upon his cheeks nor lightened upon his forehead, but remained uniform throughout; the usual neutral salmon-colour of a man who feeds well—not to say too well—and does not think hard; every pore being in visible working order. His tout ensemble was that of a highly improved class of farmer, dressed up in the wrong clothes; that of a firm-standing perpendicular man, whose fall would have been backwards in direction if he had ever lost his balance.\nThe vicar's background was at present what a vicar's background should be, his study. Here the consistency ends. All along the chimneypiece were ranged bottles of horse, pig, and cow medicines, and against the wall was a high table, made up of the fragments of an old oak Iychgate. Upon this stood stuffed specimens of owls, divers, and gulls, and over them bunches of wheat and barley ears, labelled with the date of the year that produced them. Some cases and shelves, more or less laden with books, the prominent titles of which were Dr. Brown's \"Notes on the Romans,\" Dr. Smith's \"Notes on the Corinthians,\" and Dr. Robinson's \"Notes on the Galatians, Ephesians, and Philippians,\" just saved the character of the place, in spite of a girl's doll's-house standing above them, a marine aquarium in the window, and Elfride's hat hanging on its corner.\n\"Business, business!\" said Mr. Swancourt after breakfast. He began to find it necessary to act the part of a fly-wheel towards the somewhat irregular forces of his visitor.\nThey prepared to go to the church; the vicar, on second thoughts, mounting his coal-black mare to avoid exerting his foot too much at starting. Stephen said he should want a man to assist him. \"Worm!\" the vicar shouted.\nA minute or two after a voice was heard round the corner of the building, mumbling, \"Ah, I used to be strong enough, but 'tis altered now! Well, there, I'm as independent as one here and there, even if they do write \"squire after their names.\"\n\"What's the matter?\" said the vicar, as William Worm appeared; when the remarks were repeated to him.\n\"Worm says some very true things sometimes,\" Mr. Swancourt said, turning to Stephen. \"Now, as regards that word 'esquire.' Why, Mr. Smith, that word 'esquire' is gone to the dogs,—used on the letters of every jackanapes who has a black coat. Anything else, Worm?\"\n\"Ay, the folk have begun frying again!\"\n\"Dear me! I'm sorry to hear that.\"\n\"Yes,\" Worm said groaningly to Stephen, \"I've got such a noise in my head that there's no living night nor day. 'Tis just for all the world like people frying fish: fry, fry, fry, all day long in my poor head, till I don't know whe'r I'm here or yonder. There, God A'mighty will find it out sooner or later, I hope, and relieve me.\"\n\"Now, my deafness,\" said Mr. Swancourt impressively, \"is a dead silence; but William Worm's is that of people frying fish in his head. Very remarkable, isn't it?\"\n\"I can hear the frying-pan a-fizzing as naterel as life,\" said Worm corroboratively.\n\"Yes, it is remarkable,\" said Mr. Smith.\n\"Very peculiar, very peculiar,\" echoed the vicar; and they all then followed the path up the hill, bounded on each side by a little stone wall, from which gleamed fragments of quartz and blood-red marbles, apparently of inestimable value, in their setting of brown alluvium. Stephen walked with the dignity of a man close to the horse's head, Worm stumbled along a stone's throw in the rear, and Elfride was nowhere in particular, yet everywhere; sometimes in front, sometimes behind, sometimes at the sides, hovering about the procession like a butterfly; not definitely engaged in travelling, yet somehow chiming in at points with the general progress.", "chosen": "70", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n70\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-224-003-00-82497f2a", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nTo return to our present trip: nothing exciting happened, and we tugged steadily on to a little below Monkey Island, where we drew up and lunched. We tackled the cold beef for lunch, and then we found that we had forgotten to bring any mustard. I don't think I ever in my life, before or since, felt I wanted mustard as badly as I felt I wanted it then. I don't care for mustard as a rule, and it is very seldom that I take it at all, but I would have given worlds for it then.\nI don't know how many worlds there may be in the universe, but anyone who had brought me a spoonful of mustard at that precise moment could have had them all. I grow reckless like that when I want a thing and can't get it.\nHarris said he would have given worlds for mustard too. It would have been a good thing for anybody who had come up to that spot with a can of mustard, then: he would have been set up in worlds for the rest of his life.\nBut there! I daresay both Harris and I would have tried to back out of the bargain after we had got the mustard. One makes these extravagant offers in moments of excitement, but, of course, when one comes to think of it, one sees how absurdly out of proportion they are with the value of the required article. I heard a man, going up a mountain in Switzerland, once say he would give worlds for a glass of beer, and, when he came to a little shanty where they kept it, he kicked up a most fearful row because they charged him five francs for a bottle of Bass. He said it was a scandalous imposition, and he wrote to the Times about it.\nIt cast a gloom over the boat, there being no mustard. We ate our beef in silence. Existence seemed hollow and uninteresting. We thought of the happy days of childhood, and sighed. We brightened up a bit, however, over the apple-tart, and, when George drew out a tin of pine-apple from the bottom of the hamper, and rolled it into the middle of the boat, we felt that life was worth living after all.\nWe are very fond of pine-apple, all three of us. We looked at the picture on the tin; we thought of the juice. We smiled at one another, and Harris got a spoon ready.\nThen we looked for the knife to open the tin with. We turned out everything in the hamper. We turned out the bags. We pulled up the boards at the bottom of the boat. We took everything out on to the bank and shook it. There was no tin-opener to be found.\nThen Harris tried to open the tin with a pocket-knife, and broke the knife and cut himself badly; and George tried a pair of scissors, and the scissors flew up, and nearly put his eye out. While they were dressing their wounds, I tried to make a hole in the thing with the spiky end of the hitcher, and the hitcher slipped and jerked me out between the boat and the bank into two feet of muddy water, and the tin rolled over, uninjured, and broke a teacup.\nThen we all got mad. We took that tin out on the bank, and Harris went up into a field and got a big sharp stone, and I went back into the boat and brought out the mast, and George held the tin and Harris held the sharp end of his stone against the top of it, and I took the mast and poised it high up in the air, and gathered up all my strength and brought it down.\nIt was George's straw hat that saved his life that day. He keeps that hat now (what is left of it), and, of a winter's evening, when the pipes are lit and the boys are telling stretchers about the dangers they have passed through, George brings it down and shows it round, and the stirring tale is told anew, with fresh exaggerations every time.\nHarris got off with merely a flesh wound.\nAfter that, I took the tin off myself, and hammered at it with the mast till I was worn out and sick at heart, whereupon Harris took it in hand.\n[Picture: Flattened tin] We beat it out flat; we beat it back square; we battered it into every form known to geometry—but we could not make a hole in it. Then George went at it, and knocked it into a shape, so strange, so weird, so unearthly in its wild hideousness, that he got frightened and threw away the mast. Then we all three sat round it on the grass and looked at it.\nThere was one great dent across the top that had the appearance of a mocking grin, and it drove us furious, so that Harris rushed at the thing, and caught it up, and flung it far into the middle of the river, and as it sank we hurled our curses at it, and we got into the boat and rowed away from the spot, and never paused till we reached Maidenhead.\nMaidenhead itself is too snobby to be pleasant. It is the haunt of the river swell and his overdressed female companion. It is the town of showy hotels, patronised chiefly by dudes and ballet girls. It is the witch's kitchen from which go forth those demons of the river—steam-launches. The London Journal duke always has his \"little place\" at Maidenhead; and the heroine of the three-volume novel always dines there when she goes out on the spree with somebody else's husband.\nWe went through Maidenhead quickly, and then eased up, and took leisurely that grand reach beyond Boulter's and Cookham locks. Clieveden Woods still wore their dainty dress of spring, and rose up, from the water's edge, in one long harmony of blended shades of fairy green. In its unbroken loveliness this is, perhaps, the sweetest stretch of all the river, and lingeringly we slowly drew our little boat away from its deep peace.\nWe pulled up in the backwater, just below Cookham, and had tea; and, when we were through the lock, it was evening. A stiffish breeze had sprung up—in our favour, for a wonder; for, as a rule on the river, the wind is always dead against you whatever way you go. It is against you in the morning, when you start for a day's trip, and you pull a long distance, thinking how easy it will be to come back with the sail. Then, after tea, the wind veers round, and you have to pull hard in its teeth all the way home.\nWhen you forget to take the sail at all, then the wind is consistently in your favour both ways. But there! this world is only a probation, and man was born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.\nThis evening, however, they had evidently made a mistake, and had put the wind round at our back instead of in our face. We kept very quiet about it, and got the sail up quickly before they found it out, and then we spread ourselves about the boat in thoughtful attitudes, and the sail bellied out, and strained, and grumbled at the mast, and the boat flew.\nI steered.\nThere is no more thrilling sensation I know of than sailing. It comes as near to flying as man has got to yet—except in dreams. The wings of the rushing wind seem to be bearing you onward, you know not where. You are no longer the slow, plodding, puny thing of clay, creeping tortuously upon the ground; you are a part of Nature! Your heart is throbbing against hers! Her glorious arms are round you, raising you up against her heart! Your spirit is at one with hers; your limbs grow light! The voices of the air are singing to you. The earth seems far away and little; and the clouds, so close above your head, are brothers, and you stretch your arms to them.", "chosen": "We took that tin out on the bank, and Harris went up into a field and got a big sharp stone, and I went back into the boat and brought out the mast, and George held the tin and Harris held the sharp end of his stone against the top of it, and I took the mast and poised it high up in the air, and gathered up all my strength and brought it down.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nWe took that tin out on the bank, and Harris went up into a field and got a big sharp stone, and I went back into the boat and brought out the mast, and George held the tin and Harris held the sharp end of his stone against the top of it, and I took the mast and poised it high up in the air, and gathered up all my strength and brought it down.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-308-012-02-19268013", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nIt began somehow like that. I can never remember poetry. I've got it here. I'll show it to you later. But it's a charming thing—charming; and, you know, it's not only about the foot, it had a good moral, too, a charming idea, only I've forgotten it; in fact, it was just the thing for an album. So, of course, I thanked him, and he was evidently flattered. I'd hardly had time to thank him when in comes Pyotr Ilyitch, and Rakitin suddenly looked as black as night. I could see that Pyotr Ilyitch was in the way, for Rakitin certainly wanted to say something after giving me the verses. I had a presentiment of it; but Pyotr Ilyitch came in. I showed Pyotr Ilyitch the verses and didn't say who was the author. But I am convinced that he guessed, though he won't own it to this day, and declares he had no idea. But he says that on purpose. Pyotr Ilyitch began to laugh at once, and fell to criticizing it. 'Wretched doggerel,' he said they were, 'some divinity student must have written them,' and with such vehemence, such vehemence! Then, instead of laughing, your friend flew into a rage. 'Good gracious!' I thought, 'they'll fly at each other.' 'It was I who wrote them,' said he. 'I wrote them as a joke,' he said, 'for I think it degrading to write verses.... But they are good poetry. They want to put a monument to your Pushkin for writing about women's feet, while I wrote with a moral purpose, and you,' said he, 'are an advocate of serfdom. You've no humane ideas,' said he. 'You have no modern enlightened feelings, you are uninfluenced by progress, you are a mere official,' he said, 'and you take bribes.' Then I began screaming and imploring them. And, you know, Pyotr Ilyitch is anything but a coward. He at once took up the most gentlemanly tone, looked at him sarcastically, listened, and apologized. 'I'd no idea,' said he. 'I shouldn't have said it, if I had known. I should have praised it. Poets are all so irritable,' he said. In short, he laughed at him under cover of the most gentlemanly tone. He explained to me afterwards that it was all sarcastic. I thought he was in earnest. Only as I lay there, just as before you now, I thought, 'Would it, or would it not, be the proper thing for me to turn Rakitin out for shouting so rudely at a visitor in my house?' And, would you believe it, I lay here, shut my eyes, and wondered, would it be the proper thing or not. I kept worrying and worrying, and my heart began to beat, and I couldn't make up my mind whether to make an outcry or not. One voice seemed to be telling me, 'Speak,' and the other 'No, don't speak.' And no sooner had the second voice said that than I cried out, and fainted. Of course, there was a fuss. I got up suddenly and said to Rakitin, 'It's painful for me to say it, but I don't wish to see you in my house again.' So I turned him out. Ah! Alexey Fyodorovitch, I know myself I did wrong. I was putting it on. I wasn't angry with him at all, really; but I suddenly fancied—that was what did it—that it would be such a fine scene.... And yet, believe me, it was quite natural, for I really shed tears and cried for several days afterwards, and then suddenly, one afternoon, I forgot all about it. So it's a fortnight since he's been here, and I kept wondering whether he would come again. I wondered even yesterday, then suddenly last night came this Gossip. I read it and gasped. Who could have written it? He must have written it. He went home, sat down, wrote it on the spot, sent it, and they put it in. It was a fortnight ago, you see. But, Alyosha, it's awful how I keep talking and don't say what I want to say. Ah! the words come of themselves!\"\n\"It's very important for me to be in time to see my brother to-day,\" Alyosha faltered.\n\"To be sure, to be sure! You bring it all back to me. Listen, what is an aberration?\"\n\"What aberration?\" asked Alyosha, wondering.\n\"In the legal sense. An aberration in which everything is pardonable. Whatever you do, you will be acquitted at once.\"\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\"I'll tell you. This Katya ... Ah! she is a charming, charming creature, only I never can make out who it is she is in love with. She was with me some time ago and I couldn't get anything out of her. Especially as she won't talk to me except on the surface now. She is always talking about my health and nothing else, and she takes up such a tone with me, too. I simply said to myself, 'Well, so be it. I don't care'... Oh, yes. I was talking of aberration. This doctor has come. You know a doctor has come? Of course, you know it—the one who discovers madmen. You wrote for him. No, it wasn't you, but Katya. It's all Katya's doing. Well, you see, a man may be sitting perfectly sane and suddenly have an aberration. He may be conscious and know what he is doing and yet be in a state of aberration. And there's no doubt that Dmitri Fyodorovitch was suffering from aberration. They found out about aberration as soon as the law courts were reformed. It's all the good effect of the reformed law courts. The doctor has been here and questioned me about that evening, about the gold mines. 'How did he seem then?' he asked me. He must have been in a state of aberration. He came in shouting, 'Money, money, three thousand! Give me three thousand!' and then went away and immediately did the murder. 'I don't want to murder him,' he said, and he suddenly went and murdered him. That's why they'll acquit him, because he struggled against it and yet he murdered him.\"\n\"But he didn't murder him,\" Alyosha interrupted rather sharply. He felt more and more sick with anxiety and impatience.\n\"Yes, I know it was that old man Grigory murdered him.\"\n\"Grigory?\" cried Alyosha.\n\"Yes, yes; it was Grigory. He lay as Dmitri Fyodorovitch struck him down, and then got up, saw the door open, went in and killed Fyodor Pavlovitch.\"\n\"But why, why?\"", "chosen": "why", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nwhy\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-069-02-5c1456fb", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Let me speak, please, Elfride! My assistant, Mr. Stephen Smith, will leave London by the early train to-morrow morning...MANY THANKS FOR YOUR PROPOSAL TO ACCOMMODATE HIM...YOU MAY PUT EVERY CONFIDENCE IN HIM, and may rely upon his discernment in the matter of church architecture.' Well, I repeat that Hewby ought to be ashamed of himself for making so much of a poor lad of that sort.\"\n\"Professional men in London,\" Elfride argued, \"don't know anything about their clerks' fathers and mothers. They have assistants who come to their offices and shops for years, and hardly even know where they live. What they can do—what profits they can bring the firm—that's all London men care about. And that is helped in him by his faculty of being uniformly pleasant.\"\n\"Uniform pleasantness is rather a defect than a faculty. It shows that a man hasn't sense enough to know whom to despise.\"\n\"It shows that he acts by faith and not by sight, as those you claim succession from directed.\"\n\"That's some more of what he's been telling you, I suppose! Yes, I was inclined to suspect him, because he didn't care about sauces of any kind. I always did doubt a man's being a gentleman if his palate had no acquired tastes. An unedified palate is the irrepressible cloven foot of the upstart. The idea of my bringing out a bottle of my \"40 Martinez—only eleven of them left now—to a man who didn't know it from eighteenpenny! Then the Latin line he gave to my quotation; it was very cut-and-dried, very; or I, who haven't looked into a classical author for the last eighteen years, shouldn't have remembered it. Well, Elfride, you had better go to your room; you'll get over this bit of tomfoolery in time.\"\n\"No, no, no, papa,\" she moaned. For of all the miseries attaching to miserable love, the worst is the misery of thinking that the passion which is the cause of them all may cease.\n\"Elfride,\" said her father with rough friendliness, \"I have an excellent scheme on hand, which I cannot tell you of now. A scheme to benefit you and me. It has been thrust upon me for some little time—yes, thrust upon me—but I didn't dream of its value till this afternoon, when the revelation came. I should be most unwise to refuse to entertain it.\"\n\"I don't like that word,\" she returned wearily. \"You have lost so much already by schemes. Is it those wretched mines again?\"\n\"No; not a mining scheme.\"\n\"Railways?\"\n\"Nor railways. It is like those mysterious offers we see advertised, by which any gentleman with no brains at all may make so much a week without risk, trouble, or soiling his fingers. However, I am intending to say nothing till it is settled, though I will just say this much, that you soon may have other fish to fry than to think of Stephen Smith. Remember, I wish, not to be angry, but friendly, to the young man; for your sake I'll regard him as a friend in a certain sense. But this is enough; in a few days you will be quite my way of thinking. There, now, go to your bedroom. Unity shall bring you up some supper. I wish you not to be here when he comes back.\"", "chosen": "[\"Let\", \"Elfride\", \"Smith\", \"London\", \"Hewby\", \"Professional\", \"Uniform\", \"Martinez\", \"Latin\", \"Railways\", \"Nor\", \"Stephen\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Let\", \"Elfride\", \"Smith\", \"London\", \"Hewby\", \"Professional\", \"Uniform\", \"Martinez\", \"Latin\", \"Railways\", \"Nor\", \"Stephen\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-224-008-02-12e9e634", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"To have resisted such attractions, to have withstood such tenderness! Is there a man on earth who could have done it? Yes, I found myself, by insensible degrees, sincerely fond of her; and the happiest hours of my life were what I spent with her when I felt my intentions were strictly honourable, and my feelings blameless. Even then, however, when fully determined on paying my addresses to her, I allowed myself most improperly to put off, from day to day, the moment of doing it, from an unwillingness to enter into an engagement while my circumstances were so greatly embarrassed. I will not reason here--nor will I stop for you to expatiate on the absurdity, and the worse than absurdity, of scrupling to engage my faith where my honour was already bound. The event has proved, that I was a cunning fool, providing with great circumspection for a possible opportunity of making myself contemptible and wretched for ever. At last, however, my resolution was taken, and I had determined, as soon as I could engage her alone, to justify the attentions I had so invariably paid her, and openly assure her of an affection which I had already taken such pains to display. But in the interim--in the interim of the very few hours that were to pass, before I could have an opportunity of speaking with her in private--a circumstance occurred--an unlucky circumstance--to ruin all my resolution, and with it all my comfort. A discovery took place,\"--here he hesitated and looked down. \"Mrs. Smith had somehow or other been informed, I imagine by some distant relation, whose interest it was to deprive me of her favour, of an affair, a connection--but I need not explain myself farther,\" he added, looking at her with an heightened colour and an enquiring eye,--\"your particular intimacy--you have probably heard the whole story long ago.\"\n\"I have,\" returned Elinor, colouring likewise, and hardening her heart anew against any compassion for him, \"I have heard it all. And how you will explain away any part of your guilt in that dreadful business, I confess is beyond my comprehension.\"\n\"Remember,\" cried Willoughby, \"from whom you received the account. Could it be an impartial one? I acknowledge that her situation and her character ought to have been respected by me. I do not mean to justify myself, but at the same time cannot leave you to suppose that I have nothing to urge--that because she was injured she was irreproachable, and because I was a libertine, she must be a saint. If the violence of her passions, the weakness of her understanding--I do not mean, however, to defend myself. Her affection for me deserved better treatment, and I often, with great self-reproach, recall the tenderness which, for a very short time, had the power of creating any return. I wish--I heartily wish it had never been. But I have injured more than herself; and I have injured one, whose affection for me--(may I say it?) was scarcely less warm than hers; and whose mind--Oh! how infinitely superior!\"\n\"Your indifference, however, towards that unfortunate girl--I must say it, unpleasant to me as the discussion of such a subject may well be--your indifference is no apology for your cruel neglect of her. Do not think yourself excused by any weakness, any natural defect of understanding on her side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours. You must have known, that while you were enjoying yourself in Devonshire pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always happy, she was reduced to the extremest indigence.\"\n\"But, upon my soul, I did not know it,\" he warmly replied; \"I did not recollect that I had omitted to give her my direction; and common sense might have told her how to find it out.\"\n\"Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?\"\n\"She taxed me with the offence at once, and my confusion may be guessed. The purity of her life, the formality of her notions, her ignorance of the world,--every thing was against me. The matter itself I could not deny, and vain was every endeavour to soften it. She was previously disposed, I believe, to doubt the morality of my conduct in general, and was moreover discontented with the very little attention, the very little portion of my time that I had bestowed on her, in my present visit. In short, it ended in a total breach. By one measure I might have saved myself. In the height of her morality, good woman! she offered to forgive the past, if I would marry Eliza. That could not be; and I was formally dismissed from her favour and her house. The night following this affair--I was to go the next morning--was spent by me in deliberating on what my future conduct should be. The struggle was great, but it ended too soon. My affection for Marianne, my thorough conviction of her attachment to me--it was all insufficient to outweigh that dread of poverty, or get the better of those false ideas of the necessity of riches, which I was naturally inclined to feel, and expensive society had increased. I had reason to believe myself secure of my present wife, if I chose to address her, and I persuaded myself to think that nothing else in common prudence remained for me to do. A heavy scene however awaited me, before I could leave Devonshire: I was engaged to dine with you on that very day; some apology was therefore necessary for my breaking this engagement. But whether I should write this apology, or deliver it in person, was a point of long debate. To see Marianne, I felt, would be dreadful, and I even doubted whether I could see her again, and keep to my resolution. In that point, however, I undervalued my own magnanimity, as the event declared; for I went, I saw her, and saw her miserable, and left her miserable;--and left her hoping never to see her again.\"\n\"Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?\" said Elinor, reproachfully; \"a note would have answered every purpose. Why was it necessary to call?\"\n\"It was necessary to my own pride. I could not bear to leave the country in a manner that might lead you, or the rest of the neighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had really passed between Mrs. Smith and myself, and I resolved therefore on calling at the cottage, in my way to Honiton. The sight of your dear sister, however, was really dreadful; and, to heighten the matter, I found her alone. You were all gone I do not know where. I had left her only the evening before, so fully, so firmly resolved within my self on doing right! A few hours were to have engaged her to me for ever; and I remember how happy, how gay were my spirits, as I walked from the cottage to Allenham, satisfied with myself, delighted with every body! But in this, our last interview of friendship, I approached her with a sense of guilt that almost took from me the power of dissembling. Her sorrow, her disappointment, her deep regret, when I told her that I was obliged to leave Devonshire so immediately--I never shall forget it--united too with such reliance, such confidence in me! Oh, God! what a hard-hearted rascal I was!\"\nThey were both silent for a few moments. Elinor first spoke.\n\"Did you tell her that you should soon return?\"", "chosen": "To, Is, Yes,, Even, I, The, At, But, A, Mrs., Smith, And, Could, I, I, If, Her, I, But, how, Do, You, Smith?\", The, The, She, In, By, In, she, That, The, The, My, I, A, But, To, In, Willoughby?\", Why, I, Smith, The, You, I, A, But, Her, Oh,, what, Elinor, Did", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nTo, Is, Yes,, Even, I, The, At, But, A, Mrs., Smith, And, Could, I, I, If, Her, I, But, how, Do, You, Smith?\", The, The, She, In, By, In, she, That, The, The, My, I, A, But, To, In, Willoughby?\", Why, I, Smith, The, You, I, A, But, Her, Oh,, what, Elinor, Did\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-044-01-b047b9b7", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nPity the laden one; this wandering woe May visit you and me.\nWhen Lydgate had allayed Mrs. Bulstrode's anxiety by telling her that her husband had been seized with faintness at the meeting, but that he trusted soon to see him better and would call again the next day, unless she sent for him earlier, he went directly home, got on his horse, and rode three miles out of the town for the sake of being out of reach.\nHe felt himself becoming violent and unreasonable as if raging under the pain of stings: he was ready to curse the day on which he had come to Middlemarch. Everything that had happened to him there seemed a mere preparation for this hateful fatality, which had come as a blight on his honorable ambition, and must make even people who had only vulgar standards regard his reputation as irrevocably damaged. In such moments a man can hardly escape being unloving. Lydgate thought of himself as the sufferer, and of others as the agents who had injured his lot. He had meant everything to turn out differently; and others had thrust themselves into his life and thwarted his purposes. His marriage seemed an unmitigated calamity; and he was afraid of going to Rosamond before he had vented himself in this solitary rage, lest the mere sight of her should exasperate him and make him behave unwarrantably. There are episodes in most men's lives in which their highest qualities can only cast a deterring shadow over the objects that fill their inward vision: Lydgate's tenderheartedness was present just then only as a dread lest he should offend against it, not as an emotion that swayed him to tenderness. For he was very miserable. Only those who know the supremacy of the intellectual life—the life which has a seed of ennobling thought and purpose within it—can understand the grief of one who falls from that serene activity into the absorbing soul-wasting struggle with worldly annoyances.\nHow was he to live on without vindicating himself among people who suspected him of baseness? How could he go silently away from Middlemarch as if he were retreating before a just condemnation? And yet how was he to set about vindicating himself?\nFor that scene at the meeting, which he had just witnessed, although it had told him no particulars, had been enough to make his own situation thoroughly clear to him. Bulstrode had been in dread of scandalous disclosures on the part of Raffles. Lydgate could now construct all the probabilities of the case. \"He was afraid of some betrayal in my hearing: all he wanted was to bind me to him by a strong obligation: that was why he passed on a sudden from hardness to liberality. And he may have tampered with the patient—he may have disobeyed my orders. I fear he did. But whether he did or not, the world believes that he somehow or other poisoned the man and that I winked at the crime, if I didn't help in it. And yet—and yet he may not be guilty of the last offence; and it is just possible that the change towards me may have been a genuine relenting—the effect of second thoughts such as he alleged. What we call the 'just possible' is sometimes true and the thing we find it easier to believe is grossly false. In his last dealings with this man Bulstrode may have kept his hands pure, in spite of my suspicion to the contrary.\"\nThere was a benumbing cruelty in his position. Even if he renounced every other consideration than that of justifying himself—if he met shrugs, cold glances, and avoidance as an accusation, and made a public statement of all the facts as he knew them, who would be convinced? It would be playing the part of a fool to offer his own testimony on behalf of himself, and say, \"I did not take the money as a bribe.\" The circumstances would always be stronger than his assertion. And besides, to come forward and tell everything about himself must include declarations about Bulstrode which would darken the suspicions of others against him. He must tell that he had not known of Raffles's existence when he first mentioned his pressing need of money to Bulstrode, and that he took the money innocently as a result of that communication, not knowing that a new motive for the loan might have arisen on his being called in to this man. And after all, the suspicion of Bulstrode's motives might be unjust.\nBut then came the question whether he should have acted in precisely the same way if he had not taken the money? Certainly, if Raffles had continued alive and susceptible of further treatment when he arrived, and he had then imagined any disobedience to his orders on the part of Bulstrode, he would have made a strict inquiry, and if his conjecture had been verified he would have thrown up the case, in spite of his recent heavy obligation. But if he had not received any money—if Bulstrode had never revoked his cold recommendation of bankruptcy—would he, Lydgate, have abstained from all inquiry even on finding the man dead?—would the shrinking from an insult to Bulstrode—would the dubiousness of all medical treatment and the argument that his own treatment would pass for the wrong with most members of his profession—have had just the same force or significance with him?\nThat was the uneasy corner of Lydgate's consciousness while he was reviewing the facts and resisting all reproach. If he had been independent, this matter of a patient's treatment and the distinct rule that he must do or see done that which he believed best for the life committed to him, would have been the point on which he would have been the sturdiest. As it was, he had rested in the consideration that disobedience to his orders, however it might have arisen, could not be considered a crime, that in the dominant opinion obedience to his orders was just as likely to be fatal, and that the affair was simply one of etiquette. Whereas, again and again, in his time of freedom, he had denounced the perversion of pathological doubt into moral doubt and had said—\"the purest experiment in treatment may still be conscientious: my business is to take care of life, and to do the best I can think of for it. Science is properly more scrupulous than dogma. Dogma gives a charter to mistake, but the very breath of science is a contest with mistake, and must keep the conscience alive.\" Alas! the scientific conscience had got into the debasing company of money obligation and selfish respects.\n\"Is there a medical man of them all in Middlemarch who would question himself as I do?\" said poor Lydgate, with a renewed outburst of rebellion against the oppression of his lot. \"And yet they will all feel warranted in making a wide space between me and them, as if I were a leper! My practice and my reputation are utterly damned—I can see that. Even if I could be cleared by valid evidence, it would make little difference to the blessed world here. I have been set down as tainted and should be cheapened to them all the same.\"\nAlready there had been abundant signs which had hitherto puzzled him, that just when he had been paying off his debts and getting cheerfully on his feet, the townsmen were avoiding him or looking strangely at him, and in two instances it came to his knowledge that patients of his had called in another practitioner. The reasons were too plain now. The general black-balling had begun.", "chosen": "47", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n47\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-073-00-ff1b5a0f", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nWHILE these things were passing in the country workhouse, Mr. Fagin sat in the old den—the same from which Oliver had been removed by the girl—brooding over a dull smoky fire. He held a pair of bellows upon his knee, with which he had apparently been endeavouring to rouse it into more cheerful action; but he had fallen into deep thought, and with his arms folded upon them, and his chin resting on his thumbs, fixed his eyes abstractedly on the rusty bars.\nAt a table behind him sat the Artful Dodger, Master Charles Bates, and Mr. Chitling, all intent upon a game of whist; the Artful taking dummy against Master Bates and Mr. Chitling. The countenance of the first-named gentleman, peculiarly intelligent at all times, acquired great additional interest from his close observance of the game, and his attentive perusal of Mr. Chitling's hand, upon which, from time to time, as occasion served, he bestowed a variety of earnest glances, wisely regulating his own play by the result of his observations upon his neighbour's cards. It being a cold night, the Dodger wore his hat, as, indeed, was often his custom within doors. He also sustained a clay pipe between his teeth, which he only removed for a brief space when he deemed it necessary to apply for refreshment to a quart-pot upon the table, which stood ready filled with gin and water for the accommodation of the company.\nMaster Bates was also attentive to the play; but being of a more excitable nature than his accomplished friend, it was observable that he more frequently applied himself to the gin and water, and moreover indulged in many jests and irrelevant remarks, all highly unbecoming a scientific rubber. Indeed, the Artful, presuming upon their close attachment, more than once took occasion to reason gravely with his companion upon these improprieties: all of which remonstrances Master Bates took in extremely good part, merely requesting his friend to be \"blowed,\" or to insert his head in a sack, or replying with some other neatly-turned witticism of a similar kind, the happy application of which excited considerable admiration in the mind of Mr. Chitling. It was remarkable that the latter gentleman and his partner invariably lost, and that the circumstance, so far from angering Master Bates, appeared to afford him the highest amusement, inasmuch as he laughed most uproariously at the end of every deal, and protested that he had never seen such a jolly game in all his born days.\n\"That's two doubles and the rub,\" said Mr. Chitling, with a very long face, as he drew half-a-crown from his waistcoat-pocket \"I never see such a feller as you, Jack; you win every thing. Even when we've good cards, Charley and I can't make nothing of 'em.\"\nEither the matter or manner of this remark, which was made very ruefully, delighted Charley Bates so much, that his consequent shout of laughter roused the Jew from his reverie, and induced him to inquire what was the matter.\n\"Matter, Fagin!\" cried Charley. \"I wish you had watched a play. Tommy Chitling hasn't won the point, and I went partners with him against the Artful and dum.\"\n\"Ay, ay!\" said the Jew, with a grin, which sufficiently demonstrated that he was at no loss to understand the reason. \"Try 'em again, Tom; try 'em again.\"\n\"No more of it for me, thankee, Fagin,\" replied Mr. Chitling; \"I've had enough. That 'ere Dodger has such a run of luck that there's no standing again' him.\"\n\"Ha! ha! my dear,\" replied the Jew, \"you must get up very early in the morning to win against the Dodger.\"\n\"Morning!\" said Charley Bates; \"you must put your boots on overnight, and have a telescope at each eye, and a opera-glass between your shoulders, if you want to come over him.\"\nMr. Dawkins received these handsome compliments with much philosophy, and offered to cut any gentleman in company for the first picture-card, at a shilling a time. Nobody accepting the challenge, and his pipe being by this time smoked out, he proceeded to amuse himself by sketching a ground-plan of Newgate on the table with the piece of chalk which had served him in lieu of counters; whistling meantime with peculiar shrillness.\n\"How precious dull you are, Tommy!\" said the Dodger, stopping short when there had been a long silence, and addressing Mr. Chitling. \"What do you think he's thinking of, Fagin?\"\n\"How should I know, my dear?\" replied the Jew, looking round as he plied the bellows. \"About his losses, maybe; or the little retirement in the country that he's just left, eh?—Ha! ha! Is that it, my dear?\"\n\"Not a bit of it,\" replied the Dodger, stopping the subject of discourse as Mr. Chitling was about to reply. \"What do you say, Charley?\"\n\"I should say,\" replied Master Bates, with a grin, \"that he was uncommon sweet upon Betsy. See how he's a-blushing! Oh, my eye! here's a merry-go-rounder!—Tommy Chitling's in love!—Oh, Fagin, Fagin! what a spree!\"\nThoroughly overpowered with the notion of Mr. Chitling being the victim of the tender passion, Master Bates threw himself back in his chair with such violence that he lost his balance, and pitched over upon the floor, where (the accident abating nothing of his merriment) he lay at full length till his laugh was over, when he resumed his former position and began another.\n\"Never mind him, my dear,\" said the Jew, winking at Mr. Dawkins, and giving Master Bates a reproving tap with the nozzle of the bellows. \"Betsy's a fine girl. Stick up to her, Tom: stick up to her.\"\n\"What I mean to say, Fagin,\" replied Mr. Chitling, very red in the face, \"is, that that isn't anything to anybody here.\"\n\"No more it is,\" replied the Jew \"Charley will talk. Don't mind him, my dear; don't mind him. Betsy's a fine girl. Do as she bids you, Tom, and you'll make your fortune.\"\n\"So I do do as she bids me,\" replied Mr. Chitling; \"I shouldn't have been milled if it hadn't been for her advice. But it turned out a good job for you, didn't it, Fagin? And what's six weeks of it? It must come some time or another; and why not in the winter time when you don't want to go out a-walking so much; eh, Fagin?\"\n\"Ah, to be sure, my dear,\" replied the Jew.\n\"You wouldn't mind it again, Tom, would you,\" asked the Dodger, winking upon Charley and the Jew, \"if Bet was all right?\"\n\"I mean to say that I shouldn't,\" replied Tom, angrily; \"there, now! Ah! Who'll say as much as that, I should like to know; eh, Fagin?\"\n\"Nobody, my dear,\" replied the Jew; \"not a soul, Tom. I don't know one of 'em that would do it besides you; not one of 'em, my dear.\"\n\"I might have got clear off if I'd split upon her; mighn't I, Fagin?\" angrily pursued the poor half-witted dupe. \"A word from me would have done it; wouldn't it, Fagin?\"\n\"To be sure it would, my dear,\" replied the Jew.\n\"But I didn't blab it, did I, Fagin?\" demanded Tom, pouring question upon question with great volubility.\n\"No, no, to be sure,\" replied the Jew; \"you were too stout-hearted for that,—a deal too stout, my dear.\"\n\"Perhaps I was,\" rejoined Tom, looking round; \"and if I was, what's to laugh at in that; eh, Fagin?\"\nThe Jew, perceiving that Mr. Chitling was considerably roused, hastened to assure him that nobody was laughing, and, to prove the gravity of the company, appealed to Master Bates, the principal offender; but unfortunately Charley, in opening his mouth to reply that he was never more serious in his life, was unable to prevent the escape of such a violent roar that the abused Mr. Chitling, without any preliminary ceremonies rushed across the room, and aimed a blow at the offender, who, being skilful in evading pursuit, ducked to avoid it, and chose his time so well that it lighted on the chest of the merry old gentleman, and caused him to stagger to the wall, where he stood panting for breath, while Mr. Chitling looked on in intense dismay.\n\"Hark!\" cried the Dodger at this moment, \"I heard the tinkler.\" Catching up the light, he crept softly up stairs.", "chosen": "Indeed, the Artful, presuming upon their close attachment, more than once took occasion to reason gravely with his companion upon these improprieties: all of which remonstrances Master Bates took in extremely good part, merely requesting his friend to be \"blowed,\" or to insert his head in a sack, or replying with some other neatly-turned witticism of a similar kind, the happy application of which excited considerable admiration in the mind of Mr.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nIndeed, the Artful, presuming upon their close attachment, more than once took occasion to reason gravely with his companion upon these improprieties: all of which remonstrances Master Bates took in extremely good part, merely requesting his friend to be \"blowed,\" or to insert his head in a sack, or replying with some other neatly-turned witticism of a similar kind, the happy application of which excited considerable admiration in the mind of Mr.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-47530-006-00-8aff8f27", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Oh, what a pity,\" exclaimed Alyosha, with feeling, \"that I didn't know before what terms you were on with him, or I'd have come to you long ago to beg you to go to him with me. Would you believe it, when he was feverish he talked about you in delirium. I didn't know how much you were to him! And you've really not succeeded in finding that dog? His father and the boys have been hunting all over the town for it. Would you believe it, since he's been ill, I've three times heard him repeat with tears, 'It's because I killed Zhutchka, father, that I am ill now. God is punishing me for it.' He can't get that idea out of his head. And if the dog were found and proved to be alive, one might almost fancy the joy would cure him. We have all rested our hopes on you.\"\n\"Tell me, what made you hope that I should be the one to find him?\" Kolya asked, with great curiosity. \"Why did you reckon on me rather than any one else?\"\n\"There was a report that you were looking for the dog, and that you would bring it when you'd found it. Smurov said something of the sort. We've all been trying to persuade Ilusha that the dog is alive, that it's been seen. The boys brought him a live hare; he just looked at it, with a faint smile, and asked them to set it free in the fields. And so we did. His father has just this moment come back, bringing him a mastiff pup, hoping to comfort him with that; but I think it only makes it worse.\"\n\"Tell me, Karamazov, what sort of man is the father? I know him, but what do you make of him—a mountebank, a buffoon?\"\n\"Oh, no; there are people of deep feeling who have been somehow crushed. Buffoonery in them is a form of resentful irony against those to whom they daren't speak the truth, from having been for years humiliated and intimidated by them. Believe me, Krassotkin, that sort of buffoonery is sometimes tragic in the extreme. His whole life now is centered in Ilusha, and if Ilusha dies, he will either go mad with grief or kill himself. I feel almost certain of that when I look at him now.\"\n\"I understand you, Karamazov. I see you understand human nature,\" Kolya added, with feeling.\n\"And as soon as I saw you with a dog, I thought it was Zhutchka you were bringing.\"\n\"Wait a bit, Karamazov, perhaps we shall find it yet; but this is Perezvon. I'll let him go in now and perhaps it will amuse Ilusha more than the mastiff pup. Wait a bit, Karamazov, you will know something in a minute. But, I say, I am keeping you here!\" Kolya cried suddenly. \"You've no overcoat on in this bitter cold. You see what an egoist I am. Oh, we are all egoists, Karamazov!\"\n\"Don't trouble; it is cold, but I don't often catch cold. Let us go in, though, and, by the way, what is your name? I know you are called Kolya, but what else?\"\n\"Nikolay—Nikolay Ivanovitch Krassotkin, or, as they say in official documents, 'Krassotkin son.'\" Kolya laughed for some reason, but added suddenly, \"Of course I hate my name Nikolay.\"\n\"Why so?\"\n\"It's so trivial, so ordinary.\"\n\"You are thirteen?\" asked Alyosha.\n\"No, fourteen—that is, I shall be fourteen very soon, in a fortnight. I'll confess one weakness of mine, Karamazov, just to you, since it's our first meeting, so that you may understand my character at once. I hate being asked my age, more than that ... and in fact ... there's a libelous story going about me, that last week I played robbers with the preparatory boys. It's a fact that I did play with them, but it's a perfect libel to say I did it for my own amusement. I have reasons for believing that you've heard the story; but I wasn't playing for my own amusement, it was for the sake of the children, because they couldn't think of anything to do by themselves. But they've always got some silly tale. This is an awful town for gossip, I can tell you.\"\n\"But what if you had been playing for your own amusement, what's the harm?\"\n\"Come, I say, for my own amusement! You don't play horses, do you?\"\n\"But you must look at it like this,\" said Alyosha, smiling. \"Grown-up people go to the theater and there the adventures of all sorts of heroes are represented—sometimes there are robbers and battles, too—and isn't that just the same thing, in a different form, of course? And young people's games of soldiers or robbers in their playtime are also art in its first stage. You know, they spring from the growing artistic instincts of the young. And sometimes these games are much better than performances in the theater, the only difference is that people go there to look at the actors, while in these games the young people are the actors themselves. But that's only natural.\"\n\"You think so? Is that your idea?\" Kolya looked at him intently. \"Oh, you know, that's rather an interesting view. When I go home, I'll think it over. I'll admit I thought I might learn something from you. I've come to learn of you, Karamazov,\" Kolya concluded, in a voice full of spontaneous feeling.\n\"And I of you,\" said Alyosha, smiling and pressing his hand.\nKolya was much pleased with Alyosha. What struck him most was that he treated him exactly like an equal and that he talked to him just as if he were \"quite grown up.\"\n\"I'll show you something directly, Karamazov; it's a theatrical performance, too,\" he said, laughing nervously. \"That's why I've come.\"\n\"Let us go first to the people of the house, on the left. All the boys leave their coats in there, because the room is small and hot.\"\n\"Oh, I'm only coming in for a minute. I'll keep on my overcoat. Perezvon will stay here in the passage and be dead. Ici, Perezvon, lie down and be dead! You see how he's dead. I'll go in first and explore, then I'll whistle to him when I think fit, and you'll see, he'll dash in like mad. Only Smurov must not forget to open the door at the moment. I'll arrange it all and you'll see something.\"", "chosen": "[\"Oh, what a pity,\", \"Tell me, what made you hope that I should be the one to find him?\", \"Why did you reckon on me rather than any one else?\", \"Tell me, Karamazov, what sort of man is the father? I know him, but what do you make of him\\u2014a mountebank, a buffoon?\", \"I understand you, Karamazov. I see you understand human nature,\", \"And as soon as I saw you with a dog, I thought it was Zhutchka you were bringing.\", \" Kolya cried suddenly. \", \"Don't trouble; it is cold, but I don't often catch cold. Let us go in, though, and, by the way, what is your name? I know you are called Kolya, but what else?\", \"Nikolay\\u2014Nikolay Ivanovitch Krassotkin, or, as they say in official documents, 'Krassotkin son.'\", \"Of course I hate my name Nikolay.\", \"Why so?\", \"It's so trivial, so ordinary.\", \"You are thirteen?\", \"But what if you had been playing for your own amusement, what's the harm?\", \"Come, I say, for my own amusement! You don't play horses, do you?\", \"But you must look at it like this,\", \"You think so? Is that your idea?\", \"Oh, you know, that's rather an interesting view. When I go home, I'll think it over. I'll admit I thought I might learn something from you. I've come to learn of you, Karamazov,\", \"And I of you,\", \"quite grown up.\", \"I'll show you something directly, Karamazov; it's a theatrical performance, too,\", \"That's why I've come.\", \"Let us go first to the people of the house, on the left. All the boys leave their coats in there, because the room is small and hot.\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Oh, what a pity,\", \"Tell me, what made you hope that I should be the one to find him?\", \"Why did you reckon on me rather than any one else?\", \"Tell me, Karamazov, what sort of man is the father? I know him, but what do you make of him\\u2014a mountebank, a buffoon?\", \"I understand you, Karamazov. I see you understand human nature,\", \"And as soon as I saw you with a dog, I thought it was Zhutchka you were bringing.\", \" Kolya cried suddenly. \", \"Don't trouble; it is cold, but I don't often catch cold. Let us go in, though, and, by the way, what is your name? I know you are called Kolya, but what else?\", \"Nikolay\\u2014Nikolay Ivanovitch Krassotkin, or, as they say in official documents, 'Krassotkin son.'\", \"Of course I hate my name Nikolay.\", \"Why so?\", \"It's so trivial, so ordinary.\", \"You are thirteen?\", \"But what if you had been playing for your own amusement, what's the harm?\", \"Come, I say, for my own amusement! You don't play horses, do you?\", \"But you must look at it like this,\", \"You think so? Is that your idea?\", \"Oh, you know, that's rather an interesting view. When I go home, I'll think it over. I'll admit I thought I might learn something from you. I've come to learn of you, Karamazov,\", \"And I of you,\", \"quite grown up.\", \"I'll show you something directly, Karamazov; it's a theatrical performance, too,\", \"That's why I've come.\", \"Let us go first to the people of the house, on the left. All the boys leave their coats in there, because the room is small and hot.\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-064-02-e600f8ff", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"Thank goodness he did not ask me about Grushenka,\" thought Alyosha, as he left his father's house and turned towards Madame Hohlakov's, \"or I might have to tell him of my meeting with Grushenka yesterday.\"\nAlyosha felt painfully that since yesterday both combatants had renewed their energies, and that their hearts had grown hard again. \"Father is spiteful and angry, he's made some plan and will stick to it. And what of Dmitri? He too will be harder than yesterday, he too must be spiteful and angry, and he too, no doubt, has made some plan. Oh, I must succeed in finding him to-day, whatever happens.\"\nBut Alyosha had not long to meditate. An incident occurred on the road, which, though apparently of little consequence, made a great impression on him. Just after he had crossed the square and turned the corner coming out into Mihailovsky Street, which is divided by a small ditch from the High Street (our whole town is intersected by ditches), he saw a group of schoolboys between the ages of nine and twelve, at the bridge. They were going home from school, some with their bags on their shoulders, others with leather satchels slung across them, some in short jackets, others in little overcoats. Some even had those high boots with creases round the ankles, such as little boys spoilt by rich fathers love to wear. The whole group was talking eagerly about something, apparently holding a council. Alyosha had never from his Moscow days been able to pass children without taking notice of them, and although he was particularly fond of children of three or thereabout, he liked schoolboys of ten and eleven too. And so, anxious as he was to-day, he wanted at once to turn aside to talk to them. He looked into their excited rosy faces, and noticed at once that all the boys had stones in their hands. Behind the ditch some thirty paces away, there was another schoolboy standing by a fence. He too had a satchel at his side. He was about ten years old, pale, delicate-looking and with sparkling black eyes. He kept an attentive and anxious watch on the other six, obviously his schoolfellows with whom he had just come out of school, but with whom he had evidently had a feud.\nAlyosha went up and, addressing a fair, curly-headed, rosy boy in a black jacket, observed:\n\"When I used to wear a satchel like yours, I always used to carry it on my left side, so as to have my right hand free, but you've got yours on your right side. So it will be awkward for you to get at it.\"\nAlyosha had no art or premeditation in beginning with this practical remark. But it is the only way for a grown-up person to get at once into confidential relations with a child, or still more with a group of children. One must begin in a serious, businesslike way so as to be on a perfectly equal footing. Alyosha understood it by instinct.\n\"But he is left-handed,\" another, a fine healthy-looking boy of eleven, answered promptly. All the others stared at Alyosha.\n\"He even throws stones with his left hand,\" observed a third.\nAt that instant a stone flew into the group, but only just grazed the left-handed boy, though it was well and vigorously thrown by the boy standing the other side of the ditch.\n\"Give it him, hit him back, Smurov,\" they all shouted. But Smurov, the left-handed boy, needed no telling, and at once revenged himself; he threw a stone, but it missed the boy and hit the ground. The boy the other side of the ditch, the pocket of whose coat was visibly bulging with stones, flung another stone at the group; this time it flew straight at Alyosha and hit him painfully on the shoulder.\n\"He aimed it at you, he meant it for you. You are Karamazov, Karamazov!\" the boys shouted, laughing. \"Come, all throw at him at once!\" and six stones flew at the boy. One struck the boy on the head and he fell down, but at once leapt up and began ferociously returning their fire. Both sides threw stones incessantly. Many of the group had their pockets full too.\n\"What are you about! Aren't you ashamed? Six against one! Why, you'll kill him,\" cried Alyosha.\nHe ran forward and met the flying stones to screen the solitary boy. Three or four ceased throwing for a minute.\n\"He began first!\" cried a boy in a red shirt in an angry childish voice. \"He is a beast, he stabbed Krassotkin in class the other day with a penknife. It bled. Krassotkin wouldn't tell tales, but he must be thrashed.\"\n\"But what for? I suppose you tease him.\"\n\"There, he sent a stone in your back again, he knows you,\" cried the children. \"It's you he is throwing at now, not us. Come, all of you, at him again, don't miss, Smurov!\" and again a fire of stones, and a very vicious one, began. The boy the other side of the ditch was hit in the chest; he screamed, began to cry and ran away uphill towards Mihailovsky Street. They all shouted: \"Aha, he is funking, he is running away. Wisp of tow!\"\n\"You don't know what a beast he is, Karamazov, killing is too good for him,\" said the boy in the jacket, with flashing eyes. He seemed to be the eldest.\n\"What's wrong with him?\" asked Alyosha, \"is he a tell-tale or what?\"\nThe boys looked at one another as though derisively.\n\"Are you going that way, to Mihailovsky?\" the same boy went on. \"Catch him up.... You see he's stopped again, he is waiting and looking at you.\"\n\"He is looking at you,\" the other boys chimed in.\n\"You ask him, does he like a disheveled wisp of tow. Do you hear, ask him that!\"\nThere was a general burst of laughter. Alyosha looked at them, and they at him.\n\"Don't go near him, he'll hurt you,\" cried Smurov in a warning voice.\n\"I shan't ask him about the wisp of tow, for I expect you tease him with that question somehow. But I'll find out from him why you hate him so.\"\n\"Find out then, find out,\" cried the boys, laughing.\nAlyosha crossed the bridge and walked uphill by the fence, straight towards the boy.\n\"You'd better look out,\" the boys called after him; \"he won't be afraid of you. He will stab you in a minute, on the sly, as he did Krassotkin.\"\nThe boy waited for him without budging. Coming up to him, Alyosha saw facing him a child of about nine years old. He was an undersized weakly boy with a thin pale face, with large dark eyes that gazed at him vindictively. He was dressed in a rather shabby old overcoat, which he had monstrously outgrown. His bare arms stuck out beyond his sleeves. There was a large patch on the right knee of his trousers, and in his right boot just at the toe there was a big hole in the leather, carefully blackened with ink. Both the pockets of his great-coat were weighed down with stones. Alyosha stopped two steps in front of him, looking inquiringly at him. The boy, seeing at once from Alyosha's eyes that he wouldn't beat him, became less defiant, and addressed him first.\n\"I am alone, and there are six of them. I'll beat them all, alone!\" he said suddenly, with flashing eyes.\n\"I think one of the stones must have hurt you badly,\" observed Alyosha.\n\"But I hit Smurov on the head!\" cried the boy.\n\"They told me that you know me, and that you threw a stone at me on purpose,\" said Alyosha.\nThe boy looked darkly at him.\n\"I don't know you. Do you know me?\" Alyosha continued.\n\"Let me alone!\" the boy cried irritably; but he did not move, as though he were expecting something, and again there was a vindictive light in his eyes.\n\"Very well, I am going,\" said Alyosha; \"only I don't know you and I don't tease you. They told me how they tease you, but I don't want to tease you. Good-by!\"", "chosen": "Goodby", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nGoodby\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-027-00-b6d821f8", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAs he entered the box his eyes met Miss Welland's, and he saw that she had instantly understood his motive, though the family dignity which both considered so high a virtue would not permit her to tell him so. The persons of their world lived in an atmosphere of faint implications and pale delicacies, and the fact that he and she understood each other without a word seemed to the young man to bring them nearer than any explanation would have done. Her eyes said: \"You see why Mamma brought me,\" and his answered: \"I would not for the world have had you stay away.\"\n\"You know my niece Countess Olenska?\" Mrs. Welland enquired as she shook hands with her future son-in-law. Archer bowed without extending his hand, as was the custom on being introduced to a lady; and Ellen Olenska bent her head slightly, keeping her own pale-gloved hands clasped on her huge fan of eagle feathers. Having greeted Mrs. Lovell Mingott, a large blonde lady in creaking satin, he sat down beside his betrothed, and said in a low tone: \"I hope you've told Madame Olenska that we're engaged? I want everybody to know--I want you to let me announce it this evening at the ball.\"\nMiss Welland's face grew rosy as the dawn, and she looked at him with radiant eyes. \"If you can persuade Mamma,\" she said; \"but why should we change what is already settled?\" He made no answer but that which his eyes returned, and she added, still more confidently smiling: \"Tell my cousin yourself: I give you leave. She says she used to play with you when you were children.\"\nShe made way for him by pushing back her chair, and promptly, and a little ostentatiously, with the desire that the whole house should see what he was doing, Archer seated himself at the Countess Olenska's side.\n\"We did use to play together, didn't we?\" she asked, turning her grave eyes to his. \"You were a horrid boy, and kissed me once behind a door; but it was your cousin Vandie Newland, who never looked at me, that I was in love with.\" Her glance swept the horse-shoe curve of boxes. \"Ah, how this brings it all back to me--I see everybody here in knickerbockers and pantalettes,\" she said, with her trailing slightly foreign accent, her eyes returning to his face.\nAgreeable as their expression was, the young man was shocked that they should reflect so unseemly a picture of the august tribunal before which, at that very moment, her case was being tried. Nothing could be in worse taste than misplaced flippancy; and he answered somewhat stiffly: \"Yes, you have been away a very long time.\"\n\"Oh, centuries and centuries; so long,\" she said, \"that I'm sure I'm dead and buried, and this dear old place is heaven;\" which, for reasons he could not define, struck Newland Archer as an even more disrespectful way of describing New York society.\nIt invariably happened in the same way.\nMrs. Julius Beaufort, on the night of her annual ball, never failed to appear at the Opera; indeed, she always gave her ball on an Opera night in order to emphasise her complete superiority to household cares, and her possession of a staff of servants competent to organise every detail of the entertainment in her absence.\nThe Beauforts' house was one of the few in New York that possessed a ball-room (it antedated even Mrs. Manson Mingott's and the Headly Chiverses'); and at a time when it was beginning to be thought \"provincial\" to put a \"crash\" over the drawing-room floor and move the furniture upstairs, the possession of a ball-room that was used for no other purpose, and left for three-hundred-and-sixty-four days of the year to shuttered darkness, with its gilt chairs stacked in a corner and its chandelier in a bag; this undoubted superiority was felt to compensate for whatever was regrettable in the Beaufort past.\nMrs. Archer, who was fond of coining her social philosophy into axioms, had once said: \"We all have our pet common people--\" and though the phrase was a daring one, its truth was secretly admitted in many an exclusive bosom. But the Beauforts were not exactly common; some people said they were even worse. Mrs. Beaufort belonged indeed to one of America's most honoured families; she had been the lovely Regina Dallas (of the South Carolina branch), a penniless beauty introduced to New York society by her cousin, the imprudent Medora Manson, who was always doing the wrong thing from the right motive. When one was related to the Mansons and the Rushworths one had a \"droit de cité\" (as Mr. Sillerton Jackson, who had frequented the Tuileries, called it) in New York society; but did one not forfeit it in marrying Julius Beaufort?\nThe question was: who was Beaufort? He passed for an Englishman, was agreeable, handsome, ill-tempered, hospitable and witty. He had come to America with letters of recommendation from old Mrs. Manson Mingott's English son-in-law, the banker, and had speedily made himself an important position in the world of affairs; but his habits were dissipated, his tongue was bitter, his antecedents were mysterious; and when Medora Manson announced her cousin's engagement to him it was felt to be one more act of folly in poor Medora's long record of imprudences.\nBut folly is as often justified of her children as wisdom, and two years after young Mrs. Beaufort's marriage it was admitted that she had the most distinguished house in New York. No one knew exactly how the miracle was accomplished. She was indolent, passive, the caustic even called her dull; but dressed like an idol, hung with pearls, growing younger and blonder and more beautiful each year, she throned in Mr. Beaufort's heavy brown-stone palace, and drew all the world there without lifting her jewelled little finger. The knowing people said it was Beaufort himself who trained the servants, taught the chef new dishes, told the gardeners what hot-house flowers to grow for the dinner-table and the drawing-rooms, selected the guests, brewed the after-dinner punch and dictated the little notes his wife wrote to her friends. If he did, these domestic activities were privately performed, and he presented to the world the appearance of a careless and hospitable millionaire strolling into his own drawing-room with the detachment of an invited guest, and saying: \"My wife's gloxinias are a marvel, aren't they? I believe she gets them out from Kew.\"\nMr. Beaufort's secret, people were agreed, was the way he carried things off. It was all very well to whisper that he had been \"helped\" to leave England by the international banking-house in which he had been employed; he carried off that rumour as easily as the rest--though New York's business conscience was no less sensitive than its moral standard--he carried everything before him, and all New York into his drawing-rooms, and for over twenty years now people had said they were \"going to the Beauforts'\" with the same tone of security as if they had said they were going to Mrs. Manson Mingott's, and with the added satisfaction of knowing they would get hot canvas-back ducks and vintage wines, instead of tepid Veuve Clicquot without a year and warmed-up croquettes from Philadelphia.\nMrs. Beaufort, then, had as usual appeared in her box just before the Jewel Song; and when, again as usual, she rose at the end of the third act, drew her opera cloak about her lovely shoulders, and disappeared, New York knew that meant that half an hour later the ball would begin.\nThe Beaufort house was one that New Yorkers were proud to show to foreigners, especially on the night of the annual ball. The Beauforts had been among the first people in New York to own their own red velvet carpet and have it rolled down the steps by their own footmen, under their own awning, instead of hiring it with the supper and the ball-room chairs. They had also inaugurated the custom of letting the ladies take their cloaks off in the hall, instead of shuffling up to the hostess's bedroom and recurling their hair with the aid of the gas-burner; Beaufort was understood to have said that he supposed all his wife's friends had maids who saw to it that they were properly coiffées when they left home.", "chosen": "[\"Welland\", \"Mamma\", \"Countess\", \"Olenska\", \"Ellen\", \"Mingott\", \"Madame\", \"Tell\", \"Archer\", \"Vandie\", \"Newland\", \"Her\", \"New\", \"York\", \"Beaufort\", \"Opera\", \"Beauforts\", \"Headly\", \"Chiverses\", \"America\", \"Regina\", \"Dallas\", \"South\", \"Carolina\", \"Medora\", \"Manson\", \"Mansons\", \"Rushworths\", \"Jackson\", \"Tuileries\", \"Julius\", \"Englishman\", \"English\", \"Kew\", \"England\", \"Veuve\", \"Clicquot\", \"Philadelphia\", \"Jewel\", \"Song\", \"Yorkers\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Welland\", \"Mamma\", \"Countess\", \"Olenska\", \"Ellen\", \"Mingott\", \"Madame\", \"Tell\", \"Archer\", \"Vandie\", \"Newland\", \"Her\", \"New\", \"York\", \"Beaufort\", \"Opera\", \"Beauforts\", \"Headly\", \"Chiverses\", \"America\", \"Regina\", \"Dallas\", \"South\", \"Carolina\", \"Medora\", \"Manson\", \"Mansons\", \"Rushworths\", \"Jackson\", \"Tuileries\", \"Julius\", \"Englishman\", \"English\", \"Kew\", \"England\", \"Veuve\", \"Clicquot\", \"Philadelphia\", \"Jewel\", \"Song\", \"Yorkers\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-541-001-03-d1b6ba6e", "source": "pg-541", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nGeorge is introduced to work.—Heathenish instincts of tow-lines.—Ungrateful conduct of a double-sculling skiff.—Towers and towed.—A use discovered for lovers.—Strange disappearance of an elderly lady.—Much haste, less speed.—Being towed by girls: exciting sensation.—The missing lock or the haunted river.—Music.—Saved!\nWe made George work, now we had got him. He did not want to work, of course; that goes without saying. He had had a hard time in the City, so he explained. Harris, who is callous in his nature, and not prone to pity, said:\n\"Ah! and now you are going to have a hard time on the river for a change; change is good for everyone. Out you get!\"\nHe could not in conscience—not even George's conscience—object, though he did suggest that, perhaps, it would be better for him to stop in the boat, and get tea ready, while Harris and I towed, because getting tea was such a worrying work, and Harris and I looked tired. The only reply we made to this, however, was to pass him over the tow-line, and he took it, and stepped out.\n[Picture: Dog wrapped in tow-line] There is something very strange and unaccountable about a tow-line. You roll it up with as much patience and care as you would take to fold up a new pair of trousers, and five minutes afterwards, when you pick it up, it is one ghastly, soul-revolting tangle.\nI do not wish to be insulting, but I firmly believe that if you took an average tow-line, and stretched it out straight across the middle of a field, and then turned your back on it for thirty seconds, that, when you looked round again, you would find that it had got itself altogether in a heap in the middle of the field, and had twisted itself up, and tied itself into knots, and lost its two ends, and become all loops; and it would take you a good half-hour, sitting down there on the grass and swearing all the while, to disentangle it again.\nThat is my opinion of tow-lines in general. Of course, there may be honourable exceptions; I do not say that there are not. There may be tow-lines that are a credit to their profession—conscientious, respectable tow-lines—tow-lines that do not imagine they are crochet-work, and try to knit themselves up into antimacassars the instant they are left to themselves. I say there may be such tow-lines; I sincerely hope there are. But I have not met with them.\nThis tow-line I had taken in myself just before we had got to the lock. I would not let Harris touch it, because he is careless. I had looped it round slowly and cautiously, and tied it up in the middle, and folded it in two, and laid it down gently at the bottom of the boat. Harris had lifted it up scientifically, and had put it into George's hand. George had taken it firmly, and held it away from him, and had begun to unravel it as if he were taking the swaddling clothes off a new-born infant; and, before he had unwound a dozen yards, the thing was more like a badly-made door-mat than anything else.\nIt is always the same, and the same sort of thing always goes on in connection with it. The man on the bank, who is trying to disentangle it, thinks all the fault lies with the man who rolled it up; and when a man up the river thinks a thing, he says it.\n\"What have you been trying to do with it, make a fishing-net of it? You've made a nice mess you have; why couldn't you wind it up properly, you silly dummy?\" he grunts from time to time as he struggles wildly with it, and lays it out flat on the tow-path, and runs round and round it, trying to find the end.\nOn the other hand, the man who wound it up thinks the whole cause of the muddle rests with the man who is trying to unwind it.\n\"It was all right when you took it!\" he exclaims indignantly. \"Why don't you think what you are doing? You go about things in such a slap-dash style. You'd get a scaffolding pole entangled you would!\"\nAnd they feel so angry with one another that they would like to hang each other with the thing. Ten minutes go by, and the first man gives a yell and goes mad, and dances on the rope, and tries to pull it straight by seizing hold of the first piece that comes to his hand and hauling at it. Of course, this only gets it into a tighter tangle than ever. Then the second man climbs out of the boat and comes to help him, and they get in each other's way, and hinder one another. They both get hold of the same bit of line, and pull at it in opposite directions, and wonder where it is caught. In the end, they do get it clear, and then turn round and find that the boat has drifted off, and is making straight for the weir.\nThis really happened once to my own knowledge. It was up by Boveney, one rather windy morning. We were pulling down stream, and, as we came round the bend, we noticed a couple of men on the bank. They were looking at each other with as bewildered and helplessly miserable expression as I have ever witnessed on any human countenance before or since, and they held a long tow-line between them. It was clear that something had happened, so we eased up and asked them what was the matter.\n\"Why, our boat's gone off!\" they replied in an indignant tone. \"We just got out to disentangle the tow-line, and when we looked round, it was gone!\"\nAnd they seemed hurt at what they evidently regarded as a mean and ungrateful act on the part of the boat.\nWe found the truant for them half a mile further down, held by some rushes, and we brought it back to them. I bet they did not give that boat another chance for a week.\nI shall never forget the picture of those two men walking up and down the bank with a tow-line, looking for their boat.\nOne sees a good many funny incidents up the river in connection with towing. One of the most common is the sight of a couple of towers, walking briskly along, deep in an animated discussion, while the man in the boat, a hundred yards behind them, is vainly shrieking to them to stop, and making frantic signs of distress with a scull. Something has gone wrong; the rudder has come off, or the boat-hook has slipped overboard, or his hat has dropped into the water and is floating rapidly down stream.\nHe calls to them to stop, quite gently and politely at first.\n[Picture: Hat in the water] \"Hi! stop a minute, will you?\" he shouts cheerily. \"I've dropped my hat over-board.\"\nThen: \"Hi! Tom—Dick! can't you hear?\" not quite so affably this time.\nThen: \"Hi! Confound you, you dunder-headed idiots! Hi! stop! Oh you—!\"\nAfter that he springs up, and dances about, and roars himself red in the face, and curses everything he knows. And the small boys on the bank stop and jeer at him, and pitch stones at him as he is pulled along past them, at the rate of four miles an hour, and can't get out.\nMuch of this sort of trouble would be saved if those who are towing would keep remembering that they are towing, and give a pretty frequent look round to see how their man is getting on. It is best to let one person tow. When two are doing it, they get chattering, and forget, and the boat itself, offering, as it does, but little resistance, is of no real service in reminding them of the fact.\nAs an example of how utterly oblivious a pair of towers can be to their work, George told us, later on in the evening, when we were discussing the subject after supper, of a very curious instance.", "chosen": "George, We, He, He, Harris,, and, Out, The, Picture:, You, I, That, Of, There, I, But, This, I, I, Harris, George, It, The, What, You've, On, It, Why, You, You'd, Ten, Of, Then, They, In, This, It, We, They, It, Why,, We, We, I, I, One, One, Something, He, Picture:, stop, I've, Tom—Dick!, can't, Then:, Confound, Hi!, stop!, Oh, And, Much, It, When, As", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nGeorge, We, He, He, Harris,, and, Out, The, Picture:, You, I, That, Of, There, I, But, This, I, I, Harris, George, It, The, What, You've, On, It, Why, You, You'd, Ten, Of, Then, They, In, This, It, We, They, It, Why,, We, We, I, I, One, One, Something, He, Picture:, stop, I've, Tom—Dick!, can't, Then:, Confound, Hi!, stop!, Oh, And, Much, It, When, As\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-308-009-00-64c8f21c", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nMattie Silver had lived under his roof for a year, and from early morning till they met at supper he had frequent chances of seeing her; but no moments in her company were comparable to those when, her arm in his, and her light step flying to keep time with his long stride, they walked back through the night to the farm. He had taken to the girl from the first day, when he had driven over to the Flats to meet her, and she had smiled and waved to him from the train, crying out, \"You must be Ethan!\" as she jumped down with her bundles, while he reflected, looking over her slight person: \"She don't look much on housework, but she ain't a fretter, anyhow.\" But it was not only that the coming to his house of a bit of hopeful young life was like the lighting of a fire on a cold hearth. The girl was more than the bright serviceable creature he had thought her. She had an eye to see and an ear to hear: he could show her things and tell her things, and taste the bliss of feeling that all he imparted left long reverberations and echoes he could wake at will.\nIt was during their night walks back to the farm that he felt most intensely the sweetness of this communion. He had always been more sensitive than the people about him to the appeal of natural beauty. His unfinished studies had given form to this sensibility and even in his unhappiest moments field and sky spoke to him with a deep and powerful persuasion. But hitherto the emotion had remained in him as a silent ache, veiling with sadness the beauty that evoked it. He did not even know whether any one else in the world felt as he did, or whether he was the sole victim of this mournful privilege. Then he learned that one other spirit had trembled with the same touch of wonder: that at his side, living under his roof and eating his bread, was a creature to whom he could say: \"That's Orion down yonder; the big fellow to the right is Aldebaran, and the bunch of little ones—like bees swarming—they're the Pleiades...\" or whom he could hold entranced before a ledge of granite thrusting up through the fern while he unrolled the huge panorama of the ice age, and the long dim stretches of succeeding time. The fact that admiration for his learning mingled with Mattie's wonder at what he taught was not the least part of his pleasure. And there were other sensations, less definable but more exquisite, which drew them together with a shock of silent joy: the cold red of sunset behind winter hills, the flight of cloud-flocks over slopes of golden stubble, or the intensely blue shadows of hemlocks on sunlit snow. When she said to him once: \"It looks just as if it was painted!\" it seemed to Ethan that the art of definition could go no farther, and that words had at last been found to utter his secret soul....\nAs he stood in the darkness outside the church these memories came back with the poignancy of vanished things. Watching Mattie whirl down the floor from hand to hand he wondered how he could ever have thought that his dull talk interested her. To him, who was never gay but in her presence, her gaiety seemed plain proof of indifference. The face she lifted to her dancers was the same which, when she saw him, always looked like a window that has caught the sunset. He even noticed two or three gestures which, in his fatuity, he had thought she kept for him: a way of throwing her head back when she was amused, as if to taste her laugh before she let it out, and a trick of sinking her lids slowly when anything charmed or moved her.\nThe sight made him unhappy, and his unhappiness roused his latent fears. His wife had never shown any jealousy of Mattie, but of late she had grumbled increasingly over the house-work and found oblique ways of attracting attention to the girl's inefficiency. Zeena had always been what Starkfield called \"sickly,\" and Frome had to admit that, if she were as ailing as she believed, she needed the help of a stronger arm than the one which lay so lightly in his during the night walks to the farm. Mattie had no natural turn for housekeeping, and her training had done nothing to remedy the defect. She was quick to learn, but forgetful and dreamy, and not disposed to take the matter seriously. Ethan had an idea that if she were to marry a man she was fond of the dormant instinct would wake, and her pies and biscuits become the pride of the county; but domesticity in the abstract did not interest her. At first she was so awkward that he could not help laughing at her; but she laughed with him and that made them better friends. He did his best to supplement her unskilled efforts, getting up earlier than usual to light the kitchen fire, carrying in the wood overnight, and neglecting the mill for the farm that he might help her about the house during the day. He even crept down on Saturday nights to scrub the kitchen floor after the women had gone to bed; and Zeena, one day, had surprised him at the churn and had turned away silently, with one of her queer looks.\nOf late there had been other signs of her disfavour, as intangible but more disquieting. One cold winter morning, as he dressed in the dark, his candle flickering in the draught of the ill-fitting window, he had heard her speak from the bed behind him.\n\"The doctor don't want I should be left without anybody to do for me,\" she said in her flat whine.\nHe had supposed her to be asleep, and the sound of her voice had startled him, though she was given to abrupt explosions of speech after long intervals of secretive silence.\nHe turned and looked at her where she lay indistinctly outlined under the dark calico quilt, her high-boned face taking a grayish tinge from the whiteness of the pillow.\n\"Nobody to do for you?\" he repeated.\n\"If you say you can't afford a hired girl when Mattie goes.\"\nFrome turned away again, and taking up his razor stooped to catch the reflection of his stretched cheek in the blotched looking-glass above the wash-stand.\n\"Why on earth should Mattie go?\"\n\"Well, when she gets married, I mean,\" his wife's drawl came from behind him.\n\"Oh, she'd never leave us as long as you needed her,\" he returned, scraping hard at his chin.\n\"I wouldn't ever have it said that I stood in the way of a poor girl like Mattie marrying a smart fellow like Denis Eady,\" Zeena answered in a tone of plaintive self-effacement.\nEthan, glaring at his face in the glass, threw his head back to draw the razor from ear to chin. His hand was steady, but the attitude was an excuse for not making an immediate reply.\n\"And the doctor don't want I should be left without anybody,\" Zeena continued. \"He wanted I should speak to you about a girl he's heard about, that might come—\"\nEthan laid down the razor and straightened himself with a laugh.\n\"Denis Eady! If that's all, I guess there's no such hurry to look round for a girl.\"\n\"Well, I'd like to talk to you about it,\" said Zeena obstinately.\nHe was getting into his clothes in fumbling haste. \"All right. But I haven't got the time now; I'm late as it is,\" he returned, holding his old silver turnip-watch to the candle.\nZeena, apparently accepting this as final, lay watching him in silence while he pulled his suspenders over his shoulders and jerked his arms into his coat; but as he went toward the door she said, suddenly and incisively: \"I guess you're always late, now you shave every morning.\"", "chosen": "47", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n47\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-4517-002-01-935f7da1", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nOur first night.—Under canvas.—An appeal for help.—Contrariness of tea-kettles, how to overcome.—Supper.—How to feel virtuous.—Wanted! a comfortably-appointed, well-drained desert island, neighbourhood of South Pacific Ocean preferred.—Funny thing that happened to George's father.—a restless night.\nHarris and I began to think that Bell Weir lock must have been done away with after the same manner. George had towed us up to Staines, and we had taken the boat from there, and it seemed that we were dragging fifty tons after us, and were walking forty miles. It was half-past seven when we were through, and we all got in, and sculled up close to the left bank, looking out for a spot to haul up in.\nWe had originally intended to go on to Magna Charta Island, a sweetly pretty part of the river, where it winds through a soft, green valley, and to camp in one of the many picturesque inlets to be found round that tiny shore. But, somehow, we did not feel that we yearned for the picturesque nearly so much now as we had earlier in the day. A bit of water between a coal-barge and a gas-works would have quite satisfied us for that night. We did not want scenery. We wanted to have our supper and go to bed. However, we did pull up to the point—\"Picnic Point,\" it is called—and dropped into a very pleasant nook under a great elm-tree, to the spreading roots of which we fastened the boat.\nThen we thought we were going to have supper (we had dispensed with tea, so as to save time), but George said no; that we had better get the canvas up first, before it got quite dark, and while we could see what we were doing. Then, he said, all our work would be done, and we could sit down to eat with an easy mind.\nThat canvas wanted more putting up than I think any of us had bargained for. It looked so simple in the abstract. You took five iron arches, like gigantic croquet hoops, and fitted them up over the boat, and then stretched the canvas over them, and fastened it down: it would take quite ten minutes, we thought.\nThat was an under-estimate.\nWe took up the hoops, and began to drop them into the sockets placed for them. You would not imagine this to be dangerous work; but, looking back now, the wonder to me is that any of us are alive to tell the tale. They were not hoops, they were demons. First they would not fit into their sockets at all, and we had to jump on them, and kick them, and hammer at them with the boat-hook; and, when they were in, it turned out that they were the wrong hoops for those particular sockets, and they had to come out again.\nBut they would not come out, until two of us had gone and struggled with them for five minutes, when they would jump up suddenly, and try and throw us into the water and drown us. They had hinges in the middle, and, when we were not looking, they nipped us with these hinges in delicate parts of the body; and, while we were wrestling with one side of the hoop, and endeavouring to persuade it to do its duty, the other side would come behind us in a cowardly manner, and hit us over the head.\nWe got them fixed at last, and then all that was to be done was to arrange the covering over them. George unrolled it, and fastened one end over the nose of the boat. Harris stood in the middle to take it from George and roll it on to me, and I kept by the stern to receive it. It was a long time coming down to me. George did his part all right, but it was new work to Harris, and he bungled it.\nHow he managed it I do not know, he could not explain himself; but by some mysterious process or other he succeeded, after ten minutes of superhuman effort, in getting himself completely rolled up in it. He was so firmly wrapped round and tucked in and folded over, that he could not get out. He, of course, made frantic struggles for freedom—the birthright of every Englishman,—and, in doing so (I learned this afterwards), knocked over George; and then George, swearing at Harris, began to struggle too, and got himself entangled and rolled up.\n[Picture: Watching and waiting] I knew nothing about all this at the time. I did not understand the business at all myself. I had been told to stand where I was, and wait till the canvas came to me, and Montmorency and I stood there and waited, both as good as gold. We could see the canvas being violently jerked and tossed about, pretty considerably; but we supposed this was part of the method, and did not interfere.\nWe also heard much smothered language coming from underneath it, and we guessed that they were finding the job rather troublesome, and concluded that we would wait until things had got a little simpler before we joined in.\nWe waited some time, but matters seemed to get only more and more involved, until, at last, George's head came wriggling out over the side of the boat, and spoke up.\nIt said:\n\"Give us a hand here, can't you, you cuckoo; standing there like a stuffed mummy, when you see we are both being suffocated, you dummy!\"\nI never could withstand an appeal for help, so I went and undid them; not before it was time, either, for Harris was nearly black in the face.\nIt took us half an hour's hard labour, after that, before it was properly up, and then we cleared the decks, and got out supper. We put the kettle on to boil, up in the nose of the boat, and went down to the stern and pretended to take no notice of it, but set to work to get the other things out.\nThat is the only way to get a kettle to boil up the river. If it sees that you are waiting for it and are anxious, it will never even sing. You have to go away and begin your meal, as if you were not going to have any tea at all. You must not even look round at it. Then you will soon hear it sputtering away, mad to be made into tea.\nIt is a good plan, too, if you are in a great hurry, to talk very loudly to each other about how you don't need any tea, and are not going to have any. You get near the kettle, so that it can overhear you, and then you shout out, \"I don't want any tea; do you, George?\" to which George shouts back, \"Oh, no, I don't like tea; we'll have lemonade instead—tea's so indigestible.\" Upon which the kettle boils over, and puts the stove out.\nWe adopted this harmless bit of trickery, and the result was that, by the time everything else was ready, the tea was waiting. Then we lit the lantern, and squatted down to supper.\nWe wanted that supper.\nFor five-and-thirty minutes not a sound was heard throughout the length and breadth of that boat, save the clank of cutlery and crockery, and the steady grinding of four sets of molars. At the end of five-and-thirty minutes, Harris said, \"Ah!\" and took his left leg out from under him and put his right one there instead.\nFive minutes afterwards, George said, \"Ah!\" too, and threw his plate out on the bank; and, three minutes later than that, Montmorency gave the first sign of contentment he had exhibited since we had started, and rolled over on his side, and spread his legs out; and then I said, \"Ah!\" and bent my head back, and bumped it against one of the hoops, but I did not mind it. I did not even swear.", "chosen": "Five minutes afterwards, George said, \"Ah!\" too, and threw his plate out on the bank; and, three minutes later than that, Montmorency gave the first sign of contentment he had exhibited since we had started, and rolled over on his side, and spread his legs out; and then I said, \"Ah!\" and bent my head back, and bumped it against one of the hoops, but I did not mind it.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nFive minutes afterwards, George said, \"Ah!\" too, and threw his plate out on the bank; and, three minutes later than that, Montmorency gave the first sign of contentment he had exhibited since we had started, and rolled over on his side, and spread his legs out; and then I said, \"Ah!\" and bent my head back, and bumped it against one of the hoops, but I did not mind it.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-308-010-00-b1f457a0", "source": "pg-308", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nMr. Collins's triumph, in consequence of this invitation, was complete. The power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering visitors, and of letting them see her civility towards himself and his wife, was exactly what he had wished for; and that an opportunity of doing it should be given so soon was such an instance of Lady Catherine's condescension as he knew not how to admire enough.\n\"I confess,\" said he, \"that I should not have been at all surprised by her Ladyship's asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at Rosings. I rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it would happen. But who could have foreseen such an attention as this? Who could have imagined that we should receive an invitation to dine there (an invitation, moreover, including the whole party) so immediately after your arrival?\"\n\"I am the less surprised at what has happened,\" replied Sir William, \"from that knowledge of what the manners of the great really are, which my situation in life has allowed me to acquire. About the court, such instances of elegant breeding are not uncommon.\"\nScarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them in what they were to expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner, might not wholly overpower them.\nWhen the ladies were separating for the toilette, he said to Elizabeth,--\n\"Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us which becomes herself and daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest--there is no occasion for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved.\"\nWhile they were dressing, he came two or three times to their different doors, to recommend their being quick, as Lady Catherine very much objected to be kept waiting for her dinner. Such formidable accounts of her Ladyship, and her manner of living, quite frightened Maria Lucas, who had been little used to company; and she looked forward to her introduction at Rosings with as much apprehension as her father had done to his presentation at St. James's.\nAs the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across the park. Every park has its beauty and its prospects; and Elizabeth saw much to be pleased with, though she could not be in such raptures as Mr. Collins expected the scene to inspire, and was but slightly affected by his enumeration of the windows in front of the house, and his relation of what the glazing altogether had originally cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh.\nWhen they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm was every moment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm. Elizabeth's courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing of Lady Catherine that spoke her awful from any extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue, and the mere stateliness of money and rank she thought she could witness without trepidation.\nFrom the entrance hall, of which Mr. Collins pointed out, with a rapturous air, the fine proportion and finished ornaments, they followed the servants through an antechamber to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her Ladyship, with great condescension, arose to receive them; and as Mrs. Collins had settled it with her husband that the office of introduction should be hers, it was performed in a proper manner, without any of those apologies and thanks which he would have thought necessary.\nIn spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so completely awed by the grandeur surrounding him, that he had but just courage enough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a word; and his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of her chair, not knowing which way to look. Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the scene, and could observe the three ladies before her composedly. Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome. Her air was not conciliating, nor was her manner of receiving them such as to make her visitors forget their inferior rank. She was not rendered formidable by silence: but whatever she said was spoken in so authoritative a tone as marked her self-importance, and brought Mr. Wickham immediately to Elizabeth's mind; and, from the observation of the day altogether, she believed Lady Catherine to be exactly what he had represented.\nWhen, after examining the mother, in whose countenance and deportment she soon found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes on the daughter, she could almost have joined in Maria's astonishment at her being so thin and so small. There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the ladies. Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly: her features, though not plain, were insignificant; and she spoke very little, except in a low voice, to Mrs. Jenkinson, in whose appearance there was nothing remarkable, and who was entirely engaged in listening to what she said, and placing a screen in the proper direction before her eyes.\nAfter sitting a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows to admire the view, Mr. Collins attending them to point out its beauties, and Lady Catherine kindly informing them that it was much better worth looking at in the summer.\nThe dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants, and all the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had promised; and, as he had likewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by her Ladyship's desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish nothing greater. He carved and ate and praised with delighted alacrity; and every dish was commended first by him, and then by Sir William, who was now enough recovered to echo whatever his son-in-law said, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine could bear. But Lady Catherine seemed gratified by their excessive admiration, and gave most gracious smiles, especially when any dish on the table proved a novelty to them. The party did not supply much conversation. Elizabeth was ready to speak whenever there was an opening, but she was seated between Charlotte and Miss de Bourgh--the former of whom was engaged in listening to Lady Catherine, and the latter said not a word to her all the dinnertime. Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little Miss de Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish and fearing she was indisposed. Maria thought speaking out of the question, and the gentlemen did nothing but eat and admire.", "chosen": "[\"I confess,\", \"I am the less surprised at what has happened,\", \"from that knowledge of what the manners of the great really are, which my situation in life has allowed me to acquire. About the court, such instances of elegant breeding are not uncommon.\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"I confess,\", \"I am the less surprised at what has happened,\", \"from that knowledge of what the manners of the great really are, which my situation in life has allowed me to acquire. About the court, such instances of elegant breeding are not uncommon.\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-1342-029-00-a209f1f5", "source": "pg-1342", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"I do. You have not implied to me that the symptoms which—I am bound to testify—you watched with scrupulous care, were those of a fatal disease. But were it so, Mr. Lydgate, I should desire to know the truth without reservation, and I appeal to you for an exact statement of your conclusions: I request it as a friendly service. If you can tell me that my life is not threatened by anything else than ordinary casualties, I shall rejoice, on grounds which I have already indicated. If not, knowledge of the truth is even more important to me.\"\n\"Then I can no longer hesitate as to my course,\" said Lydgate; \"but the first thing I must impress on you is that my conclusions are doubly uncertain—uncertain not only because of my fallibility, but because diseases of the heart are eminently difficult to found predictions on. In any case, one can hardly increase appreciably the tremendous uncertainty of life.\"\nMr. Casaubon winced perceptibly, but bowed.\n\"I believe that you are suffering from what is called fatty degeneration of the heart, a disease which was first divined and explored by Laennec, the man who gave us the stethoscope, not so very many years ago. A good deal of experience—a more lengthened observation—is wanting on the subject. But after what you have said, it is my duty to tell you that death from this disease is often sudden. At the same time, no such result can be predicted. Your condition may be consistent with a tolerably comfortable life for another fifteen years, or even more. I could add no information to this beyond anatomical or medical details, which would leave expectation at precisely the same point.\" Lydgate's instinct was fine enough to tell him that plain speech, quite free from ostentatious caution, would be felt by Mr. Casaubon as a tribute of respect.\n\"I thank you, Mr. Lydgate,\" said Mr. Casaubon, after a moment's pause. \"One thing more I have still to ask: did you communicate what you have now told me to Mrs. Casaubon?\"\n\"Partly—I mean, as to the possible issues.\" Lydgate was going to explain why he had told Dorothea, but Mr. Casaubon, with an unmistakable desire to end the conversation, waved his hand slightly, and said again, \"I thank you,\" proceeding to remark on the rare beauty of the day.\nLydgate, certain that his patient wished to be alone, soon left him; and the black figure with hands behind and head bent forward continued to pace the walk where the dark yew-trees gave him a mute companionship in melancholy, and the little shadows of bird or leaf that fleeted across the isles of sunlight, stole along in silence as in the presence of a sorrow. Here was a man who now for the first time found himself looking into the eyes of death—who was passing through one of those rare moments of experience when we feel the truth of a commonplace, which is as different from what we call knowing it, as the vision of waters upon the earth is different from the delirious vision of the water which cannot be had to cool the burning tongue. When the commonplace \"We must all die\" transforms itself suddenly into the acute consciousness \"I must die—and soon,\" then death grapples us, and his fingers are cruel; afterwards, he may come to fold us in his arms as our mother did, and our last moment of dim earthly discerning may be like the first. To Mr. Casaubon now, it was as if he suddenly found himself on the dark river-brink and heard the plash of the oncoming oar, not discerning the forms, but expecting the summons. In such an hour the mind does not change its lifelong bias, but carries it onward in imagination to the other side of death, gazing backward—perhaps with the divine calm of beneficence, perhaps with the petty anxieties of self-assertion. What was Mr. Casaubon's bias his acts will give us a clew to. He held himself to be, with some private scholarly reservations, a believing Christian, as to estimates of the present and hopes of the future. But what we strive to gratify, though we may call it a distant hope, is an immediate desire: the future estate for which men drudge up city alleys exists already in their imagination and love. And Mr. Casaubon's immediate desire was not for divine communion and light divested of earthly conditions; his passionate longings, poor man, clung low and mist-like in very shady places.\nDorothea had been aware when Lydgate had ridden away, and she had stepped into the garden, with the impulse to go at once to her husband. But she hesitated, fearing to offend him by obtruding herself; for her ardor, continually repulsed, served, with her intense memory, to heighten her dread, as thwarted energy subsides into a shudder; and she wandered slowly round the nearer clumps of trees until she saw him advancing. Then she went towards him, and might have represented a heaven-sent angel coming with a promise that the short hours remaining should yet be filled with that faithful love which clings the closer to a comprehended grief. His glance in reply to hers was so chill that she felt her timidity increased; yet she turned and passed her hand through his arm.\nMr. Casaubon kept his hands behind him and allowed her pliant arm to cling with difficulty against his rigid arm.\nThere was something horrible to Dorothea in the sensation which this unresponsive hardness inflicted on her. That is a strong word, but not too strong: it is in these acts called trivialities that the seeds of joy are forever wasted, until men and women look round with haggard faces at the devastation their own waste has made, and say, the earth bears no harvest of sweetness—calling their denial knowledge. You may ask why, in the name of manliness, Mr. Casaubon should have behaved in that way. Consider that his was a mind which shrank from pity: have you ever watched in such a mind the effect of a suspicion that what is pressing it as a grief may be really a source of contentment, either actual or future, to the being who already offends by pitying? Besides, he knew little of Dorothea's sensations, and had not reflected that on such an occasion as the present they were comparable in strength to his own sensibilities about Carp's criticisms.\nDorothea did not withdraw her arm, but she could not venture to speak. Mr. Casaubon did not say, \"I wish to be alone,\" but he directed his steps in silence towards the house, and as they entered by the glass door on this eastern side, Dorothea withdrew her arm and lingered on the matting, that she might leave her husband quite free. He entered the library and shut himself in, alone with his sorrow.\nShe went up to her boudoir. The open bow-window let in the serene glory of the afternoon lying in the avenue, where the lime-trees cast long shadows. But Dorothea knew nothing of the scene. She threw herself on a chair, not heeding that she was in the dazzling sun-rays: if there were discomfort in that, how could she tell that it was not part of her inward misery?\nShe was in the reaction of a rebellious anger stronger than any she had felt since her marriage. Instead of tears there came words:—\n\"What have I done—what am I—that he should treat me so? He never knows what is in my mind—he never cares. What is the use of anything I do? He wishes he had never married me.\"", "chosen": "me", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nme\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-042-02-323a89d3", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nIN a handsome room—though its furniture had rather the air of old-fashioned comfort than of modern elegance—there sat two ladies at a well-spread breakfast-table. Mr. Giles, dressed with scrupulous care in a full suit of black, was in attendance upon them. He had taken his station some half-way between the sideboard and the breakfast-table, and with his body drawn up to its full height, his head thrown back, and inclined the merest trifle on one side, his left leg advanced, and his right hand thrust into his waistcoat, while his left hung down by his side, grasping a waiter, looked like one who laboured under a very agreeable sense of his own merits and importance.\nOf the two ladies, one was well advanced in years, but the high-backed oaken chair in which she sat was not more upright than she. Dressed with the utmost nicety and precision, in a quaint mixture of by-gone costume, with some slight concessions to the prevailing taste, which rather served to point the old style pleasantly than to impair its effect, she sat in a stately manner with her hands folded on the table before her, and her eyes, of which age had dimmed but little of their brightness, attentively fixed upon her young companion.\nThe younger lady was in the lovely bloom and spring-time of womanhood; at that age when, if ever angels be for God's good purposes enthroned in mortal forms, they may be, without impiety, supposed to abide in such as hers.\nShe was not past seventeen. Cast in so slight and exquisite a mould; so mild and gentle, so pure and beautiful, that earth seemed not her element, nor its rough creatures her fit companions. The very intelligence that shone in her deep blue eye, and was stamped upon her noble head, seemed scarcely of her age or of the world; and yet the changing expression of sweetness and good humour, the thousand lights that played about the face and left no shadow there; above all, the smile—the cheerful, happy smile—were intwined with the best sympathies and affections of our nature.\nShe was busily engaged in the little offices of the table, and chancing to raise her eyes as the elder lady was regarding her, playfully put back her hair, which was simply braided on her forehead, and threw into one beaming look such a gush of affection and artless loveliness, that blessed spirits might have smiled to look upon her.\nThe elder lady smiled; but her heart was full, and she brushed away a tear as she did so.\n\"And Brittles has been gone upwards of an hour, has he?\" asked the old lady, after a pause.\n\"An hour and twelve minutes, ma'am,\" replied Mr. Giles, referring to a silver watch, which he drew forth by a black ribbon.\n\"He is always slow,\" remarked the old lady.\n\"Brittles always was a slow boy, ma'am,\" replied the attendant. And seeing, by-the-by, that Brittles had been a slow boy for upwards of thirty years, there appeared no great probability of his ever being a fast one.\n\"He gets worse instead of better, I think,\" said the elder lady.\n\"It is very inexcusable in him if he stops to play with any other boys,\" said the young lady, smiling.\nMr. Giles was apparently considering the propriety of indulging in a respectful smile himself, when a gig drove up to the garden-gate, out of which there jumped a fat gentleman, who ran straight up to the door, and getting quickly into the house by some mysterious process, burst into the room, and nearly overturned Mr. Giles and the breakfast-table together.\n\"I never heard of such a thing!\" exclaimed the fat gentleman. \"My dear Mrs. Maylie—bless my soul—in the silence of night, too—I never heard of such a thing!\"\nWith these expressions of condolence, the fat gentleman shook hands with both ladies, and drawing up a chair, inquired how they found themselves.\n\"You ought to be dead—positively dead with the fright,\" said the fat gentleman. \"Why didn't you send? Bless me, my man should have come in a minute, and so would I, and my assistant would have been delighted, or anybody, I'm sure, under such circumstances; dear, dear—so unexpected—in the silence of night, too!\"\nThe doctor seemed especially troubled by the fact of the robbery having been unexpected, and attempted in the night-time, as if it were the established custom of gentlemen in the housebreaking way to transact business at noon, and to make an appointment, by the twopenny post, a day or two previous.\n\"And you, Miss Rose,\" said the doctor, turning to the young lady, \"I——\"\n\"Oh! very much so, indeed,\" said Rose, interrupting him; \"but there is a poor creature up stairs, whom aunt wishes you to see.\"\n\"Ah! to be sure,\" replied the doctor, \"so there is. That was your handiwork, Giles, I understand.\"\nMr. Giles, who had been feverishly putting the tea-cups to rights, blushed very red, and said that he had had that honour.\n\"Honour, eh?\" said the doctor; \"well, I don't know; perhaps it's as honourable to hit a thief in a back kitchen as to hit your man at twelve paces. Fancy that he fired in the air, and you've fought a duel, Giles.\"\nMr. Giles, who thought this light treatment of the matter an unjust attempt at diminishing his glory, answered respectfully, that it was not for the like of him to judge about that, but he rather thought it was no joke to the opposite party.\n\"'Gad, that's true!\" said the doctor. \"Where is he? Shew me the way. I'll look in again as I come down, Mrs. Maylie. That's the little window that he got in at, eh? Well, I couldn't have believed it.\" Talking all the way, he followed Mr. Giles up stairs; and while he is going up stairs, the reader may be informed, that Mr. Losberne, a surgeon in the neighbourhood, known through a circuit of ten miles round as \"the doctor,\" had grown fat more from goodhumour than from good living, and was as kind and hearty, and withal as eccentric an old bachelor, as will be found in five times that space by any explorer alive.\nThe doctor was absent much longer than either he or the ladies had anticipated. A large flat box was fetched out of the gig, and a bedroom bell was rung very often, and the servants ran up and down stairs perpetually; from which tokens it was justly concluded that something important was going on above. At length he returned; and in reply to an anxious inquiry after his patient, looked very mysterious, and closed the door carefully.\n\"This is a very extraordinary thing, Mrs. Maylie,\" said the doctor, standing with his back to the door, as if to keep it shut.\n\"He is not in danger, I hope?\" said the old lady.\n\"Why, that would not be an extraordinary thing, under the circumstances,\" replied the doctor; \"though I don't think he is. Have you seen this thief?\"\n\"No,\" rejoined the old lady.\n\"Nor heard anything about him?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"I beg your pardon, ma'am,\" interposed Mr. Giles; \"but I was going to tell you about him when Doctor Losberne came in.\"\nThe fact was, that Mr. Giles had not at first been able to bring his mind to the avowal, that he had only shot a boy. Such commendations had been bestowed upon his bravery that he could not, for the life of him, help postponing the explanation for a few delicious minutes, during which he had flourished in the very zenith of a brief reputation for undaunted courage.\n\"Rose wished to see the man,\" said Mrs. Maylie; \"but I wouldn't hear of it.\"\n\"Humph!\" rejoined the doctor. \"There's nothing very alarming in his appearance. Have you any objection to see him in my presence?\"\n\"If it be necessary,\" replied the old lady, \"certainly not.\"\n\"Then I think it is necessary,\" said the doctor; \"at all events, I am quite sure that you would deeply regret not having done so, if you postponed it. He is perfectly quiet and comfortable now. Allow me—Miss Rose, will you permit me? Not the slightest fear, I pledge you my honour.\"", "chosen": "[\"God\", \"Brittles\", \"Rose\", \"Giles\", \"Honour\", \"Where\", \"Talking\", \"Nor\", \"Losberne\", \"Humph\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"God\", \"Brittles\", \"Rose\", \"Giles\", \"Honour\", \"Where\", \"Talking\", \"Nor\", \"Losberne\", \"Humph\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-47530-009-00-8bb71f06", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Listen! I took the case of children only to make my case clearer. Of the other tears of humanity with which the earth is soaked from its crust to its center, I will say nothing. I have narrowed my subject on purpose. I am a bug, and I recognize in all humility that I cannot understand why the world is arranged as it is. Men are themselves to blame, I suppose; they were given paradise, they wanted freedom, and stole fire from heaven, though they knew they would become unhappy, so there is no need to pity them. With my pitiful, earthly, Euclidian understanding, all I know is that there is suffering and that there are none guilty; that cause follows effect, simply and directly; that everything flows and finds its level—but that's only Euclidian nonsense, I know that, and I can't consent to live by it! What comfort is it to me that there are none guilty and that cause follows effect simply and directly, and that I know it?—I must have justice, or I will destroy myself. And not justice in some remote infinite time and space, but here on earth, and that I could see myself. I have believed in it. I want to see it, and if I am dead by then, let me rise again, for if it all happens without me, it will be too unfair. Surely I haven't suffered, simply that I, my crimes and my sufferings, may manure the soil of the future harmony for somebody else. I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when every one suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That's a question I can't answer. For the hundredth time I repeat, there are numbers of questions, but I've only taken the children, because in their case what I mean is so unanswerably clear. Listen! If all must suffer to pay for the eternal harmony, what have children to do with it, tell me, please? It's beyond all comprehension why they should suffer, and why they should pay for the harmony. Why should they, too, furnish material to enrich the soil for the harmony of the future? I understand solidarity in sin among men. I understand solidarity in retribution, too; but there can be no such solidarity with children. And if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their fathers' crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension. Some jester will say, perhaps, that the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old. Oh, Alyosha, I am not blaspheming! I understand, of course, what an upheaval of the universe it will be, when everything in heaven and earth blends in one hymn of praise and everything that lives and has lived cries aloud: 'Thou art just, O Lord, for Thy ways are revealed.' When the mother embraces the fiend who threw her child to the dogs, and all three cry aloud with tears, 'Thou art just, O Lord!' then, of course, the crown of knowledge will be reached and all will be made clear. But what pulls me up here is that I can't accept that harmony. And while I am on earth, I make haste to take my own measures. You see, Alyosha, perhaps it really may happen that if I live to that moment, or rise again to see it, I, too, perhaps, may cry aloud with the rest, looking at the mother embracing the child's torturer, 'Thou art just, O Lord!' but I don't want to cry aloud then. While there is still time, I hasten to protect myself, and so I renounce the higher harmony altogether. It's not worth the tears of that one tortured child who beat itself on the breast with its little fist and prayed in its stinking outhouse, with its unexpiated tears to 'dear, kind God'! It's not worth it, because those tears are unatoned for. They must be atoned for, or there can be no harmony. But how? How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? By their being avenged? But what do I care for avenging them? What do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since those children have already been tortured? And what becomes of harmony, if there is hell? I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don't want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price. I don't want the mother to embrace the oppressor who threw her son to the dogs! She dare not forgive him! Let her forgive him for herself, if she will, let her forgive the torturer for the immeasurable suffering of her mother's heart. But the sufferings of her tortured child she has no right to forgive; she dare not forgive the torturer, even if the child were to forgive him! And if that is so, if they dare not forgive, what becomes of harmony? Is there in the whole world a being who would have the right to forgive and could forgive? I don't want harmony. From love for humanity I don't want it. I would rather be left with the unavenged suffering. I would rather remain with my unavenged suffering and unsatisfied indignation, even if I were wrong. Besides, too high a price is asked for harmony; it's beyond our means to pay so much to enter on it. And so I hasten to give back my entrance ticket, and if I am an honest man I am bound to give it back as soon as possible. And that I am doing. It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the ticket.\"\n\"That's rebellion,\" murmured Alyosha, looking down.\n\"Rebellion? I am sorry you call it that,\" said Ivan earnestly. \"One can hardly live in rebellion, and I want to live. Tell me yourself, I challenge you—answer. Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last, but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature—that baby beating its breast with its fist, for instance—and to found that edifice on its unavenged tears, would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me, and tell the truth.\"\n\"No, I wouldn't consent,\" said Alyosha softly.\n\"And can you admit the idea that men for whom you are building it would agree to accept their happiness on the foundation of the unexpiated blood of a little victim? And accepting it would remain happy for ever?\"\n\"No, I can't admit it. Brother,\" said Alyosha suddenly, with flashing eyes, \"you said just now, is there a being in the whole world who would have the right to forgive and could forgive? But there is a Being and He can forgive everything, all and for all, because He gave His innocent blood for all and everything. You have forgotten Him, and on Him is built the edifice, and it is to Him they cry aloud, 'Thou art just, O Lord, for Thy ways are revealed!'\"\n\"Ah! the One without sin and His blood! No, I have not forgotten Him; on the contrary I've been wondering all the time how it was you did not bring Him in before, for usually all arguments on your side put Him in the foreground. Do you know, Alyosha—don't laugh! I made a poem about a year ago. If you can waste another ten minutes on me, I'll tell it to you.\"\n\"You wrote a poem?\"", "chosen": "Listen!, I, Of, I, I, Men, With, What, And, I, I, Surely, I, I, All, But, That's, For, Listen!, If, It's, Why, I, I, And, Some, Oh,, I, But, And, You, While, It's, It's, They, But, How, Is, By, But, What, What, And, I, I, I, And, I, She, Let, But, And, Is, I, From, I, I, Besides,, And, And, It's, Rebellion?, I, One, Tell, Imagine, Tell, And, And, Brother,\", But, You, the, No,, Do, I, If", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nListen!, I, Of, I, I, Men, With, What, And, I, I, Surely, I, I, All, But, That's, For, Listen!, If, It's, Why, I, I, And, Some, Oh,, I, But, And, You, While, It's, It's, They, But, How, Is, By, But, What, What, And, I, I, I, And, I, She, Let, But, And, Is, I, From, I, I, Besides,, And, And, It's, Rebellion?, I, One, Tell, Imagine, Tell, And, And, Brother,\", But, You, the, No,, Do, I, If\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-035-03-4d97e6a2", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThey went to work, and Fred helped vigorously. His spirits had risen, and he heartily enjoyed a good slip in the moist earth under the hedgerow, which soiled his perfect summer trousers. Was it his successful onset which had elated him, or the satisfaction of helping Mary's father? Something more. The accidents of the morning had helped his frustrated imagination to shape an employment for himself which had several attractions. I am not sure that certain fibres in Mr. Garth's mind had not resumed their old vibration towards the very end which now revealed itself to Fred. For the effective accident is but the touch of fire where there is oil and tow; and it always appeared to Fred that the railway brought the needed touch. But they went on in silence except when their business demanded speech. At last, when they had finished and were walking away, Mr. Garth said—\n\"A young fellow needn't be a B. A. to do this sort of work, eh, Fred?\"\n\"I wish I had taken to it before I had thought of being a B. A.,\" said Fred. He paused a moment, and then added, more hesitatingly, \"Do you think I am too old to learn your business, Mr. Garth?\"\n\"My business is of many sorts, my boy,\" said Mr. Garth, smiling. \"A good deal of what I know can only come from experience: you can't learn it off as you learn things out of a book. But you are young enough to lay a foundation yet.\" Caleb pronounced the last sentence emphatically, but paused in some uncertainty. He had been under the impression lately that Fred had made up his mind to enter the Church.\n\"You do think I could do some good at it, if I were to try?\" said Fred, more eagerly.\n\"That depends,\" said Caleb, turning his head on one side and lowering his voice, with the air of a man who felt himself to be saying something deeply religious. \"You must be sure of two things: you must love your work, and not be always looking over the edge of it, wanting your play to begin. And the other is, you must not be ashamed of your work, and think it would be more honorable to you to be doing something else. You must have a pride in your own work and in learning to do it well, and not be always saying, There's this and there's that—if I had this or that to do, I might make something of it. No matter what a man is—I wouldn't give twopence for him\"—here Caleb's mouth looked bitter, and he snapped his fingers—\"whether he was the prime minister or the rick-thatcher, if he didn't do well what he undertook to do.\"\n\"I can never feel that I should do that in being a clergyman,\" said Fred, meaning to take a step in argument.\n\"Then let it alone, my boy,\" said Caleb, abruptly, \"else you'll never be easy. Or, if you are easy, you'll be a poor stick.\"\n\"That is very nearly what Mary thinks about it,\" said Fred, coloring. \"I think you must know what I feel for Mary, Mr. Garth: I hope it does not displease you that I have always loved her better than any one else, and that I shall never love any one as I love her.\"\nThe expression of Caleb's face was visibly softening while Fred spoke. But he swung his head with a solemn slowness, and said—\n\"That makes things more serious, Fred, if you want to take Mary's happiness into your keeping.\"\n\"I know that, Mr. Garth,\" said Fred, eagerly, \"and I would do anything for her. She says she will never have me if I go into the Church; and I shall be the most miserable devil in the world if I lose all hope of Mary. Really, if I could get some other profession, business—anything that I am at all fit for, I would work hard, I would deserve your good opinion. I should like to have to do with outdoor things. I know a good deal about land and cattle already. I used to believe, you know—though you will think me rather foolish for it—that I should have land of my own. I am sure knowledge of that sort would come easily to me, especially if I could be under you in any way.\"\n\"Softly, my boy,\" said Caleb, having the image of \"Susan\" before his eyes. \"What have you said to your father about all this?\"\n\"Nothing, yet; but I must tell him. I am only waiting to know what I can do instead of entering the Church. I am very sorry to disappoint him, but a man ought to be allowed to judge for himself when he is four-and-twenty. How could I know when I was fifteen, what it would be right for me to do now? My education was a mistake.\"\n\"But hearken to this, Fred,\" said Caleb. \"Are you sure Mary is fond of you, or would ever have you?\"\n\"I asked Mr. Farebrother to talk to her, because she had forbidden me—I didn't know what else to do,\" said Fred, apologetically. \"And he says that I have every reason to hope, if I can put myself in an honorable position—I mean, out of the Church. I dare say you think it unwarrantable in me, Mr. Garth, to be troubling you and obtruding my own wishes about Mary, before I have done anything at all for myself. Of course I have not the least claim—indeed, I have already a debt to you which will never be discharged, even when I have been able to pay it in the shape of money.\"\n\"Yes, my boy, you have a claim,\" said Caleb, with much feeling in his voice. \"The young ones have always a claim on the old to help them forward. I was young myself once and had to do without much help; but help would have been welcome to me, if it had been only for the fellow-feeling's sake. But I must consider. Come to me to-morrow at the office, at nine o'clock. At the office, mind.\"\nMr. Garth would take no important step without consulting Susan, but it must be confessed that before he reached home he had taken his resolution. With regard to a large number of matters about which other men are decided or obstinate, he was the most easily manageable man in the world. He never knew what meat he would choose, and if Susan had said that they ought to live in a four-roomed cottage, in order to save, he would have said, \"Let us go,\" without inquiring into details. But where Caleb's feeling and judgment strongly pronounced, he was a ruler; and in spite of his mildness and timidity in reproving, every one about him knew that on the exceptional occasions when he chose, he was absolute. He never, indeed, chose to be absolute except on some one else's behalf. On ninety-nine points Mrs. Garth decided, but on the hundredth she was often aware that she would have to perform the singularly difficult task of carrying out her own principle, and to make herself subordinate.\n\"It is come round as I thought, Susan,\" said Caleb, when they were seated alone in the evening. He had already narrated the adventure which had brought about Fred's sharing in his work, but had kept back the further result. \"The children are fond of each other—I mean, Fred and Mary.\"\nMrs. Garth laid her work on her knee, and fixed her penetrating eyes anxiously on her husband.\n\"After we'd done our work, Fred poured it all out to me. He can't bear to be a clergyman, and Mary says she won't have him if he is one; and the lad would like to be under me and give his mind to business. And I've determined to take him and make a man of him.\"\n\"Caleb!\" said Mrs. Garth, in a deep contralto, expressive of resigned astonishment.", "chosen": "69", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n69\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-056-03-87dc240e", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"I don't know on what terms you are ... since you say it so positively, I suppose she did give it to you. You've got the money in your hand, but instead of going to Siberia you're spending it all.... Where are you really off to now, eh?\"\n\"To Mokroe.\"\n\"To Mokroe? But it's night!\"\n\"Once the lad had all, now the lad has naught,\" cried Mitya suddenly.\n\"How 'naught'? You say that with all those thousands!\"\n\"I'm not talking about thousands. Damn thousands! I'm talking of the female character.\nFickle is the heart of woman Treacherous and full of vice;\nI agree with Ulysses. That's what he says.\"\n\"I don't understand you!\"\n\"Am I drunk?\"\n\"Not drunk, but worse.\"\n\"I'm drunk in spirit, Pyotr Ilyitch, drunk in spirit! But that's enough!\"\n\"What are you doing, loading the pistol?\"\n\"I'm loading the pistol.\"\nUnfastening the pistol-case, Mitya actually opened the powder horn, and carefully sprinkled and rammed in the charge. Then he took the bullet and, before inserting it, held it in two fingers in front of the candle.\n\"Why are you looking at the bullet?\" asked Pyotr Ilyitch, watching him with uneasy curiosity.\n\"Oh, a fancy. Why, if you meant to put that bullet in your brain, would you look at it or not?\"\n\"Why look at it?\"\n\"It's going into my brain, so it's interesting to look and see what it's like. But that's foolishness, a moment's foolishness. Now that's done,\" he added, putting in the bullet and driving it home with the ramrod. \"Pyotr Ilyitch, my dear fellow, that's nonsense, all nonsense, and if only you knew what nonsense! Give me a little piece of paper now.\"\n\"Here's some paper.\"\n\"No, a clean new piece, writing-paper. That's right.\"\nAnd taking a pen from the table, Mitya rapidly wrote two lines, folded the paper in four, and thrust it in his waistcoat pocket. He put the pistols in the case, locked it up, and kept it in his hand. Then he looked at Pyotr Ilyitch with a slow, thoughtful smile.\n\"Now, let's go.\"\n\"Where are we going? No, wait a minute.... Are you thinking of putting that bullet in your brain, perhaps?\" Pyotr Ilyitch asked uneasily.\n\"I was fooling about the bullet! I want to live. I love life! You may be sure of that. I love golden-haired Phœbus and his warm light.... Dear Pyotr Ilyitch, do you know how to step aside?\"\n\"What do you mean by 'stepping aside'?\"\n\"Making way. Making way for a dear creature, and for one I hate. And to let the one I hate become dear—that's what making way means! And to say to them: God bless you, go your way, pass on, while I—\"\n\"While you—?\"\n\"That's enough, let's go.\"\n\"Upon my word. I'll tell some one to prevent your going there,\" said Pyotr Ilyitch, looking at him. \"What are you going to Mokroe for, now?\"\n\"There's a woman there, a woman. That's enough for you. You shut up.\"\n\"Listen, though you're such a savage I've always liked you.... I feel anxious.\"\n\"Thanks, old fellow. I'm a savage you say. Savages, savages! That's what I am always saying. Savages! Why, here's Misha! I was forgetting him.\"\nMisha ran in, post-haste, with a handful of notes in change, and reported that every one was in a bustle at the Plotnikovs'; \"They're carrying down the bottles, and the fish, and the tea; it will all be ready directly.\" Mitya seized ten roubles and handed it to Pyotr Ilyitch, then tossed another ten-rouble note to Misha.\n\"Don't dare to do such a thing!\" cried Pyotr Ilyitch. \"I won't have it in my house, it's a bad, demoralizing habit. Put your money away. Here, put it here, why waste it? It would come in handy to-morrow, and I dare say you'll be coming to me to borrow ten roubles again. Why do you keep putting the notes in your side-pocket? Ah, you'll lose them!\"\n\"I say, my dear fellow, let's go to Mokroe together.\"\n\"What should I go for?\"\n\"I say, let's open a bottle at once, and drink to life! I want to drink, and especially to drink with you. I've never drunk with you, have I?\"\n\"Very well, we can go to the 'Metropolis.' I was just going there.\"\n\"I haven't time for that. Let's drink at the Plotnikovs', in the back room. Shall I ask you a riddle?\"\n\"Ask away.\"\nMitya took the piece of paper out of his waistcoat pocket, unfolded it and showed it. In a large, distinct hand was written: \"I punish myself for my whole life, my whole life I punish!\"\n\"I will certainly speak to some one, I'll go at once,\" said Pyotr Ilyitch, after reading the paper.\n\"You won't have time, dear boy, come and have a drink. March!\"\nPlotnikov's shop was at the corner of the street, next door but one to Pyotr Ilyitch's. It was the largest grocery shop in our town, and by no means a bad one, belonging to some rich merchants. They kept everything that could be got in a Petersburg shop, grocery of all sort, wines \"bottled by the brothers Eliseyev,\" fruits, cigars, tea, coffee, sugar, and so on. There were three shop-assistants and two errand boys always employed. Though our part of the country had grown poorer, the landowners had gone away, and trade had got worse, yet the grocery stores flourished as before, every year with increasing prosperity; there were plenty of purchasers for their goods.\nThey were awaiting Mitya with impatience in the shop. They had vivid recollections of how he had bought, three or four weeks ago, wine and goods of all sorts to the value of several hundred roubles, paid for in cash (they would never have let him have anything on credit, of course). They remembered that then, as now, he had had a bundle of hundred-rouble notes in his hand, and had scattered them at random, without bargaining, without reflecting, or caring to reflect what use so much wine and provisions would be to him. The story was told all over the town that, driving off then with Grushenka to Mokroe, he had \"spent three thousand in one night and the following day, and had come back from the spree without a penny.\" He had picked up a whole troop of gypsies (encamped in our neighborhood at the time), who for two days got money without stint out of him while he was drunk, and drank expensive wine without stint. People used to tell, laughing at Mitya, how he had given champagne to grimy-handed peasants, and feasted the village women and girls on sweets and Strasburg pies. Though to laugh at Mitya to his face was rather a risky proceeding, there was much laughter behind his back, especially in the tavern, at his own ingenuous public avowal that all he had got out of Grushenka by this \"escapade\" was \"permission to kiss her foot, and that was the utmost she had allowed him.\"\nBy the time Mitya and Pyotr Ilyitch reached the shop, they found a cart with three horses harnessed abreast with bells, and with Andrey, the driver, ready waiting for Mitya at the entrance. In the shop they had almost entirely finished packing one box of provisions, and were only waiting for Mitya's arrival to nail it down and put it in the cart. Pyotr Ilyitch was astounded.\n\"Where did this cart come from in such a hurry?\" he asked Mitya.\n\"I met Andrey as I ran to you, and told him to drive straight here to the shop. There's no time to lose. Last time I drove with Timofey, but Timofey now has gone on before me with the witch. Shall we be very late, Andrey?\"\n\"They'll only get there an hour at most before us, not even that maybe. I got Timofey ready to start. I know how he'll go. Their pace won't be ours, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. How could it be? They won't get there an hour earlier!\" Andrey, a lanky, red-haired, middle-aged driver, wearing a full-skirted coat, and with a kaftan on his arm, replied warmly.\n\"Fifty roubles for vodka if we're only an hour behind them.\"\n\"I warrant the time, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. Ech, they won't be half an hour before us, let alone an hour.\"", "chosen": "Though to laugh at Mitya to his face was rather a risky proceeding, there was much laughter behind his back, especially in the tavern, at his own ingenuous public avowal that all he had got out of Grushenka by this \"escapade\" was \"permission to kiss her foot, and that was the utmost she had allowed him.\"\nBy the time Mitya and Pyotr Ilyitch reached the shop, they found a cart with three horses harnessed abreast with bells, and with Andrey, the driver, ready waiting for Mitya at the entrance.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nThough to laugh at Mitya to his face was rather a risky proceeding, there was much laughter behind his back, especially in the tavern, at his own ingenuous public avowal that all he had got out of Grushenka by this \"escapade\" was \"permission to kiss her foot, and that was the utmost she had allowed him.\"\nBy the time Mitya and Pyotr Ilyitch reached the shop, they found a cart with three horses harnessed abreast with bells, and with Andrey, the driver, ready waiting for Mitya at the entrance.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-048-02-eddb134b", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Poor young man!\" cried Mrs. Jennings, \"I am sure he should be very welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if I could see him. It is not fit that he should be living about at his own charge now, at lodgings and taverns.\"\nElinor's heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she could not forbear smiling at the form of it.\n\"If he would only have done as well by himself,\" said John Dashwood, \"as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been in his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing. But as it is, it must be out of anybody's power to assist him. And there is one thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all--his mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle that estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward's, on proper conditions. I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking over the business.\"\n\"Well!\" said Mrs. Jennings, \"that is her revenge. Everybody has a way of their own. But I don't think mine would be, to make one son independent, because another had plagued me.\"\nMarianne got up and walked about the room.\n\"Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,\" continued John, \"than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely.\"\nA few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion, concluded his visit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters that he really believed there was no material danger in Fanny's indisposition, and that they need not therefore be very uneasy about it, he went away; leaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present occasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars's conduct, the Dashwoods', and Edward's.\nMarianne's indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the party.", "chosen": "[\"Poor young man!\", \"\\nElinor's heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she could not forbear smiling at the form of it.\\n\", \" said John Dashwood, \", \"Well!\", \"that is her revenge. Everybody has a way of their own. But I don't think mine would be, to make one son independent, because another had plagued me.\", \"Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,\", \"than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely.\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Poor young man!\", \"\\nElinor's heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she could not forbear smiling at the form of it.\\n\", \" said John Dashwood, \", \"Well!\", \"that is her revenge. Everybody has a way of their own. But I don't think mine would be, to make one son independent, because another had plagued me.\", \"Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,\", \"than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely.\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-21839-037-03-bc918d99", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nHe really was late. They had waited for him and had already decided to bear the pretty flower-decked little coffin to the church without him. It was the coffin of poor little Ilusha. He had died two days after Mitya was sentenced. At the gate of the house Alyosha was met by the shouts of the boys, Ilusha's schoolfellows. They had all been impatiently expecting him and were glad that he had come at last. There were about twelve of them, they all had their school-bags or satchels on their shoulders. \"Father will cry, be with father,\" Ilusha had told them as he lay dying, and the boys remembered it. Kolya Krassotkin was the foremost of them.\n\"How glad I am you've come, Karamazov!\" he cried, holding out his hand to Alyosha. \"It's awful here. It's really horrible to see it. Snegiryov is not drunk, we know for a fact he's had nothing to drink to-day, but he seems as if he were drunk ... I am always manly, but this is awful. Karamazov, if I am not keeping you, one question before you go in?\"\n\"What is it, Kolya?\" said Alyosha.\n\"Is your brother innocent or guilty? Was it he killed your father or was it the valet? As you say, so it will be. I haven't slept for the last four nights for thinking of it.\"\n\"The valet killed him, my brother is innocent,\" answered Alyosha.\n\"That's what I said,\" cried Smurov.\n\"So he will perish an innocent victim!\" exclaimed Kolya; \"though he is ruined he is happy! I could envy him!\"\n\"What do you mean? How can you? Why?\" cried Alyosha surprised.\n\"Oh, if I, too, could sacrifice myself some day for truth!\" said Kolya with enthusiasm.\n\"But not in such a cause, not with such disgrace and such horror!\" said Alyosha.\n\"Of course ... I should like to die for all humanity, and as for disgrace, I don't care about that—our names may perish. I respect your brother!\"\n\"And so do I!\" the boy, who had once declared that he knew who had founded Troy, cried suddenly and unexpectedly, and he blushed up to his ears like a peony as he had done on that occasion.\nAlyosha went into the room. Ilusha lay with his hands folded and his eyes closed in a blue coffin with a white frill round it. His thin face was hardly changed at all, and strange to say there was no smell of decay from the corpse. The expression of his face was serious and, as it were, thoughtful. His hands, crossed over his breast, looked particularly beautiful, as though chiseled in marble. There were flowers in his hands and the coffin, inside and out, was decked with flowers, which had been sent early in the morning by Lise Hohlakov. But there were flowers too from Katerina Ivanovna, and when Alyosha opened the door, the captain had a bunch in his trembling hands and was strewing them again over his dear boy. He scarcely glanced at Alyosha when he came in, and he would not look at any one, even at his crazy weeping wife, \"mamma,\" who kept trying to stand on her crippled legs to get a nearer look at her dead boy. Nina had been pushed in her chair by the boys close up to the coffin. She sat with her head pressed to it and she too was no doubt quietly weeping. Snegiryov's face looked eager, yet bewildered and exasperated. There was something crazy about his gestures and the words that broke from him. \"Old man, dear old man!\" he exclaimed every minute, gazing at Ilusha. It was his habit to call Ilusha \"old man,\" as a term of affection when he was alive.\n\"Father, give me a flower, too; take that white one out of his hand and give it me,\" the crazy mother begged, whimpering. Either because the little white rose in Ilusha's hand had caught her fancy or that she wanted one from his hand to keep in memory of him, she moved restlessly, stretching out her hands for the flower.\n\"I won't give it to any one, I won't give you anything,\" Snegiryov cried callously. \"They are his flowers, not yours! Everything is his, nothing is yours!\"\n\"Father, give mother a flower!\" said Nina, lifting her face wet with tears.\n\"I won't give away anything and to her less than any one! She didn't love Ilusha. She took away his little cannon and he gave it to her,\" the captain broke into loud sobs at the thought of how Ilusha had given up his cannon to his mother. The poor, crazy creature was bathed in noiseless tears, hiding her face in her hands.\nThe boys, seeing that the father would not leave the coffin and that it was time to carry it out, stood round it in a close circle and began to lift it up.\n\"I don't want him to be buried in the churchyard,\" Snegiryov wailed suddenly; \"I'll bury him by the stone, by our stone! Ilusha told me to. I won't let him be carried out!\"\nHe had been saying for the last three days that he would bury him by the stone, but Alyosha, Krassotkin, the landlady, her sister and all the boys interfered.\n\"What an idea, bury him by an unholy stone, as though he had hanged himself!\" the old landlady said sternly. \"There in the churchyard the ground has been crossed. He'll be prayed for there. One can hear the singing in church and the deacon reads so plainly and verbally that it will reach him every time just as though it were read over his grave.\"\nAt last the captain made a gesture of despair as though to say, \"Take him where you will.\" The boys raised the coffin, but as they passed the mother, they stopped for a moment and lowered it that she might say good-by to Ilusha. But on seeing that precious little face, which for the last three days she had only looked at from a distance, she trembled all over and her gray head began twitching spasmodically over the coffin.\n\"Mother, make the sign of the cross over him, give him your blessing, kiss him,\" Nina cried to her. But her head still twitched like an automaton and with a face contorted with bitter grief she began, without a word, beating her breast with her fist. They carried the coffin past her. Nina pressed her lips to her brother's for the last time as they bore the coffin by her. As Alyosha went out of the house he begged the landlady to look after those who were left behind, but she interrupted him before he had finished.\n\"To be sure, I'll stay with them, we are Christians, too.\" The old woman wept as she said it.\nThey had not far to carry the coffin to the church, not more than three hundred paces. It was a still, clear day, with a slight frost. The church bells were still ringing. Snegiryov ran fussing and distracted after the coffin, in his short old summer overcoat, with his head bare and his soft, old, wide-brimmed hat in his hand. He seemed in a state of bewildered anxiety. At one minute he stretched out his hand to support the head of the coffin and only hindered the bearers, at another he ran alongside and tried to find a place for himself there. A flower fell on the snow and he rushed to pick it up as though everything in the world depended on the loss of that flower.\n\"And the crust of bread, we've forgotten the crust!\" he cried suddenly in dismay. But the boys reminded him at once that he had taken the crust of bread already and that it was in his pocket. He instantly pulled it out and was reassured.\n\"Ilusha told me to, Ilusha,\" he explained at once to Alyosha. \"I was sitting by him one night and he suddenly told me: 'Father, when my grave is filled up crumble a piece of bread on it so that the sparrows may fly down, I shall hear and it will cheer me up not to be lying alone.'\"\n\"That's a good thing,\" said Alyosha, \"we must often take some.\"\n\"Every day, every day!\" said the captain quickly, seeming cheered at the thought.", "chosen": "thought", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nthought\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-094-00-773ad610", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"And whatever you may hear from the talented and celebrated counsel for the defense,\" Ippolit Kirillovitch could not resist adding, \"whatever eloquent and touching appeals may be made to your sensibilities, remember that at this moment you are in a temple of justice. Remember that you are the champions of our justice, the champions of our holy Russia, of her principles, her family, everything that she holds sacred! Yes, you represent Russia here at this moment, and your verdict will be heard not in this hall only but will reëcho throughout the whole of Russia, and all Russia will hear you, as her champions and her judges, and she will be encouraged or disheartened by your verdict. Do not disappoint Russia and her expectations. Our fatal troika dashes on in her headlong flight perhaps to destruction and in all Russia for long past men have stretched out imploring hands and called a halt to its furious reckless course. And if other nations stand aside from that troika that may be, not from respect, as the poet would fain believe, but simply from horror. From horror, perhaps from disgust. And well it is that they stand aside, but maybe they will cease one day to do so and will form a firm wall confronting the hurrying apparition and will check the frenzied rush of our lawlessness, for the sake of their own safety, enlightenment and civilization. Already we have heard voices of alarm from Europe, they already begin to sound. Do not tempt them! Do not heap up their growing hatred by a sentence justifying the murder of a father by his son!\"\nThough Ippolit Kirillovitch was genuinely moved, he wound up his speech with this rhetorical appeal—and the effect produced by him was extraordinary. When he had finished his speech, he went out hurriedly and, as I have mentioned before, almost fainted in the adjoining room. There was no applause in the court, but serious persons were pleased. The ladies were not so well satisfied, though even they were pleased with his eloquence, especially as they had no apprehensions as to the upshot of the trial and had full trust in Fetyukovitch. \"He will speak at last and of course carry all before him.\"\nEvery one looked at Mitya; he sat silent through the whole of the prosecutor's speech, clenching his teeth, with his hands clasped, and his head bowed. Only from time to time he raised his head and listened, especially when Grushenka was spoken of. When the prosecutor mentioned Rakitin's opinion of her, a smile of contempt and anger passed over his face and he murmured rather audibly, \"The Bernards!\" When Ippolit Kirillovitch described how he had questioned and tortured him at Mokroe, Mitya raised his head and listened with intense curiosity. At one point he seemed about to jump up and cry out, but controlled himself and only shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. People talked afterwards of the end of the speech, of the prosecutor's feat in examining the prisoner at Mokroe, and jeered at Ippolit Kirillovitch. \"The man could not resist boasting of his cleverness,\" they said.\nThe court was adjourned, but only for a short interval, a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes at most. There was a hum of conversation and exclamations in the audience. I remember some of them.\n\"A weighty speech,\" a gentleman in one group observed gravely.\n\"He brought in too much psychology,\" said another voice.\n\"But it was all true, the absolute truth!\"\n\"Yes, he is first rate at it.\"\n\"He summed it all up.\"\n\"Yes, he summed us up, too,\" chimed in another voice. \"Do you remember, at the beginning of his speech, making out we were all like Fyodor Pavlovitch?\"\n\"And at the end, too. But that was all rot.\"\n\"And obscure too.\"\n\"He was a little too much carried away.\"\n\"It's unjust, it's unjust.\"\n\"No, it was smartly done, anyway. He's had long to wait, but he's had his say, ha ha!\"\n\"What will the counsel for the defense say?\"\nIn another group I heard:\n\"He had no business to make a thrust at the Petersburg man like that; 'appealing to your sensibilities'—do you remember?\"\n\"Yes, that was awkward of him.\"\n\"He was in too great a hurry.\"\n\"He is a nervous man.\"\n\"We laugh, but what must the prisoner be feeling?\"\n\"Yes, what must it be for Mitya?\"\nIn a third group:\n\"What lady is that, the fat one, with the lorgnette, sitting at the end?\"\n\"She is a general's wife, divorced, I know her.\"\n\"That's why she has the lorgnette.\"\n\"She is not good for much.\"\n\"Oh, no, she is a piquante little woman.\"\n\"Two places beyond her there is a little fair woman, she is prettier.\"\n\"They caught him smartly at Mokroe, didn't they, eh?\"\n\"Oh, it was smart enough. We've heard it before, how often he has told the story at people's houses!\"\n\"And he couldn't resist doing it now. That's vanity.\"\n\"He is a man with a grievance, he he!\"\n\"Yes, and quick to take offense. And there was too much rhetoric, such long sentences.\"\n\"Yes, he tries to alarm us, he kept trying to alarm us. Do you remember about the troika? Something about 'They have Hamlets, but we have, so far, only Karamazovs!' That was cleverly said!\"\n\"That was to propitiate the liberals. He is afraid of them.\"\n\"Yes, and he is afraid of the lawyer, too.\"\n\"Yes, what will Fetyukovitch say?\"\n\"Whatever he says, he won't get round our peasants.\"\n\"Don't you think so?\"\nA fourth group:\n\"What he said about the troika was good, that piece about the other nations.\"\n\"And that was true what he said about other nations not standing it.\"\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\"Why, in the English Parliament a Member got up last week and speaking about the Nihilists asked the Ministry whether it was not high time to intervene, to educate this barbarous people. Ippolit was thinking of him, I know he was. He was talking about that last week.\"\n\"Not an easy job.\"\n\"Not an easy job? Why not?\"\n\"Why, we'd shut up Kronstadt and not let them have any corn. Where would they get it?\"\n\"In America. They get it from America now.\"\n\"Nonsense!\"\nBut the bell rang, all rushed to their places. Fetyukovitch mounted the tribune.", "chosen": "[\"Ippolit\", \"Kirillovitch\", \"Russia\", \"Europe\", \"Fetyukovitch\", \"Mitya\", \"Grushenka\", \"Rakitin\", \"Bernards\", \"Mokroe\", \"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Petersburg\", \"Two\", \"Hamlets\", \"Karamazovs\", \"Whatever\", \"Don\", \"English\", \"Parliament\", \"Member\", \"Nihilists\", \"Ministry\", \"Not\", \"Kronstadt\", \"America\", \"Nonsense\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Ippolit\", \"Kirillovitch\", \"Russia\", \"Europe\", \"Fetyukovitch\", \"Mitya\", \"Grushenka\", \"Rakitin\", \"Bernards\", \"Mokroe\", \"Fyodor\", \"Pavlovitch\", \"Petersburg\", \"Two\", \"Hamlets\", \"Karamazovs\", \"Whatever\", \"Don\", \"English\", \"Parliament\", \"Member\", \"Nihilists\", \"Ministry\", \"Not\", \"Kronstadt\", \"America\", \"Nonsense\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-086-03-ddb5708c", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Before giving you our confidence,\" said a third, \"we will wait the report of the kind gentleman who went in search of one of your friends who was to speak for you.\"\n\"Very likely, in that case,\" said a fourth, \"we shall wait here till Christmas. Shouldn't wonder, did we not see that kind gentleman again. After seeking awhile in vain, he will conclude he has been made a fool of, and so not return to us for pure shame. Fact is, I begin to feel a little qualmish about the darkie myself. Something queer about this darkie, depend upon it.\"\nOnce more the negro wailed, and turning in despair from the last speaker, imploringly caught the Methodist by the skirt of his coat. But a change had come over that before impassioned intercessor. With an irresolute and troubled air, he mutely eyed the suppliant; against whom, somehow, by what seemed instinctive influences, the distrusts first set on foot were now generally reviving, and, if anything, with added severity.\n\"No confidence in dis poor ole darkie,\" yet again wailed the negro, letting go the coat-skirts and turning appealingly all round him.\n\"Yes, my poor fellow I have confidence in you,\" now exclaimed the country merchant before named, whom the negro's appeal, coming so piteously on the heel of pitilessness, seemed at last humanely to have decided in his favor. \"And here, here is some proof of my trust,\" with which, tucking his umbrella under his arm, and diving down his hand into his pocket, he fished forth a purse, and, accidentally, along with it, his business card, which, unobserved, dropped to the deck. \"Here, here, my poor fellow,\" he continued, extending a half dollar.\nNot more grateful for the coin than the kindness, the cripple's face glowed like a polished copper saucepan, and shuffling a pace nigher, with one upstretched hand he received the alms, while, as unconsciously, his one advanced leather stump covered the card.\nDone in despite of the general sentiment, the good deed of the merchant was not, perhaps, without its unwelcome return from the crowd, since that good deed seemed somehow to convey to them a sort of reproach. Still again, and more pertinaciously than ever, the cry arose against the negro, and still again he wailed forth his lament and appeal among other things, repeating that the friends, of whom already he had partially run off the list, would freely speak for him, would anybody go find them.\n\"Why don't you go find 'em yourself?\" demanded a gruff boatman.\n\"How can I go find 'em myself? Dis poor ole game-legged darkie's friends must come to him. Oh, whar, whar is dat good friend of dis darkie's, dat good man wid de weed?\"\nAt this point, a steward ringing a bell came along, summoning all persons who had not got their tickets to step to the captain's office; an announcement which speedily thinned the throng about the black cripple, who himself soon forlornly stumped out of sight, probably on much the same errand as the rest.", "chosen": "Before, Shouldn't, After, Fact, Something, But, With, No, Yes,, And, Here,, Not, Done, Still, Why, How, Dis, Oh,", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nBefore, Shouldn't, After, Fact, Something, But, With, No, Yes,, And, Here,, Not, Done, Still, Why, How, Dis, Oh,\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21816-003-02-0cc19247", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nShe answered, as if the date had long been fixed for her: \"The first time was at Shadow Pond.\"\n\"Was that why you gave me my coffee before the others?\"\n\"I don't know. Did I? I was dreadfully put out when you wouldn't go to the picnic with me; and then, when I saw you coming down the road, I thought maybe you'd gone home that way o' purpose; and that made me glad.\"\nThey were silent again. They had reached the point where the road dipped to the hollow by Ethan's mill and as they descended the darkness descended with them, dropping down like a black veil from the heavy hemlock boughs.\n\"I'm tied hand and foot, Matt. There isn't a thing I can do,\" he began again.\n\"You must write to me sometimes, Ethan.\"\n\"Oh, what good'll writing do? I want to put my hand out and touch you. I want to do for you and care for you. I want to be there when you're sick and when you're lonesome.\"\n\"You mustn't think but what I'll do all right.\"\n\"You won't need me, you mean? I suppose you'll marry!\"\n\"Oh, Ethan!\" she cried.\n\"I don't know how it is you make me feel, Matt. I'd a'most rather have you dead than that!\"\n\"Oh, I wish I was, I wish I was!\" she sobbed.\nThe sound of her weeping shook him out of his dark anger, and he felt ashamed.\n\"Don't let's talk that way,\" he whispered.\n\"Why shouldn't we, when it's true? I've been wishing it every minute of the day.\"\n\"Matt! You be quiet! Don't you say it.\"\n\"There's never anybody been good to me but you.\"\n\"Don't say that either, when I can't lift a hand for you!\"\n\"Yes; but it's true just the same.\"\nThey had reached the top of School House Hill and Starkfield lay below them in the twilight. A cutter, mounting the road from the village, passed them by in a joyous flutter of bells, and they straightened themselves and looked ahead with rigid faces. Along the main street lights had begun to shine from the house-fronts and stray figures were turning in here and there at the gates. Ethan, with a touch of his whip, roused the sorrel to a languid trot.\nAs they drew near the end of the village the cries of children reached them, and they saw a knot of boys, with sleds behind them, scattering across the open space before the church.\n\"I guess this'll be their last coast for a day or two,\" Ethan said, looking up at the mild sky.\nMattie was silent, and he added: \"We were to have gone down last night.\"\nStill she did not speak and, prompted by an obscure desire to help himself and her through their miserable last hour, he went on discursively: \"Ain't it funny we haven't been down together but just that once last winter?\"\nShe answered: \"It wasn't often I got down to the village.\"\n\"That's so,\" he said.\nThey had reached the crest of the Corbury road, and between the indistinct white glimmer of the church and the black curtain of the Varnum spruces the slope stretched away below them without a sled on its length. Some erratic impulse prompted Ethan to say: \"How'd you like me to take you down now?\"\nShe forced a laugh. \"Why, there isn't time!\"\n\"There's all the time we want. Come along!\" His one desire now was to postpone the moment of turning the sorrel toward the Flats.\n\"But the girl,\" she faltered. \"The girl'll be waiting at the station.\"\n\"Well, let her wait. You'd have to if she didn't. Come!\"\nThe note of authority in his voice seemed to subdue her, and when he had jumped from the sleigh she let him help her out, saying only, with a vague feint of reluctance: \"But there isn't a sled round anywheres.\"\n\"Yes, there is! Right over there under the spruces.\" He threw the bearskin over the sorrel, who stood passively by the roadside, hanging a meditative head. Then he caught Mattie's hand and drew her after him toward the sled.\nShe seated herself obediently and he took his place behind her, so close that her hair brushed his face. \"All right, Matt?\" he called out, as if the width of the road had been between them.\nShe turned her head to say: \"It's dreadfully dark. Are you sure you can see?\"\nHe laughed contemptuously: \"I could go down this coast with my eyes tied!\" and she laughed with him, as if she liked his audacity. Nevertheless he sat still a moment, straining his eyes down the long hill, for it was the most confusing hour of the evening, the hour when the last clearness from the upper sky is merged with the rising night in a blur that disguises landmarks and falsifies distances.\n\"Now!\" he cried.\nThe sled started with a bound, and they flew on through the dusk, gathering smoothness and speed as they went, with the hollow night opening out below them and the air singing by like an organ. Mattie sat perfectly still, but as they reached the bend at the foot of the hill, where the big elm thrust out a deadly elbow, he fancied that she shrank a little closer.\n\"Don't be scared, Matt!\" he cried exultantly, as they spun safely past it and flew down the second slope; and when they reached the level ground beyond, and the speed of the sled began to slacken, he heard her give a little laugh of glee.\nThey sprang off and started to walk back up the hill. Ethan dragged the sled with one hand and passed the other through Mattie's arm.\n\"Were you scared I'd run you into the elm?\" he asked with a boyish laugh.\n\"I told you I was never scared with you,\" she answered.\nThe strange exaltation of his mood had brought on one of his rare fits of boastfulness. \"It is a tricky place, though. The least swerve, and we'd never ha' come up again. But I can measure distances to a hair's-breadth—always could.\"\nShe murmured: \"I always say you've got the surest eye....\"\nDeep silence had fallen with the starless dusk, and they leaned on each other without speaking; but at every step of their climb Ethan said to himself: \"It's the last time we'll ever walk together.\"\nThey mounted slowly to the top of the hill. When they were abreast of the church he stooped his head to her to ask: \"Are you tired?\" and she answered, breathing quickly: \"It was splendid!\"\nWith a pressure of his arm he guided her toward the Norway spruces. \"I guess this sled must be Ned Hale's. Anyhow I'll leave it where I found it.\" He drew the sled up to the Varnum gate and rested it against the fence. As he raised himself he suddenly felt Mattie close to him among the shadows.\n\"Is this where Ned and Ruth kissed each other?\" she whispered breathlessly, and flung her arms about him. Her lips, groping for his, swept over his face, and he held her fast in a rapture of surprise.\n\"Good-bye-good-bye,\" she stammered, and kissed him again.\n\"Oh, Matt, I can't let you go!\" broke from him in the same old cry.\nShe freed herself from his hold and he heard her sobbing. \"Oh, I can't go either!\" she wailed.\n\"Matt! What'll we do? What'll we do?\"\nThey clung to each other's hands like children, and her body shook with desperate sobs.\nThrough the stillness they heard the church clock striking five.\n\"Oh, Ethan, it's time!\" she cried.\nHe drew her back to him. \"Time for what? You don't suppose I'm going to leave you now?\"\n\"If I missed my train where'd I go?\"\n\"Where are you going if you catch it?\"\nShe stood silent, her hands lying cold and relaxed in his.\n\"What's the good of either of us going anywheres without the other one now?\" he said.\nShe remained motionless, as if she had not heard him. Then she snatched her hands from his, threw her arms about his neck, and pressed a sudden drenched cheek against his face. \"Ethan! Ethan! I want you to take me down again!\"\n\"Down where?\"\n\"The coast. Right off,\" she panted. \"So 't we'll never come up any more.\"", "chosen": "78", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n78\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-4517-010-02-697baa4c", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Hire facounde eke full womanly and plain, No contrefeted termes had she To semen wise.\" —CHAUCER.\nIt was in that way Dorothea came to be sobbing as soon as she was securely alone. But she was presently roused by a knock at the door, which made her hastily dry her eyes before saying, \"Come in.\" Tantripp had brought a card, and said that there was a gentleman waiting in the lobby. The courier had told him that only Mrs. Casaubon was at home, but he said he was a relation of Mr. Casaubon's: would she see him?\n\"Yes,\" said Dorothea, without pause; \"show him into the salon.\" Her chief impressions about young Ladislaw were that when she had seen him at Lowick she had been made aware of Mr. Casaubon's generosity towards him, and also that she had been interested in his own hesitation about his career. She was alive to anything that gave her an opportunity for active sympathy, and at this moment it seemed as if the visit had come to shake her out of her self-absorbed discontent—to remind her of her husband's goodness, and make her feel that she had now the right to be his helpmate in all kind deeds. She waited a minute or two, but when she passed into the next room there were just signs enough that she had been crying to make her open face look more youthful and appealing than usual. She met Ladislaw with that exquisite smile of good-will which is unmixed with vanity, and held out her hand to him. He was the elder by several years, but at that moment he looked much the younger, for his transparent complexion flushed suddenly, and he spoke with a shyness extremely unlike the ready indifference of his manner with his male companion, while Dorothea became all the calmer with a wondering desire to put him at ease.\n\"I was not aware that you and Mr. Casaubon were in Rome, until this morning, when I saw you in the Vatican Museum,\" he said. \"I knew you at once—but—I mean, that I concluded Mr. Casaubon's address would be found at the Poste Restante, and I was anxious to pay my respects to him and you as early as possible.\"\n\"Pray sit down. He is not here now, but he will be glad to hear of you, I am sure,\" said Dorothea, seating herself unthinkingly between the fire and the light of the tall window, and pointing to a chair opposite, with the quietude of a benignant matron. The signs of girlish sorrow in her face were only the more striking. \"Mr. Casaubon is much engaged; but you will leave your address—will you not?—and he will write to you.\"\n\"You are very good,\" said Ladislaw, beginning to lose his diffidence in the interest with which he was observing the signs of weeping which had altered her face. \"My address is on my card. But if you will allow me I will call again to-morrow at an hour when Mr. Casaubon is likely to be at home.\"\n\"He goes to read in the Library of the Vatican every day, and you can hardly see him except by an appointment. Especially now. We are about to leave Rome, and he is very busy. He is usually away almost from breakfast till dinner. But I am sure he will wish you to dine with us.\"\nWill Ladislaw was struck mute for a few moments. He had never been fond of Mr. Casaubon, and if it had not been for the sense of obligation, would have laughed at him as a Bat of erudition. But the idea of this dried-up pedant, this elaborator of small explanations about as important as the surplus stock of false antiquities kept in a vendor's back chamber, having first got this adorable young creature to marry him, and then passing his honeymoon away from her, groping after his mouldy futilities (Will was given to hyperbole)—this sudden picture stirred him with a sort of comic disgust: he was divided between the impulse to laugh aloud and the equally unseasonable impulse to burst into scornful invective.\nFor an instant he felt that the struggle was causing a queer contortion of his mobile features, but with a good effort he resolved it into nothing more offensive than a merry smile.\nDorothea wondered; but the smile was irresistible, and shone back from her face too. Will Ladislaw's smile was delightful, unless you were angry with him beforehand: it was a gush of inward light illuminating the transparent skin as well as the eyes, and playing about every curve and line as if some Ariel were touching them with a new charm, and banishing forever the traces of moodiness. The reflection of that smile could not but have a little merriment in it too, even under dark eyelashes still moist, as Dorothea said inquiringly, \"Something amuses you?\"\n\"Yes,\" said Will, quick in finding resources. \"I am thinking of the sort of figure I cut the first time I saw you, when you annihilated my poor sketch with your criticism.\"\n\"My criticism?\" said Dorothea, wondering still more. \"Surely not. I always feel particularly ignorant about painting.\"\n\"I suspected you of knowing so much, that you knew how to say just what was most cutting. You said—I dare say you don't remember it as I do—that the relation of my sketch to nature was quite hidden from you. At least, you implied that.\" Will could laugh now as well as smile.\n\"That was really my ignorance,\" said Dorothea, admiring Will's good-humor. \"I must have said so only because I never could see any beauty in the pictures which my uncle told me all judges thought very fine. And I have gone about with just the same ignorance in Rome. There are comparatively few paintings that I can really enjoy. At first when I enter a room where the walls are covered with frescos, or with rare pictures, I feel a kind of awe—like a child present at great ceremonies where there are grand robes and processions; I feel myself in the presence of some higher life than my own. But when I begin to examine the pictures one by one the life goes out of them, or else is something violent and strange to me. It must be my own dulness. I am seeing so much all at once, and not understanding half of it. That always makes one feel stupid. It is painful to be told that anything is very fine and not be able to feel that it is fine—something like being blind, while people talk of the sky.\"\n\"Oh, there is a great deal in the feeling for art which must be acquired,\" said Will. (It was impossible now to doubt the directness of Dorothea's confession.) \"Art is an old language with a great many artificial affected styles, and sometimes the chief pleasure one gets out of knowing them is the mere sense of knowing. I enjoy the art of all sorts here immensely; but I suppose if I could pick my enjoyment to pieces I should find it made up of many different threads. There is something in daubing a little one's self, and having an idea of the process.\"\n\"You mean perhaps to be a painter?\" said Dorothea, with a new direction of interest. \"You mean to make painting your profession? Mr. Casaubon will like to hear that you have chosen a profession.\"\n\"No, oh no,\" said Will, with some coldness. \"I have quite made up my mind against it. It is too one-sided a life. I have been seeing a great deal of the German artists here: I travelled from Frankfort with one of them. Some are fine, even brilliant fellows—but I should not like to get into their way of looking at the world entirely from the studio point of view.\"\n\"That I can understand,\" said Dorothea, cordially. \"And in Rome it seems as if there were so many things which are more wanted in the world than pictures. But if you have a genius for painting, would it not be right to take that as a guide? Perhaps you might do better things than these—or different, so that there might not be so many pictures almost all alike in the same place.\"", "chosen": "But the idea of this dried-up pedant, this elaborator of small explanations about as important as the surplus stock of false antiquities kept in a vendor's back chamber, having first got this adorable young creature to marry him, and then passing his honeymoon away from her, groping after his mouldy futilities (Will was given to hyperbole)—this sudden picture stirred him with a sort of comic disgust: he was divided between the impulse to laugh aloud and the equally unseasonable impulse to burst into scornful invective.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nBut the idea of this dried-up pedant, this elaborator of small explanations about as important as the surplus stock of false antiquities kept in a vendor's back chamber, having first got this adorable young creature to marry him, and then passing his honeymoon away from her, groping after his mouldy futilities (Will was given to hyperbole)—this sudden picture stirred him with a sort of comic disgust: he was divided between the impulse to laugh aloud and the equally unseasonable impulse to burst into scornful invective.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-022-00-b18e851a", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nBe it said, however, that the Sperm Whale is far less liable to this accident than any other species. Where one of that sort go down, twenty Right Whales do. This difference in the species is no doubt imputable in no small degree to the greater quantity of bone in the Right Whale; his Venetian blinds alone sometimes weighing more than a ton; from this incumbrance the Sperm Whale is wholly free. But there are instances where, after the lapse of many hours or several days, the sunken whale again rises, more buoyant than in life. But the reason of this is obvious. Gases are generated in him; he swells to a prodigious magnitude; becomes a sort of animal balloon. A line-of-battle ship could hardly keep him under then. In the Shore Whaling, on soundings, among the Bays of New Zealand, when a Right Whale gives token of sinking, they fasten buoys to him, with plenty of rope; so that when the body has gone down, they know where to look for it when it shall have ascended again.\nIt was not long after the sinking of the body that a cry was heard from the Pequod's mast-heads, announcing that the Jungfrau was again lowering her boats; though the only spout in sight was that of a Fin-Back, belonging to the species of uncapturable whales, because of its incredible power of swimming. Nevertheless, the Fin-Back's spout is so similar to the Sperm Whale's, that by unskilful fishermen it is often mistaken for it. And consequently Derick and all his host were now in valiant chase of this unnearable brute. The Virgin crowding all sail, made after her four young keels, and thus they all disappeared far to leeward, still in bold, hopeful chase.\nOh! many are the Fin-Backs, and many are the Dericks, my friend.", "chosen": "friend", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nfriend\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-070-03-96fe0b38", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"I am not at all sure that I should be befriending your son by smoothing his way to the future possession of Featherstone's property. I cannot regard wealth as a blessing to those who use it simply as a harvest for this world. You do not like to hear these things, Vincy, but on this occasion I feel called upon to tell you that I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to. I do not shrink from saying that it will not tend to your son's eternal welfare or to the glory of God. Why then should you expect me to pen this kind of affidavit, which has no object but to keep up a foolish partiality and secure a foolish bequest?\"\n\"If you mean to hinder everybody from having money but saints and evangelists, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all I can say,\" Mr. Vincy burst out very bluntly. \"It may be for the glory of God, but it is not for the glory of the Middlemarch trade, that Plymdale's house uses those blue and green dyes it gets from the Brassing manufactory; they rot the silk, that's all I know about it. Perhaps if other people knew so much of the profit went to the glory of God, they might like it better. But I don't mind so much about that—I could get up a pretty row, if I chose.\"\nMr. Bulstrode paused a little before he answered. \"You pain me very much by speaking in this way, Vincy. I do not expect you to understand my grounds of action—it is not an easy thing even to thread a path for principles in the intricacies of the world—still less to make the thread clear for the careless and the scoffing. You must remember, if you please, that I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's brother, and that it little becomes you to complain of me as withholding material help towards the worldly position of your family. I must remind you that it is not your own prudence or judgment that has enabled you to keep your place in the trade.\"\n\"Very likely not; but you have been no loser by my trade yet,\" said Mr. Vincy, thoroughly nettled (a result which was seldom much retarded by previous resolutions). \"And when you married Harriet, I don't see how you could expect that our families should not hang by the same nail. If you've changed your mind, and want my family to come down in the world, you'd better say so. I've never changed; I'm a plain Churchman now, just as I used to be before doctrines came up. I take the world as I find it, in trade and everything else. I'm contented to be no worse than my neighbors. But if you want us to come down in the world, say so. I shall know better what to do then.\"\n\"You talk unreasonably. Shall you come down in the world for want of this letter about your son?\"\n\"Well, whether or not, I consider it very unhandsome of you to refuse it. Such doings may be lined with religion, but outside they have a nasty, dog-in-the-manger look. You might as well slander Fred: it comes pretty near to it when you refuse to say you didn't set a slander going. It's this sort of thing—this tyrannical spirit, wanting to play bishop and banker everywhere—it's this sort of thing makes a man's name stink.\"\n\"Vincy, if you insist on quarrelling with me, it will be exceedingly painful to Harriet as well as myself,\" said Mr. Bulstrode, with a trifle more eagerness and paleness than usual.\n\"I don't want to quarrel. It's for my interest—and perhaps for yours too—that we should be friends. I bear you no grudge; I think no worse of you than I do of other people. A man who half starves himself, and goes the length in family prayers, and so on, that you do, believes in his religion whatever it may be: you could turn over your capital just as fast with cursing and swearing:—plenty of fellows do. You like to be master, there's no denying that; you must be first chop in heaven, else you won't like it much. But you're my sister's husband, and we ought to stick together; and if I know Harriet, she'll consider it your fault if we quarrel because you strain at a gnat in this way, and refuse to do Fred a good turn. And I don't mean to say I shall bear it well. I consider it unhandsome.\"\nMr. Vincy rose, began to button his great-coat, and looked steadily at his brother-in-law, meaning to imply a demand for a decisive answer.\nThis was not the first time that Mr. Bulstrode had begun by admonishing Mr. Vincy, and had ended by seeing a very unsatisfactory reflection of himself in the coarse unflattering mirror which that manufacturer's mind presented to the subtler lights and shadows of his fellow-men; and perhaps his experience ought to have warned him how the scene would end. But a full-fed fountain will be generous with its waters even in the rain, when they are worse than useless; and a fine fount of admonition is apt to be equally irrepressible.\nIt was not in Mr. Bulstrode's nature to comply directly in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions. Before changing his course, he always needed to shape his motives and bring them into accordance with his habitual standard. He said, at last—\n\"I will reflect a little, Vincy. I will mention the subject to Harriet. I shall probably send you a letter.\"\n\"Very well. As soon as you can, please. I hope it will all be settled before I see you to-morrow.\"", "chosen": "[\"Featherstone\", \"Vincy\", \"God\", \"Middlemarch\", \"Plymdale\", \"Brassing\", \"Very\", \"Harriet\", \"Churchman\", \"Fred\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Featherstone\", \"Vincy\", \"God\", \"Middlemarch\", \"Plymdale\", \"Brassing\", \"Very\", \"Harriet\", \"Churchman\", \"Fred\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-145-014-02-73278242", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nHe hurried to Svidrigaïlov's. What he had to hope from that man he did not know. But that man had some hidden power over him. Having once recognised this, he could not rest, and now the time had come.\nOn the way, one question particularly worried him: had Svidrigaïlov been to Porfiry's?\nAs far as he could judge, he would swear to it, that he had not. He pondered again and again, went over Porfiry's visit; no, he hadn't been, of course he hadn't.\nBut if he had not been yet, would he go? Meanwhile, for the present he fancied he couldn't. Why? He could not have explained, but if he could, he would not have wasted much thought over it at the moment. It all worried him and at the same time he could not attend to it. Strange to say, none would have believed it perhaps, but he only felt a faint vague anxiety about his immediate future. Another, much more important anxiety tormented him--it concerned himself, but in a different, more vital way. Moreover, he was conscious of immense moral fatigue, though his mind was working better that morning than it had done of late.\nAnd was it worth while, after all that had happened, to contend with these new trivial difficulties? Was it worth while, for instance, to manoeuvre that Svidrigaïlov should not go to Porfiry's? Was it worth while to investigate, to ascertain the facts, to waste time over anyone like Svidrigaïlov?\nOh, how sick he was of it all!\nAnd yet he was hastening to Svidrigaïlov; could he be expecting something new from him, information, or means of escape? Men will catch at straws! Was it destiny or some instinct bringing them together? Perhaps it was only fatigue, despair; perhaps it was not Svidrigaïlov but some other whom he needed, and Svidrigaïlov had simply presented himself by chance. Sonia? But what should he go to Sonia for now? To beg her tears again? He was afraid of Sonia, too. Sonia stood before him as an irrevocable sentence. He must go his own way or hers. At that moment especially he did not feel equal to seeing her. No, would it not be better to try Svidrigaïlov? And he could not help inwardly owning that he had long felt that he must see him for some reason.\nBut what could they have in common? Their very evil-doing could not be of the same kind. The man, moreover, was very unpleasant, evidently depraved, undoubtedly cunning and deceitful, possibly malignant. Such stories were told about him. It is true he was befriending Katerina Ivanovna's children, but who could tell with what motive and what it meant? The man always had some design, some project.\nThere was another thought which had been continually hovering of late about Raskolnikov's mind, and causing him great uneasiness. It was so painful that he made distinct efforts to get rid of it. He sometimes thought that Svidrigaïlov was dogging his footsteps. Svidrigaïlov had found out his secret and had had designs on Dounia. What if he had them still? Wasn't it practically certain that he had? And what if, having learnt his secret and so having gained power over him, he were to use it as a weapon against Dounia?\nThis idea sometimes even tormented his dreams, but it had never presented itself so vividly to him as on his way to Svidrigaïlov. The very thought moved him to gloomy rage. To begin with, this would transform everything, even his own position; he would have at once to confess his secret to Dounia. Would he have to give himself up perhaps to prevent Dounia from taking some rash step? The letter? This morning Dounia had received a letter. From whom could she get letters in Petersburg? Luzhin, perhaps? It's true Razumihin was there to protect her, but Razumihin knew nothing of the position. Perhaps it was his duty to tell Razumihin? He thought of it with repugnance.\nIn any case he must see Svidrigaïlov as soon as possible, he decided finally. Thank God, the details of the interview were of little consequence, if only he could get at the root of the matter; but if Svidrigaïlov were capable... if he were intriguing against Dounia--then...\nRaskolnikov was so exhausted by what he had passed through that month that he could only decide such questions in one way; \"then I shall kill him,\" he thought in cold despair.\nA sudden anguish oppressed his heart, he stood still in the middle of the street and began looking about to see where he was and which way he was going. He found himself in X. Prospect, thirty or forty paces from the Hay Market, through which he had come. The whole second storey of the house on the left was used as a tavern. All the windows were wide open; judging from the figures moving at the windows, the rooms were full to overflowing. There were sounds of singing, of clarionet and violin, and the boom of a Turkish drum. He could hear women shrieking. He was about to turn back wondering why he had come to the X. Prospect, when suddenly at one of the end windows he saw Svidrigaïlov, sitting at a tea-table right in the open window with a pipe in his mouth. Raskolnikov was dreadfully taken aback, almost terrified. Svidrigaïlov was silently watching and scrutinising him and, what struck Raskolnikov at once, seemed to be meaning to get up and slip away unobserved. Raskolnikov at once pretended not to have seen him, but to be looking absent-mindedly away, while he watched him out of the corner of his eye. His heart was beating violently. Yet, it was evident that Svidrigaïlov did not want to be seen. He took the pipe out of his mouth and was on the point of concealing himself, but as he got up and moved back his chair, he seemed to have become suddenly aware that Raskolnikov had seen him, and was watching him. What had passed between them was much the same as what happened at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's room. A sly smile came into Svidrigaïlov's face and grew broader and broader. Each knew that he was seen and watched by the other. At last Svidrigaïlov broke into a loud laugh.\n\"Well, well, come in if you want me; I am here!\" he shouted from the window.\nRaskolnikov went up into the tavern. He found Svidrigaïlov in a tiny back room, adjoining the saloon in which merchants, clerks and numbers of people of all sorts were drinking tea at twenty little tables to the desperate bawling of a chorus of singers. The click of billiard balls could be heard in the distance. On the table before Svidrigaïlov stood an open bottle and a glass half full of champagne. In the room he found also a boy with a little hand organ, a healthy-looking red-cheeked girl of eighteen, wearing a tucked-up striped skirt, and a Tyrolese hat with ribbons. In spite of the chorus in the other room, she was singing some servants' hall song in a rather husky contralto, to the accompaniment of the organ.\n\"Come, that's enough,\" Svidrigaïlov stopped her at Raskolnikov's entrance. The girl at once broke off and stood waiting respectfully. She had sung her guttural rhymes, too, with a serious and respectful expression in her face.\n\"Hey, Philip, a glass!\" shouted Svidrigaïlov.\n\"I won't drink anything,\" said Raskolnikov.\n\"As you like, I didn't mean it for you. Drink, Katia! I don't want anything more to-day, you can go.\" He poured her out a full glass, and laid down a yellow note.\nKatia drank off her glass of wine, as women do, without putting it down, in twenty gulps, took the note and kissed Svidrigaïlov's hand, which he allowed quite seriously. She went out of the room and the boy trailed after her with the organ. Both had been brought in from the street. Svidrigaïlov had not been a week in Petersburg, but everything about him was already, so to speak, on a patriarchal footing; the waiter, Philip, was by now an old friend and very obsequious.\nThe door leading to the saloon had a lock on it. Svidrigaïlov was at home in this room and perhaps spent whole days in it. The tavern was dirty and wretched, not even second-rate.", "chosen": "He, What, But, Having, On, As, He, But, Meanwhile,, Why?, He, It, Strange, Another,, Moreover,, And, Was, Was, Oh,, And, Men, Was, Perhaps, Sonia?, But, To, He, Sonia, He, At, No,, And, But, Their, The, Such, It, The, There, It, He, Svidrigaïlov, What, Wasn't, And, This, The, To, Would, The, This, From, Luzhin,, It's, Perhaps, He, In, Thank, if, Raskolnikov, A, He, Prospect,, The, All, There, He, He, Prospect,, Raskolnikov, Svidrigaïlov, Raskolnikov, His, Yet,, He, What, A, Each, At, Well,, Raskolnikov, He, The, On, In, In, Come,, The, She, Hey,, I, As, Drink,, I, Katia, She, Both, Svidrigaïlov, The, Svidrigaïlov, The", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nHe, What, But, Having, On, As, He, But, Meanwhile,, Why?, He, It, Strange, Another,, Moreover,, And, Was, Was, Oh,, And, Men, Was, Perhaps, Sonia?, But, To, He, Sonia, He, At, No,, And, But, Their, The, Such, It, The, There, It, He, Svidrigaïlov, What, Wasn't, And, This, The, To, Would, The, This, From, Luzhin,, It's, Perhaps, He, In, Thank, if, Raskolnikov, A, He, Prospect,, The, All, There, He, He, Prospect,, Raskolnikov, Svidrigaïlov, Raskolnikov, His, Yet,, He, What, A, Each, At, Well,, Raskolnikov, He, The, On, In, In, Come,, The, She, Hey,, I, As, Drink,, I, Katia, She, Both, Svidrigaïlov, The, Svidrigaïlov, The\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-2554-004-00-c5b52046", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nThe look was a manly, open, and genuine look of admiration; a momentary tribute of a kind which any honest Englishman might have paid to fairness without being ashamed of the feeling, or permitting it to encroach in the slightest degree upon his emotional obligations as a husband and head of a family. Then Lord Luxellian turned away, and walked musingly to the upper end of the promenade.\nMr. Swancourt had alighted at the same time with Elfride, crossing over to the Row for a few minutes to speak to a friend he recognized there; and his wife was thus left sole tenant of the carriage.\nNow, whilst this little act had been in course of performance, there stood among the promenading spectators a man of somewhat different description from the rest. Behind the general throng, in the rear of the chairs, and leaning against the trunk of a tree, he looked at Elfride with quiet and critical interest.\nThree points about this unobtrusive person showed promptly to the exercised eye that he was not a Row man pur sang. First, an irrepressible wrinkle or two in the waist of his frock-coat—denoting that he had not damned his tailor sufficiently to drive that tradesman up to the orthodox high pressure of cunning workmanship. Second, a slight slovenliness of umbrella, occasioned by its owner's habit of resting heavily upon it, and using it as a veritable walking-stick, instead of letting its point touch the ground in the most coquettish of kisses, as is the proper Row manner to do. Third, and chief reason, that try how you might, you could scarcely help supposing, on looking at his face, that your eyes were not far from a well-finished mind, instead of the well-finished skin et praeterea nihil, which is by rights the Mark of the Row.\nThe probability is that, had not Mrs. Swancourt been left alone in her carriage under the tree, this man would have remained in his unobserved seclusion. But seeing her thus, he came round to the front, stooped under the rail, and stood beside the carriage-door.\nMrs. Swancourt looked reflectively at him for a quarter of a minute, then held out her hand laughingly:\n\"Why, Henry Knight—of course it is! My—second—third—fourth cousin—what shall I say? At any rate, my kinsman.\"\n\"Yes, one of a remnant not yet cut off. I scarcely was certain of you, either, from where I was standing.\"\n\"I have not seen you since you first went to Oxford; consider the number of years! You know, I suppose, of my marriage?\"\nAnd there sprang up a dialogue concerning family matters of birth, death, and marriage, which it is not necessary to detail. Knight presently inquired:\n\"The young lady who changed into the other carriage is, then, your stepdaughter?\"\n\"Yes, Elfride. You must know her.\"\n\"And who was the lady in the carriage Elfride entered; who had an ill-defined and watery look, as if she were only the reflection of herself in a pool?\"\n\"Lady Luxellian; very weakly, Elfride says. My husband is remotely connected with them; but there is not much intimacy on account of——. However, Henry, you'll come and see us, of course. 24 Chevron Square. Come this week. We shall only be in town a week or two longer.\"\n\"Let me see. I've got to run up to Oxford to-morrow, where I shall be for several days; so that I must, I fear, lose the pleasure of seeing you in London this year.\"\n\"Then come to Endelstow; why not return with us?\"\n\"I am afraid if I were to come before August I should have to leave again in a day or two. I should be delighted to be with you at the beginning of that month; and I could stay a nice long time. I have thought of going westward all the summer.\"\n\"Very well. Now remember that's a compact. And won't you wait now and see Mr. Swancourt? He will not be away ten minutes longer.\"\n\"No; I'll beg to be excused; for I must get to my chambers again this evening before I go home; indeed, I ought to have been there now—I have such a press of matters to attend to just at present. You will explain to him, please. Good-bye.\"\n\"And let us know the day of your appearance as soon as you can.\"\n\"I will\"", "chosen": "35", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n35\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-224-013-02-dcb8e9cd", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nWhat followed was almost an orgy, a feast to which all were welcome. Grushenka was the first to call for wine.\n\"I want to drink. I want to be quite drunk, as we were before. Do you remember, Mitya, do you remember how we made friends here last time!\"\nMitya himself was almost delirious, feeling that his happiness was at hand. But Grushenka was continually sending him away from her.\n\"Go and enjoy yourself. Tell them to dance, to make merry, 'let the stove and cottage dance'; as we had it last time,\" she kept exclaiming. She was tremendously excited. And Mitya hastened to obey her. The chorus were in the next room. The room in which they had been sitting till that moment was too small, and was divided in two by cotton curtains, behind which was a huge bed with a puffy feather mattress and a pyramid of cotton pillows. In the four rooms for visitors there were beds. Grushenka settled herself just at the door. Mitya set an easy chair for her. She had sat in the same place to watch the dancing and singing \"the time before,\" when they had made merry there. All the girls who had come had been there then; the Jewish band with fiddles and zithers had come, too, and at last the long expected cart had arrived with the wines and provisions.\nMitya bustled about. All sorts of people began coming into the room to look on, peasants and their women, who had been roused from sleep and attracted by the hopes of another marvelous entertainment such as they had enjoyed a month before. Mitya remembered their faces, greeting and embracing every one he knew. He uncorked bottles and poured out wine for every one who presented himself. Only the girls were very eager for the champagne. The men preferred rum, brandy, and, above all, hot punch. Mitya had chocolate made for all the girls, and ordered that three samovars should be kept boiling all night to provide tea and punch for everyone to help himself.\nAn absurd chaotic confusion followed, but Mitya was in his natural element, and the more foolish it became, the more his spirits rose. If the peasants had asked him for money at that moment, he would have pulled out his notes and given them away right and left. This was probably why the landlord, Trifon Borissovitch, kept hovering about Mitya to protect him. He seemed to have given up all idea of going to bed that night; but he drank little, only one glass of punch, and kept a sharp look-out on Mitya's interests after his own fashion. He intervened in the nick of time, civilly and obsequiously persuading Mitya not to give away \"cigars and Rhine wine,\" and, above all, money to the peasants as he had done before. He was very indignant, too, at the peasant girls drinking liqueur, and eating sweets.\n\"They're a lousy lot, Dmitri Fyodorovitch,\" he said. \"I'd give them a kick, every one of them, and they'd take it as an honor—that's all they're worth!\"\nMitya remembered Andrey again, and ordered punch to be sent out to him. \"I was rude to him just now,\" he repeated with a sinking, softened voice. Kalganov did not want to drink, and at first did not care for the girls' singing; but after he had drunk a couple of glasses of champagne he became extraordinarily lively, strolling about the room, laughing and praising the music and the songs, admiring every one and everything. Maximov, blissfully drunk, never left his side. Grushenka, too, was beginning to get drunk. Pointing to Kalganov, she said to Mitya:\n\"What a dear, charming boy he is!\"\nAnd Mitya, delighted, ran to kiss Kalganov and Maximov. Oh, great were his hopes! She had said nothing yet, and seemed, indeed, purposely to refrain from speaking. But she looked at him from time to time with caressing and passionate eyes. At last she suddenly gripped his hand and drew him vigorously to her. She was sitting at the moment in the low chair by the door.\n\"How was it you came just now, eh? Have you walked in!... I was frightened. So you wanted to give me up to him, did you? Did you really want to?\"\n\"I didn't want to spoil your happiness!\" Mitya faltered blissfully. But she did not need his answer.\n\"Well, go and enjoy yourself ...\" she sent him away once more. \"Don't cry, I'll call you back again.\"\nHe would run away, and she listened to the singing and looked at the dancing, though her eyes followed him wherever he went. But in another quarter of an hour she would call him once more and again he would run back to her.\n\"Come, sit beside me, tell me, how did you hear about me, and my coming here yesterday? From whom did you first hear it?\"\nAnd Mitya began telling her all about it, disconnectedly, incoherently, feverishly. He spoke strangely, often frowning, and stopping abruptly.\n\"What are you frowning at?\" she asked.\n\"Nothing.... I left a man ill there. I'd give ten years of my life for him to get well, to know he was all right!\"\n\"Well, never mind him, if he's ill. So you meant to shoot yourself to-morrow! What a silly boy! What for? I like such reckless fellows as you,\" she lisped, with a rather halting tongue. \"So you would go any length for me, eh? Did you really mean to shoot yourself to-morrow, you stupid? No, wait a little. To-morrow I may have something to say to you.... I won't say it to-day, but to-morrow. You'd like it to be to-day? No, I don't want to to-day. Come, go along now, go and amuse yourself.\"\nOnce, however, she called him, as it were, puzzled and uneasy.\n\"Why are you sad? I see you're sad.... Yes, I see it,\" she added, looking intently into his eyes. \"Though you keep kissing the peasants and shouting, I see something. No, be merry. I'm merry; you be merry, too.... I love somebody here. Guess who it is. Ah, look, my boy has fallen asleep, poor dear, he's drunk.\"\nShe meant Kalganov. He was, in fact, drunk, and had dropped asleep for a moment, sitting on the sofa. But he was not merely drowsy from drink; he felt suddenly dejected, or, as he said, \"bored.\" He was intensely depressed by the girls' songs, which, as the drinking went on, gradually became coarse and more reckless. And the dances were as bad. Two girls dressed up as bears, and a lively girl, called Stepanida, with a stick in her hand, acted the part of keeper, and began to \"show them.\"\n\"Look alive, Marya, or you'll get the stick!\"\nThe bears rolled on the ground at last in the most unseemly fashion, amid roars of laughter from the closely-packed crowd of men and women.\n\"Well, let them! Let them!\" said Grushenka sententiously, with an ecstatic expression on her face. \"When they do get a day to enjoy themselves, why shouldn't folks be happy?\"\nKalganov looked as though he had been besmirched with dirt.\n\"It's swinish, all this peasant foolery,\" he murmured, moving away; \"it's the game they play when it's light all night in summer.\"\nHe particularly disliked one \"new\" song to a jaunty dance-tune. It described how a gentleman came and tried his luck with the girls, to see whether they would love him:\nThe master came to try the girls: Would they love him, would they not?\nBut the girls could not love the master:\nHe would beat me cruelly And such love won't do for me.\nThen a gypsy comes along and he, too, tries:\nThe gypsy came to try the girls: Would they love him, would they not?\nBut they couldn't love the gypsy either:\nHe would be a thief, I fear, And would cause me many a tear.\nAnd many more men come to try their luck, among them a soldier:\nThe soldier came to try the girls: Would they love him, would they not?\nBut the soldier is rejected with contempt, in two indecent lines, sung with absolute frankness and producing a furore in the audience. The song ends with a merchant:\nThe merchant came to try the girls: Would they love him, would they not?", "chosen": "Two girls dressed up as bears, and a lively girl, called Stepanida, with a stick in her hand, acted the part of keeper, and began to \"show them.\"\n\"Look alive, Marya, or you'll get the stick!\"\nThe bears rolled on the ground at last in the most unseemly fashion, amid roars of laughter from the closely-packed crowd of men and women.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nTwo girls dressed up as bears, and a lively girl, called Stepanida, with a stick in her hand, acted the part of keeper, and began to \"show them.\"\n\"Look alive, Marya, or you'll get the stick!\"\nThe bears rolled on the ground at last in the most unseemly fashion, amid roars of laughter from the closely-packed crowd of men and women.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-28054-051-00-b689e740", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"You read about them once—you'll see. Look at Henry the Eight; this'n 's a Sunday-school Superintendent to him. And look at Charles Second, and Louis Fourteen, and Louis Fifteen, and James Second, and Edward Second, and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all them Saxon heptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise Cain. My, you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom. He was a blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her head next morning. And he would do it just as indifferent as if he was ordering up eggs. 'Fetch up Nell Gwynn,' he says. They fetch her up. Next morning, 'Chop off her head!' And they chop it off. 'Fetch up Jane Shore,' he says; and up she comes. Next morning, 'Chop off her head'—and they chop it off. 'Ring up Fair Rosamun.' Fair Rosamun answers the bell. Next morning, 'Chop off her head.' And he made every one of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he had hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in a book, and called it Domesday Book—which was a good name and stated the case. You don't know kings, Jim, but I know them; and this old rip of ourn is one of the cleanest I've struck in history. Well, Henry he takes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this country. How does he go at it—give notice?—give the country a show? No. All of a sudden he heaves all the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. That was his style—he never give anybody a chance. He had suspicions of his father, the Duke of Wellington. Well, what did he do? Ask him to show up? No—drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. S'pose people left money laying around where he was—what did he do? He collared it. S'pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn't set down there and see that he done it—what did he do? He always done the other thing. S'pose he opened his mouth—what then? If he didn't shut it up powerful quick he'd lose a lie every time. That's the kind of a bug Henry was; and if we'd a had him along 'stead of our kings he'd a fooled that town a heap worse than ourn done. I don't say that ourn is lambs, because they ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain't nothing to that old ram, anyway. All I say is, kings is kings, and you got to make allowances. Take them all around, they're a mighty ornery lot. It's the way they're raised.\"\n\"But dis one do smell so like de nation, Huck.\"\n\"Well, they all do, Jim. We can't help the way a king smells; history don't tell no way.\"\n\"Now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man in some ways.\"\n\"Yes, a duke's different. But not very different. This one's a middling hard lot for a duke. When he's drunk, there ain't no near-sighted man could tell him from a king.\"\n\"Well, anyways, I doan' hanker for no mo' un um, Huck. Dese is all I kin stan'.\"\n\"It's the way I feel, too, Jim. But we've got them on our hands, and we got to remember what they are, and make allowances. Sometimes I wish we could hear of a country that's out of kings.\"\nWhat was the use to tell Jim these warn't real kings and dukes? It wouldn't a done no good; and, besides, it was just as I said: you couldn't tell them from the real kind.\nI went to sleep, and Jim didn't call me when it was my turn. He often done that. When I waked up just at daybreak, he was sitting there with his head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to himself. I didn't take notice nor let on. I knowed what it was about. He was thinking about his wife and his children, away up yonder, and he was low and homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before in his life; and I do believe he cared just as much for his people as white folks does for their'n. It don't seem natural, but I reckon it's so. He was often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judged I was asleep, and saying, \"Po' little 'Lizabeth! po' little Johnny! it's mighty hard; I spec' I ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', no mo'!\" He was a mighty good nigger, Jim was.\nBut this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and young ones; and by-and-by he says:\n\"What makes me feel so bad dis time 'uz bekase I hear sumpn over yonder on de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time I treat my little 'Lizabeth so ornery. She warn't on'y 'bout fo' year ole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but she got well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en I says to her, I says:\n\"'Shet de do'.'\n\"She never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me. It make me mad; en I says agin, mighty loud, I says:\n\"'Doan' you hear me?—shet de do'!'\n\"She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up. I was a-bilin'! I says:\n\"'I lay I make you mine!'\n\"En wid dat I fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlin'. Den I went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten minutes; en when I come back dah was dat do' a-stannin' open yit, en dat chile stannin' mos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tears runnin' down. My, but I wuz mad! I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' den—it was a do' dat open innerds—jis' den, 'long come de wind en slam it to, behine de chile, ker-blam!—en my lan', de chile never move'! My breff mos' hop outer me; en I feel so—so—I doan' know how I feel. I crope out, all a-tremblin', en crope aroun' en open de do' easy en slow, en poke my head in behine de chile, sof' en still, en all uv a sudden I says pow! jis' as loud as I could yell. She never budge! Oh, Huck, I bust out a-cryin' en grab her up in my arms, en say, 'Oh, de po' little thing! De Lord God Amighty fogive po' ole Jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive hisself as long's he live!' Oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumb deef en dumb—en I'd ben a-treat'n her so!\"", "chosen": "so", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nso\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-76-023-01-633759df", "source": "pg-76", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Oh, you have some rooms to let.\"\n\"Mother!\"\n\"Well, what is it?\"\n\"'Ere's a gentleman about the rooms.\"\n\"Ask 'im in. I'll be up in a minute.\"\n\"Will yer step inside, sir? Mother'll be up in a minute.\"\nSo you step inside and after a minute \"mother\" comes slowly up the kitchen stairs, untying her apron as she comes and calling down instructions to some one below about the potatoes.\n\"Good-morning, sir,\" says \"mother,\" with a washed-out smile. \"Will you step this way, please?\"\n\"Oh, it's hardly worth while my coming up,\" you say. \"What sort of rooms are they, and how much?\"\n\"Well,\" says the landlady, \"if you'll step upstairs I'll show them to you.\"\nSo with a protesting murmur, meant to imply that any waste of time complained of hereafter must not be laid to your charge, you follow \"mother\" upstairs.\nAt the first landing you run up against a pail and a broom, whereupon \"mother\" expatiates upon the unreliability of servant-girls, and bawls over the balusters for Sarah to come and take them away at once. When you get outside the rooms she pauses, with her hand upon the door, to explain to you that they are rather untidy just at present, as the last lodger left only yesterday; and she also adds that this is their cleaning-day--it always is. With this understanding you enter, and both stand solemnly feasting your eyes upon the scene before you. The rooms cannot be said to appear inviting. Even \"mother's\" face betrays no admiration. Untenanted \"furnished apartments\" viewed in the morning sunlight do not inspire cheery sensations. There is a lifeless air about them. It is a very different thing when you have settled down and are living in them. With your old familiar household gods to greet your gaze whenever you glance up, and all your little knick-knacks spread around you--with the photos of all the girls that you have loved and lost ranged upon the mantel-piece, and half a dozen disreputable-looking pipes scattered about in painfully prominent positions--with one carpet slipper peeping from beneath the coal-box and the other perched on the top of the piano--with the well-known pictures to hide the dingy walls, and these dear old friends, your books, higgledy-piggledy all over the place--with the bits of old blue china that your mother prized, and the screen she worked in those far by-gone days, when the sweet old face was laughing and young, and the white soft hair tumbled in gold-brown curls from under the coal-scuttle bonnet--\nAh, old screen, what a gorgeous personage you must have been in your young days, when the tulips and roses and lilies (all growing from one stem) were fresh in their glistening sheen! Many a summer and winter have come and gone since then, my friend, and you have played with the dancing firelight until you have grown sad and gray. Your brilliant colors are fast fading now, and the envious moths have gnawed your silken threads. You are withering away like the dead hands that wove you. Do you ever think of those dead hands? You seem so grave and thoughtful sometimes that I almost think you do. Come, you and I and the deep-glowing embers, let us talk together. Tell me in your silent language what you remember of those young days, when you lay on my little mother's lap and her girlish fingers played with your rainbow tresses. Was there never a lad near sometimes--never a lad who would seize one of those little hands to smother it with kisses, and who would persist in holding it, thereby sadly interfering with the progress of your making? Was not your frail existence often put in jeopardy by this same clumsy, headstrong lad, who would toss you disrespectfully aside that he--not satisfied with one--might hold both hands and gaze up into the loved eyes? I can see that lad now through the haze of the flickering twilight. He is an eager bright-eyed boy, with pinching, dandy shoes and tight-fitting smalls, snowy shirt frill and stock, and--oh! such curly hair. A wild, light-hearted boy! Can he be the great, grave gentleman upon whose stick I used to ride crosslegged, the care-worn man into whose thoughtful face I used to gaze with childish reverence and whom I used to call \"father?\" You say \"yes,\" old screen; but are you quite sure? It is a serious charge you are bringing. Can it be possible? Did he have to kneel down in those wonderful smalls and pick you up and rearrange you before he was forgiven and his curly head smoothed by my mother's little hand? Ah! old screen, and did the lads and the lassies go making love fifty years ago just as they do now? Are men and women so unchanged? Did little maidens' hearts beat the same under pearl-embroidered bodices as they do under Mother Hubbard cloaks? Have steel casques and chimney-pot hats made no difference to the brains that work beneath them? Oh, Time! great Chronos! and is this your power? Have you dried up seas and leveled mountains and left the tiny human heart-strings to defy you? Ah, yes! they were spun by a Mightier than thou, and they stretch beyond your narrow ken, for their ends are made fast in eternity. Ay, you may mow down the leaves and the blossoms, but the roots of life lie too deep for your sickle to sever. You refashion Nature's garments, but you cannot vary by a jot the throbbings of her pulse. The world rolls round obedient to your laws, but the heart of man is not of your kingdom, for in its birthplace \"a thousand years are but as yesterday.\"\nI am getting away, though, I fear, from my \"furnished apartments,\" and I hardly know how to get back. But I have some excuse for my meanderings this time. It is a piece of old furniture that has led me astray, and fancies gather, somehow, round old furniture, like moss around old stones. One's chairs and tables get to be almost part of one's life and to seem like quiet friends. What strange tales the wooden-headed old fellows could tell did they but choose to speak! At what unsuspected comedies and tragedies have they not assisted! What bitter tears have been sobbed into that old sofa cushion! What passionate whisperings the settee must have overheard!\nNew furniture has no charms for me compared with old. It is the old things that we love--the old faces, the old books, the old jokes. New furniture can make a palace, but it takes old furniture to make a home. Not merely old in itself--lodging-house furniture generally is that--but it must be old to us, old in associations and recollections. The furniture of furnished apartments, however ancient it may be in reality, is new to our eyes, and we feel as though we could never get on with it. As, too, in the case of all fresh acquaintances, whether wooden or human (and there is very little difference between the two species sometimes), everything impresses you with its worst aspect. The knobby wood-work and shiny horse-hair covering of the easy-chair suggest anything but ease. The mirror is smoky. The curtains want washing. The carpet is frayed. The table looks as if it would go over the instant anything was rested on it. The grate is cheerless, the wall-paper hideous. The ceiling appears to have had coffee spilt all over it, and the ornaments--well, they are worse than the wallpaper.", "chosen": "[\"Mother\", \"Ask\", \"Will\", \"Good\", \"Sarah\", \"Hubbard\", \"Time\", \"Chronos\", \"Mightier\", \"Nature\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Mother\", \"Ask\", \"Will\", \"Good\", \"Sarah\", \"Hubbard\", \"Time\", \"Chronos\", \"Mightier\", \"Nature\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-849-012-00-b5b1bb24", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nWhilst William Worm performed his toilet (during which performance the inmates of the vicarage were always in the habit of waiting with exemplary patience), Elfride wandered desultorily to the summer house. Stephen followed her thither. The copse-covered valley was visible from this position, a mist now lying all along its length, hiding the stream which trickled through it, though the observers themselves were in clear air.\nThey stood close together, leaning over the rustic balustrading which bounded the arbour on the outward side, and formed the crest of a steep slope beneath Elfride constrainedly pointed out some features of the distant uplands rising irregularly opposite. But the artistic eye was, either from nature or circumstance, very faint in Stephen now, and he only half attended to her description, as if he spared time from some other thought going on within him.\n\"Well, good-bye,\" he said suddenly; \"I must never see you again, I suppose, Miss Swancourt, in spite of invitations.\"\nHis genuine tribulation played directly upon the delicate chords of her nature. She could afford to forgive him for a concealment or two. Moreover, the shyness which would not allow him to look her in the face lent bravery to her own eyes and tongue.\n\"Oh, DO come again, Mr. Smith!\" she said prettily.\n\"I should delight in it; but it will be better if I do not.\"\n\"Why?\"\n\"Certain circumstances in connection with me make it undesirable. Not on my account; on yours.\"\n\"Goodness! As if anything in connection with you could hurt me,\" she said with serene supremacy; but seeing that this plan of treatment was inappropriate, she tuned a smaller note. \"Ah, I know why you will not come. You don't want to. You'll go home to London and to all the stirring people there, and will never want to see us any more!\"\n\"You know I have no such reason.\"\n\"And go on writing letters to the lady you are engaged to, just as before.\"\n\"What does that mean? I am not engaged.\"\n\"You wrote a letter to a Miss Somebody; I saw it in the letter-rack.\"\n\"Pooh! an elderly woman who keeps a stationer's shop; and it was to tell her to keep my newspapers till I get back.\"\n\"You needn't have explained: it was not my business at all.\" Miss Elfride was rather relieved to hear that statement, nevertheless. \"And you won't come again to see my father?\" she insisted.\n\"I should like to—and to see you again, but——\"\n\"Will you reveal to me that matter you hide?\" she interrupted petulantly.\n\"No; not now.\"\nShe could not but go on, graceless as it might seem.\n\"Tell me this,\" she importuned with a trembling mouth. \"Does any meeting of yours with a lady at Endelstow Vicarage clash with—any interest you may take in me?\"\nHe started a little. \"It does not,\" he said emphatically; and looked into the pupils of her eyes with the confidence that only honesty can give, and even that to youth alone.\nThe explanation had not come, but a gloom left her. She could not but believe that utterance. Whatever enigma might lie in the shadow on the blind, it was not an enigma of underhand passion.\nShe turned towards the house, entering it through the conservatory. Stephen went round to the front door. Mr. Swancourt was standing on the step in his slippers. Worm was adjusting a buckle in the harness, and murmuring about his poor head; and everything was ready for Stephen's departure.\n\"You named August for your visit. August it shall be; that is, if you care for the society of such a fossilized Tory,\" said Mr. Swancourt.\nMr. Smith only responded hesitatingly, that he should like to come again.\n\"You said you would, and you must,\" insisted Elfride, coming to the door and speaking under her father's arm.\nWhatever reason the youth may have had for not wishing to enter the house as a guest, it no longer predominated. He promised, and bade them adieu, and got into the pony-carriage, which crept up the slope, and bore him out of their sight.\n\"I never was so much taken with anybody in my life as I am with that young fellow—never! I cannot understand it—can't understand it anyhow,\" said Mr. Swancourt quite energetically to himself; and went indoors.", "chosen": "Whilst, Stephen, The, They, But, Well,, She, Moreover,, Oh,, Smith!\", I, Not, As, Ah,, You, You'll, I, an, And, I, No;, Tell, Does, It, The, She, Whatever, She, Stephen, Mr., Swancourt, Worm, You, August, Swancourt., Mr., Smith, You, Whatever, He, I, I, Swancourt", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nWhilst, Stephen, The, They, But, Well,, She, Moreover,, Oh,, Smith!\", I, Not, As, Ah,, You, You'll, I, an, And, I, No;, Tell, Does, It, The, She, Whatever, She, Stephen, Mr., Swancourt, Worm, You, August, Swancourt., Mr., Smith, You, Whatever, He, I, I, Swancourt\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-005-01-dbefe69b", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"I need not say, sir, how it cuts me to the soul, to follow up a social salutation with such words as have just been mine. I know that I jeopardize your good opinion. But I can't help it: necessity knows no law, and heeds no risk. Sir, we are masons, one more step aside; I will tell you my story.\"\nIn a low, half-suppressed tone, he began it. Judging from his auditor's expression, it seemed to be a tale of singular interest, involving calamities against which no integrity, no forethought, no energy, no genius, no piety, could guard.\nAt every disclosure, the hearer's commiseration increased. No sentimental pity. As the story went on, he drew from his wallet a bank note, but after a while, at some still more unhappy revelation, changed it for another, probably of a somewhat larger amount; which, when the story was concluded, with an air studiously disclamatory of alms-giving, he put into the stranger's hands; who, on his side, with an air studiously disclamatory of alms-taking, put it into his pocket.\nAssistance being received, the stranger's manner assumed a kind and degree of decorum which, under the circumstances, seemed almost coldness. After some words, not over ardent, and yet not exactly inappropriate, he took leave, making a bow which had one knows not what of a certain chastened independence about it; as if misery, however burdensome, could not break down self-respect, nor gratitude, however deep, humiliate a gentleman.\nHe was hardly yet out of sight, when he paused as if thinking; then with hastened steps returning to the merchant, \"I am just reminded that the president, who is also transfer-agent, of the Black Rapids Coal Company, happens to be on board here, and, having been subpoenaed as witness in a stock case on the docket in Kentucky, has his transfer-book with him. A month since, in a panic contrived by artful alarmists, some credulous stock-holders sold out; but, to frustrate the aim of the alarmists, the Company, previously advised of their scheme, so managed it as to get into its own hands those sacrificed shares, resolved that, since a spurious panic must be, the panic-makers should be no gainers by it. The Company, I hear, is now ready, but not anxious, to redispose of those shares; and having obtained them at their depressed value, will now sell them at par, though, prior to the panic, they were held at a handsome figure above. That the readiness of the Company to do this is not generally known, is shown by the fact that the stock still stands on the transfer-book in the Company's name, offering to one in funds a rare chance for investment. For, the panic subsiding more and more every day, it will daily be seen how it originated; confidence will be more than restored; there will be a reaction; from the stock's descent its rise will be higher than from no fall, the holders trusting themselves to fear no second fate.\"\nHaving listened at first with curiosity, at last with interest, the merchant replied to the effect, that some time since, through friends concerned with it, he had heard of the company, and heard well of it, but was ignorant that there had latterly been fluctuations. He added that he was no speculator; that hitherto he had avoided having to do with stocks of any sort, but in the present case he really felt something like being tempted. \"Pray,\" in conclusion, \"do you think that upon a pinch anything could be transacted on board here with the transfer-agent? Are you acquainted with him?\"\n\"Not personally. I but happened to hear that he was a passenger. For the rest, though it might be somewhat informal, the gentleman might not object to doing a little business on board. Along the Mississippi, you know, business is not so ceremonious as at the East.\"\n\"True,\" returned the merchant, and looked down a moment in thought, then, raising his head quickly, said, in a tone not so benign as his wonted one, \"This would seem a rare chance, indeed; why, upon first hearing it, did you not snatch at it? I mean for yourself!\"\n\"I?--would it had been possible!\"\nNot without some emotion was this said, and not without some embarrassment was the reply. \"Ah, yes, I had forgotten.\"\nUpon this, the stranger regarded him with mild gravity, not a little disconcerting; the more so, as there was in it what seemed the aspect not alone of the superior, but, as it were, the rebuker; which sort of bearing, in a beneficiary towards his benefactor, looked strangely enough; none the less, that, somehow, it sat not altogether unbecomingly upon the beneficiary, being free from anything like the appearance of assumption, and mixed with a kind of painful conscientiousness, as though nothing but a proper sense of what he owed to himself swayed him. At length he spoke:\n\"To reproach a penniless man with remissness in not availing himself of an opportunity for pecuniary investment--but, no, no; it was forgetfulness; and this, charity will impute to some lingering effect of that unfortunate brain-fever, which, as to occurrences dating yet further back, disturbed Mr. Roberts's memory still more seriously.\"\n\"As to that,\" said the merchant, rallying, \"I am not----\"\n\"Pardon me, but you must admit, that just now, an unpleasant distrust, however vague, was yours. Ah, shallow as it is, yet, how subtle a thing is suspicion, which at times can invade the humanest of hearts and wisest of heads. But, enough. My object, sir, in calling your attention to this stock, is by way of acknowledgment of your goodness. I but seek to be grateful; if my information leads to nothing, you must remember the motive.\"\nHe bowed, and finally retired, leaving Mr. Roberts not wholly without self-reproach, for having momentarily indulged injurious thoughts against one who, it was evident, was possessed of a self-respect which forbade his indulging them himself.", "chosen": "30", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n30\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-21816-004-01-c5bda0e8", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nThese performances took place on the site of the future town of Napoleon, Arkansas, and there the first confiscation-cross was raised on the banks of the great river. Marquette's and Joliet's voyage of discovery ended at the same spot--the site of the future town of Napoleon. When De Soto took his fleeting glimpse of the river, away back in the dim early days, he took it from that same spot--the site of the future town of Napoleon, Arkansas. Therefore, three out of the four memorable events connected with the discovery and exploration of the mighty river, occurred, by accident, in one and the same place. It is a most curious distinction, when one comes to look at it and think about it. France stole that vast country on that spot, the future Napoleon; and by and by Napoleon himself was to give the country back again!--make restitution, not to the owners, but to their white American heirs.\nThe voyagers journeyed on, touching here and there; 'passed the sites, since become historic, of Vicksburg and Grand Gulf,' and visited an imposing Indian monarch in the Teche country, whose capital city was a substantial one of sun-baked bricks mixed with straw--better houses than many that exist there now. The chiefs house contained an audience room forty feet square; and there he received Tonty in State, surrounded by sixty old men clothed in white cloaks. There was a temple in the town, with a mud wall about it ornamented with skulls of enemies sacrificed to the sun.\nThe voyagers visited the Natchez Indians, near the site of the present city of that name, where they found a 'religious and political despotism, a privileged class descended from the sun, a temple and a sacred fire.' It must have been like getting home again; it was home with an advantage, in fact, for it lacked Louis XIV.\nA few more days swept swiftly by, and La Salle stood in the shadow of his confiscating cross, at the meeting of the waters from Delaware, and from Itaska, and from the mountain ranges close upon the Pacific, with the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, his task finished, his prodigy achieved. Mr. Parkman, in closing his fascinating narrative, thus sums up:\n'On that day, the realm of France received on parchment a stupendous accession. The fertile plains of Texas; the vast basin of the Mississippi, from its frozen northern springs to the sultry borders of the Gulf; from the woody ridges of the Alleghanies to the bare peaks of the Rocky Mountains--a region of savannas and forests, sun-cracked deserts and grassy prairies, watered by a thousand rivers, ranged by a thousand warlike tribes, passed beneath the scepter of the Sultan of Versailles; and all by virtue of a feeble human voice, inaudible at half a mile.'", "chosen": "The fertile plains of Texas; the vast basin of the Mississippi, from its frozen northern springs to the sultry borders of the Gulf; from the woody ridges of the Alleghanies to the bare peaks of the Rocky Mountains--a region of savannas and forests, sun-cracked deserts and grassy prairies, watered by a thousand rivers, ranged by a thousand warlike tribes, passed beneath the scepter of the Sultan of Versailles; and all by virtue of a feeble human voice, inaudible at half a mile.'", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nThe fertile plains of Texas; the vast basin of the Mississippi, from its frozen northern springs to the sultry borders of the Gulf; from the woody ridges of the Alleghanies to the bare peaks of the Rocky Mountains--a region of savannas and forests, sun-cracked deserts and grassy prairies, watered by a thousand rivers, ranged by a thousand warlike tribes, passed beneath the scepter of the Sultan of Versailles; and all by virtue of a feeble human voice, inaudible at half a mile.'\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-245-003-01-fd3931b5", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nA bright band of light fell through the parlour door into the part of the shop behind the counter. It enabled Mr Verloc to ascertain at a glance the number of silver coins in the till. These were but few; and for the first time since he opened his shop he took a commercial survey of its value. This survey was unfavourable. He had gone into trade for no commercial reasons. He had been guided in the selection of this peculiar line of business by an instinctive leaning towards shady transactions, where money is picked up easily. Moreover, it did not take him out of his own sphere—the sphere which is watched by the police. On the contrary, it gave him a publicly confessed standing in that sphere, and as Mr Verloc had unconfessed relations which made him familiar with yet careless of the police, there was a distinct advantage in such a situation. But as a means of livelihood it was by itself insufficient.\nHe took the cash-box out of the drawer, and turning to leave the shop, became aware that Stevie was still downstairs.\nWhat on earth is he doing there? Mr Verloc asked himself. What's the meaning of these antics? He looked dubiously at his brother-in-law, but he did not ask him for information. Mr Verloc's intercourse with Stevie was limited to the casual mutter of a morning, after breakfast, \"My boots,\" and even that was more a communication at large of a need than a direct order or request. Mr Verloc perceived with some surprise that he did not know really what to say to Stevie. He stood still in the middle of the parlour, and looked into the kitchen in silence. Nor yet did he know what would happen if he did say anything. And this appeared very queer to Mr Verloc in view of the fact, borne upon him suddenly, that he had to provide for this fellow too. He had never given a moment's thought till then to that aspect of Stevie's existence.\nPositively he did not know how to speak to the lad. He watched him gesticulating and murmuring in the kitchen. Stevie prowled round the table like an excited animal in a cage. A tentative \"Hadn't you better go to bed now?\" produced no effect whatever; and Mr Verloc, abandoning the stony contemplation of his brother-in-law's behaviour, crossed the parlour wearily, cash-box in hand. The cause of the general lassitude he felt while climbing the stairs being purely mental, he became alarmed by its inexplicable character. He hoped he was not sickening for anything. He stopped on the dark landing to examine his sensations. But a slight and continuous sound of snoring pervading the obscurity interfered with their clearness. The sound came from his mother-in-law's room. Another one to provide for, he thought—and on this thought walked into the bedroom.\nMrs Verloc had fallen asleep with the lamp (no gas was laid upstairs) turned up full on the table by the side of the bed. The light thrown down by the shade fell dazzlingly on the white pillow sunk by the weight of her head reposing with closed eyes and dark hair done up in several plaits for the night. She woke up with the sound of her name in her ears, and saw her husband standing over her.\n\"Winnie! Winnie!\"\nAt first she did not stir, lying very quiet and looking at the cash-box in Mr Verloc's hand. But when she understood that her brother was \"capering all over the place downstairs\" she swung out in one sudden movement on to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet, as if poked through the bottom of an unadorned, sleeved calico sack buttoned tightly at neck and wrists, felt over the rug for the slippers while she looked upward into her husband's face.\n\"I don't know how to manage him,\" Mr Verloc explained peevishly. \"Won't do to leave him downstairs alone with the lights.\"\nShe said nothing, glided across the room swiftly, and the door closed upon her white form.\nMr Verloc deposited the cash-box on the night table, and began the operation of undressing by flinging his overcoat on to a distant chair. His coat and waistcoat followed. He walked about the room in his stockinged feet, and his burly figure, with the hands worrying nervously at his throat, passed and repassed across the long strip of looking-glass in the door of his wife's wardrobe. Then after slipping his braces off his shoulders he pulled up violently the venetian blind, and leaned his forehead against the cold window-pane—a fragile film of glass stretched between him and the enormity of cold, black, wet, muddy, inhospitable accumulation of bricks, slates, and stones, things in themselves unlovely and unfriendly to man.\nMr Verloc felt the latent unfriendliness of all out of doors with a force approaching to positive bodily anguish. There is no occupation that fails a man more completely than that of a secret agent of police. It's like your horse suddenly falling dead under you in the midst of an uninhabited and thirsty plain. The comparison occurred to Mr Verloc because he had sat astride various army horses in his time, and had now the sensation of an incipient fall. The prospect was as black as the window-pane against which he was leaning his forehead. And suddenly the face of Mr Vladimir, clean-shaved and witty, appeared enhaloed in the glow of its rosy complexion like a sort of pink seal, impressed on the fatal darkness.\nThis luminous and mutilated vision was so ghastly physically that Mr Verloc started away from the window, letting down the venetian blind with a great rattle. Discomposed and speechless with the apprehension of more such visions, he beheld his wife re-enter the room and get into bed in a calm business-like manner which made him feel hopelessly lonely in the world. Mrs Verloc expressed her surprise at seeing him up yet.\n\"I don't feel very well,\" he muttered, passing his hands over his moist brow.\n\"Giddiness?\"\n\"Yes. Not at all well.\"\nMrs Verloc, with all the placidity of an experienced wife, expressed a confident opinion as to the cause, and suggested the usual remedies; but her husband, rooted in the middle of the room, shook his lowered head sadly.\n\"You'll catch cold standing there,\" she observed.\nMr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing, and got into bed. Down below in the quiet, narrow street measured footsteps approached the house, then died away unhurried and firm, as if the passer-by had started to pace out all eternity, from gas-lamp to gas-lamp in a night without end; and the drowsy ticking of the old clock on the landing became distinctly audible in the bedroom.\nMrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the ceiling, made a remark.\n\"Takings very small to-day.\"\nMr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his throat as if for an important statement, but merely inquired:\n\"Did you turn off the gas downstairs?\"\n\"Yes; I did,\" answered Mrs Verloc conscientiously. \"That poor boy is in a very excited state to-night,\" she murmured, after a pause which lasted for three ticks of the clock.", "chosen": "[\"My boots,\", \"Hadn't you better go to bed now?\", \"Winnie! Winnie!\", \"capering all over the place downstairs\", \"I don't know how to manage him,\", \"Won't do to leave him downstairs alone with the lights.\", \"I don't feel very well,\", \"Giddiness?\", \"Yes. Not at all well.\", \"You'll catch cold standing there,\", \"Takings very small to-day.\", \"Did you turn off the gas downstairs?\", \"Yes; I did,\", \"That poor boy is in a very excited state to-night,\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"My boots,\", \"Hadn't you better go to bed now?\", \"Winnie! Winnie!\", \"capering all over the place downstairs\", \"I don't know how to manage him,\", \"Won't do to leave him downstairs alone with the lights.\", \"I don't feel very well,\", \"Giddiness?\", \"Yes. Not at all well.\", \"You'll catch cold standing there,\", \"Takings very small to-day.\", \"Did you turn off the gas downstairs?\", \"Yes; I did,\", \"That poor boy is in a very excited state to-night,\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-974-002-03-0bc5c942", "source": "pg-974", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"'Fathers, provoke not your children to wrath,' the apostle writes, from a heart glowing with love. It's not for the sake of my client that I quote these sacred words, I mention them for all fathers. Who has authorized me to preach to fathers? No one. But as a man and a citizen I make my appeal—vivos voco! We are not long on earth, we do many evil deeds and say many evil words. So let us all catch a favorable moment when we are all together to say a good word to each other. That's what I am doing: while I am in this place I take advantage of my opportunity. Not for nothing is this tribune given us by the highest authority—all Russia hears us! I am not speaking only for the fathers here present, I cry aloud to all fathers: 'Fathers, provoke not your children to wrath.' Yes, let us first fulfill Christ's injunction ourselves and only then venture to expect it of our children. Otherwise we are not fathers, but enemies of our children, and they are not our children, but our enemies, and we have made them our enemies ourselves. 'What measure ye mete it shall be measured unto you again'—it's not I who say that, it's the Gospel precept, measure to others according as they measure to you. How can we blame children if they measure us according to our measure?\n\"Not long ago a servant girl in Finland was suspected of having secretly given birth to a child. She was watched, and a box of which no one knew anything was found in the corner of the loft, behind some bricks. It was opened and inside was found the body of a new-born child which she had killed. In the same box were found the skeletons of two other babies which, according to her own confession, she had killed at the moment of their birth.\n\"Gentlemen of the jury, was she a mother to her children? She gave birth to them, indeed; but was she a mother to them? Would any one venture to give her the sacred name of mother? Let us be bold, gentlemen, let us be audacious even: it's our duty to be so at this moment and not to be afraid of certain words and ideas like the Moscow women in Ostrovsky's play, who are scared at the sound of certain words. No, let us prove that the progress of the last few years has touched even us, and let us say plainly, the father is not merely he who begets the child, but he who begets it and does his duty by it.\n\"Oh, of course, there is the other meaning, there is the other interpretation of the word 'father,' which insists that any father, even though he be a monster, even though he be the enemy of his children, still remains my father simply because he begot me. But this is, so to say, the mystical meaning which I cannot comprehend with my intellect, but can only accept by faith, or, better to say, on faith, like many other things which I do not understand, but which religion bids me believe. But in that case let it be kept outside the sphere of actual life. In the sphere of actual life, which has, indeed, its own rights, but also lays upon us great duties and obligations, in that sphere, if we want to be humane—Christian, in fact—we must, or ought to, act only upon convictions justified by reason and experience, which have been passed through the crucible of analysis; in a word, we must act rationally, and not as though in dream and delirium, that we may not do harm, that we may not ill-treat and ruin a man. Then it will be real Christian work, not only mystic, but rational and philanthropic....\"\nThere was violent applause at this passage from many parts of the court, but Fetyukovitch waved his hands as though imploring them to let him finish without interruption. The court relapsed into silence at once. The orator went on.\n\"Do you suppose, gentlemen, that our children as they grow up and begin to reason can avoid such questions? No, they cannot, and we will not impose on them an impossible restriction. The sight of an unworthy father involuntarily suggests tormenting questions to a young creature, especially when he compares him with the excellent fathers of his companions. The conventional answer to this question is: 'He begot you, and you are his flesh and blood, and therefore you are bound to love him.' The youth involuntarily reflects: 'But did he love me when he begot me?' he asks, wondering more and more. 'Was it for my sake he begot me? He did not know me, not even my sex, at that moment, at the moment of passion, perhaps, inflamed by wine, and he has only transmitted to me a propensity to drunkenness—that's all he's done for me.... Why am I bound to love him simply for begetting me when he has cared nothing for me all my life after?'\n\"Oh, perhaps those questions strike you as coarse and cruel, but do not expect an impossible restraint from a young mind. 'Drive nature out of the door and it will fly in at the window,' and, above all, let us not be afraid of words, but decide the question according to the dictates of reason and humanity and not of mystic ideas. How shall it be decided? Why, like this. Let the son stand before his father and ask him, 'Father, tell me, why must I love you? Father, show me that I must love you,' and if that father is able to answer him and show him good reason, we have a real, normal, parental relation, not resting on mystical prejudice, but on a rational, responsible and strictly humanitarian basis. But if he does not, there's an end to the family tie. He is not a father to him, and the son has a right to look upon him as a stranger, and even an enemy. Our tribune, gentlemen of the jury, ought to be a school of true and sound ideas.\"\n(Here the orator was interrupted by irrepressible and almost frantic applause. Of course, it was not the whole audience, but a good half of it applauded. The fathers and mothers present applauded. Shrieks and exclamations were heard from the gallery, where the ladies were sitting. Handkerchiefs were waved. The President began ringing his bell with all his might. He was obviously irritated by the behavior of the audience, but did not venture to clear the court as he had threatened. Even persons of high position, old men with stars on their breasts, sitting on specially reserved seats behind the judges, applauded the orator and waved their handkerchiefs. So that when the noise died down, the President confined himself to repeating his stern threat to clear the court, and Fetyukovitch, excited and triumphant, continued his speech.)", "chosen": "speech", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nspeech\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-090-01-88962120", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nAs if to strike a quick terror into them, by this time being the first assailant himself, Moby Dick had turned, and was now coming for the three crews. Ahab's boat was central; and cheering his men, he told them he would take the whale head-and-head,—that is, pull straight up to his forehead,—a not uncommon thing; for when within a certain limit, such a course excludes the coming onset from the whale's sidelong vision. But ere that close limit was gained, and while yet all three boats were plain as the ship's three masts to his eye; the White Whale churning himself into furious speed, almost in an instant as it were, rushing among the boats with open jaws, and a lashing tail, offered appalling battle on every side; and heedless of the irons darted at him from every boat, seemed only intent on annihilating each separate plank of which those boats were made. But skilfully manœuvred, incessantly wheeling like trained chargers in the field; the boats for a while eluded him; though, at times, but by a plank's breadth; while all the time, Ahab's unearthly slogan tore every other cry but his to shreds.\nBut at last in his untraceable evolutions, the White Whale so crossed and recrossed, and in a thousand ways entangled the slack of the three lines now fast to him, that they foreshortened, and, of themselves, warped the devoted boats towards the planted irons in him; though now for a moment the whale drew aside a little, as if to rally for a more tremendous charge. Seizing that opportunity, Ahab first paid out more line: and then was rapidly hauling and jerking in upon it again—hoping that way to disencumber it of some snarls—when lo!—a sight more savage than the embattled teeth of sharks!\nCaught and twisted—corkscrewed in the mazes of the line, loose harpoons and lances, with all their bristling barbs and points, came flashing and dripping up to the chocks in the bows of Ahab's boat. Only one thing could be done. Seizing the boat-knife, he critically reached within—through—and then, without—the rays of steel; dragged in the line beyond, passed it, inboard, to the bowsman, and then, twice sundering the rope near the chocks—dropped the intercepted fagot of steel into the sea; and was all fast again. That instant, the White Whale made a sudden rush among the remaining tangles of the other lines; by so doing, irresistibly dragged the more involved boats of Stubb and Flask towards his flukes; dashed them together like two rolling husks on a surf-beaten beach, and then, diving down into the sea, disappeared in a boiling maelstrom, in which, for a space, the odorous cedar chips of the wrecks danced round and round, like the grated nutmeg in a swiftly stirred bowl of punch.\nWhile the two crews were yet circling in the waters, reaching out after the revolving line-tubs, oars, and other floating furniture, while aslope little Flask bobbed up and down like an empty vial, twitching his legs upwards to escape the dreaded jaws of sharks; and Stubb was lustily singing out for some one to ladle him up; and while the old man's line—now parting—admitted of his pulling into the creamy pool to rescue whom he could;—in that wild simultaneousness of a thousand concreted perils,—Ahab's yet unstricken boat seemed drawn up towards Heaven by invisible wires,—as, arrow-like, shooting perpendicularly from the sea, the White Whale dashed his broad forehead against its bottom, and sent it, turning over and over, into the air; till it fell again—gunwale downwards—and Ahab and his men struggled out from under it, like seals from a sea-side cave.\nThe first uprising momentum of the whale—modifying its direction as he struck the surface—involuntarily launched him along it, to a little distance from the centre of the destruction he had made; and with his back to it, he now lay for a moment slowly feeling with his flukes from side to side; and whenever a stray oar, bit of plank, the least chip or crumb of the boats touched his skin, his tail swiftly drew back, and came sideways smiting the sea. But soon, as if satisfied that his work for that time was done, he pushed his pleated forehead through the ocean, and trailing after him the intertangled lines, continued his leeward way at a traveller's methodic pace.\nAs before, the attentive ship having descried the whole fight, again came bearing down to the rescue, and dropping a boat, picked up the floating mariners, tubs, oars, and whatever else could be caught at, and safely landed them on her decks. Some sprained shoulders, wrists, and ankles; livid contusions; wrenched harpoons and lances; inextricable intricacies of rope; shattered oars and planks; all these were there; but no fatal or even serious ill seemed to have befallen any one. As with Fedallah the day before, so Ahab was now found grimly clinging to his boat's broken half, which afforded a comparatively easy float; nor did it so exhaust him as the previous day's mishap.\nBut when he was helped to the deck, all eyes were fastened upon him; as instead of standing by himself he still half-hung upon the shoulder of Starbuck, who had thus far been the foremost to assist him. His ivory leg had been snapped off, leaving but one short sharp splinter.\n\"Aye, aye, Starbuck, 'tis sweet to lean sometimes, be the leaner who he will; and would old Ahab had leaned oftener than he has.\"\n\"The ferrule has not stood, sir,\" said the carpenter, now coming up; \"I put good work into that leg.\"\n\"But no bones broken, sir, I hope,\" said Stubb with true concern.\n\"Aye! and all splintered to pieces, Stubb!—d'ye see it.—But even with a broken bone, old Ahab is untouched; and I account no living bone of mine one jot more me, than this dead one that's lost. Nor white whale, nor man, nor fiend, can so much as graze old Ahab in his own proper and inaccessible being. Can any lead touch yonder floor, any mast scrape yonder roof?—Aloft there! which way?\"\n\"Dead to leeward, sir.\"\n\"Up helm, then; pile on the sail again, ship keepers! down the rest of the spare boats and rig them—Mr. Starbuck away, and muster the boat's crews.\"\n\"Let me first help thee towards the bulwarks, sir.\"\n\"Oh, oh, oh! how this splinter gores me now! Accursed fate! that the unconquerable captain in the soul should have such a craven mate!\"\n\"Sir?\"\n\"My body, man, not thee. Give me something for a cane—there, that shivered lance will do. Muster the men. Surely I have not seen him yet. By heaven it cannot be!—missing?—quick! call them all.\"\nThe old man's hinted thought was true. Upon mustering the company, the Parsee was not there.\n\"The Parsee!\" cried Stubb—\"he must have been caught in——\"\n\"The black vomit wrench thee!—run all of ye above, alow, cabin, forecastle—find him—not gone—not gone!\"\nBut quickly they returned to him with the tidings that the Parsee was nowhere to be found.\n\"Aye, sir,\" said Stubb—\"caught among the tangles of your line—I thought I saw him dragging under.\"\n\"My line! my line? Gone?—gone? What means that little word?—What death-knell rings in it, that old Ahab shakes as if he were the belfry. The harpoon, too!—toss over the litter there,—d'ye see it?—the forged iron, men, the white whale's—no, no, no,—blistered fool! this hand did dart it!—'tis in the fish!—Aloft there! Keep him nailed—Quick!—all hands to the rigging of the boats—collect the oars—harpooneers! the irons, the irons!—hoist the royals higher—a pull on all the sheets!—helm there! steady, steady for your life! I'll ten times girdle the unmeasured globe; yea and dive straight through it, but I'll slay him yet!\"\n\"Great God! but for one single instant show thyself,\" cried Starbuck; \"never, never wilt thou capture him, old man—In Jesus' name no more of this, that's worse than devil's madness. Two days chased; twice stove to splinters; thy very leg once more snatched from under thee; thy evil shadow gone—all good angels mobbing thee with warnings:—what more wouldst thou have?—Shall we keep chasing this murderous fish till he swamps the last man? Shall we be dragged by him to the bottom of the sea? Shall we be towed by him to the infernal world? Oh, oh,—Impiety and blasphemy to hunt him more!\"", "chosen": "[\"Moby\", \"Dick\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Ahab\", \"Stubb\", \"Flask\", \"Heaven\", \"Fedallah\", \"Starbuck\", \"Aye\", \"Dead\", \"Let\", \"Parsee\", \"Great\", \"God\", \"Jesus\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Moby\", \"Dick\", \"White\", \"Whale\", \"Ahab\", \"Stubb\", \"Flask\", \"Heaven\", \"Fedallah\", \"Starbuck\", \"Aye\", \"Dead\", \"Let\", \"Parsee\", \"Great\", \"God\", \"Jesus\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-2701-116-01-4196bc2a", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nFirst: The mariner, when drawing nigh the coasts of foreign lands, if by night he hear the roar of breakers, starts to vigilance, and feels just enough of trepidation to sharpen all his faculties; but under precisely similar circumstances, let him be called from his hammock to view his ship sailing through a midnight sea of milky whiteness—as if from encircling headlands shoals of combed white bears were swimming round him, then he feels a silent, superstitious dread; the shrouded phantom of the whitened waters is horrible to him as a real ghost; in vain the lead assures him he is still off soundings; heart and helm they both go down; he never rests till blue water is under him again. Yet where is the mariner who will tell thee, \"Sir, it was not so much the fear of striking hidden rocks, as the fear of that hideous whiteness that so stirred me?\"\nSecond: To the native Indian of Peru, the continual sight of the snow-howdahed Andes conveys naught of dread, except, perhaps, in the mere fancying of the eternal frosted desolateness reigning at such vast altitudes, and the natural conceit of what a fearfulness it would be to lose oneself in such inhuman solitudes. Much the same is it with the backwoodsman of the West, who with comparative indifference views an unbounded prairie sheeted with driven snow, no shadow of tree or twig to break the fixed trance of whiteness. Not so the sailor, beholding the scenery of the Antarctic seas; where at times, by some infernal trick of legerdemain in the powers of frost and air, he, shivering and half shipwrecked, instead of rainbows speaking hope and solace to his misery, views what seems a boundless churchyard grinning upon him with its lean ice monuments and splintered crosses.\nBut thou sayest, methinks that white-lead chapter about whiteness is but a white flag hung out from a craven soul; thou surrenderest to a hypo, Ishmael.\nTell me, why this strong young colt, foaled in some peaceful valley of Vermont, far removed from all beasts of prey—why is it that upon the sunniest day, if you but shake a fresh buffalo robe behind him, so that he cannot even see it, but only smells its wild animal muskiness—why will he start, snort, and with bursting eyes paw the ground in phrensies of affright? There is no remembrance in him of any gorings of wild creatures in his green northern home, so that the strange muskiness he smells cannot recall to him anything associated with the experience of former perils; for what knows he, this New England colt, of the black bisons of distant Oregon?\nNo: but here thou beholdest even in a dumb brute, the instinct of the knowledge of the demonism in the world. Though thousands of miles from Oregon, still when he smells that savage musk, the rending, goring bison herds are as present as to the deserted wild foal of the prairies, which this instant they may be trampling into dust.\nThus, then, the muffled rollings of a milky sea; the bleak rustlings of the festooned frosts of mountains; the desolate shiftings of the windrowed snows of prairies; all these, to Ishmael, are as the shaking of that buffalo robe to the frightened colt!\nThough neither knows where lie the nameless things of which the mystic sign gives forth such hints; yet with me, as with the colt, somewhere those things must exist. Though in many of its aspects this visible world seems formed in love, the invisible spheres were formed in fright.\nBut not yet have we solved the incantation of this whiteness, and learned why it appeals with such power to the soul; and more strange and far more portentous—why, as we have seen, it is at once the most meaning symbol of spiritual things, nay, the very veil of the Christian's Deity; and yet should be as it is, the intensifying agent in things the most appalling to mankind.\nIs it that by its indefiniteness it shadows forth the heartless voids and immensities of the universe, and thus stabs us from behind with the thought of annihilation, when beholding the white depths of the milky way? Or is it, that as in essence whiteness is not so much a colour as the visible absence of colour; and at the same time the concrete of all colours; is it for these reasons that there is such a dumb blankness, full of meaning, in a wide landscape of snows—a colourless, all-colour of atheism from which we shrink? And when we consider that other theory of the natural philosophers, that all other earthly hues—every stately or lovely emblazoning—the sweet tinges of sunset skies and woods; yea, and the gilded velvets of butterflies, and the butterfly cheeks of young girls; all these are but subtile deceits, not actually inherent in substances, but only laid on from without; so that all deified Nature absolutely paints like the harlot, whose allurements cover nothing but the charnel-house within; and when we proceed further, and consider that the mystical cosmetic which produces every one of her hues, the great principle of light, for ever remains white or colorless in itself, and if operating without medium upon matter, would touch all objects, even tulips and roses, with its own blank tinge—pondering all this, the palsied universe lies before us a leper; and like wilful travellers in Lapland, who refuse to wear coloured and colouring glasses upon their eyes, so the wretched infidel gazes himself blind at the monumental white shroud that wraps all the prospect around him. And of all these things the Albino whale was the symbol. Wonder ye then at the fiery hunt?", "chosen": "First:, Yet, Much, Not, But, Tell, There, No:, Though, Thus,, Though, Though, But, Is, Or, And, And, Wonder", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nFirst:, Yet, Much, Not, But, Tell, There, No:, Though, Thus,, Though, Though, But, Is, Or, And, And, Wonder\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-2701-036-02-a685f191", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nFrom Cairo to Hickman\nTHE scenery, from St. Louis to Cairo--two hundred miles--is varied and beautiful. The hills were clothed in the fresh foliage of spring now, and were a gracious and worthy setting for the broad river flowing between. Our trip began auspiciously, with a perfect day, as to breeze and sunshine, and our boat threw the miles out behind her with satisfactory despatch.\nWe found a railway intruding at Chester, Illinois; Chester has also a penitentiary now, and is otherwise marching on. At Grand Tower, too, there was a railway; and another at Cape Girardeau. The former town gets its name from a huge, squat pillar of rock, which stands up out of the water on the Missouri side of the river--a piece of nature's fanciful handiwork--and is one of the most picturesque features of the scenery of that region. For nearer or remoter neighbors, the Tower has the Devil's Bake Oven--so called, perhaps, because it does not powerfully resemble anybody else's bake oven; and the Devil's Tea Table--this latter a great smooth-surfaced mass of rock, with diminishing wine-glass stem, perched some fifty or sixty feet above the river, beside a beflowered and garlanded precipice, and sufficiently like a tea-table to answer for anybody, Devil or Christian. Away down the river we have the Devil's Elbow and the Devil's Race-course, and lots of other property of his which I cannot now call to mind.\nThe Town of Grand Tower was evidently a busier place than it had been in old times, but it seemed to need some repairs here and there, and a new coat of whitewash all over. Still, it was pleasant to me to see the old coat once more. 'Uncle' Mumford, our second officer, said the place had been suffering from high water, and consequently was not looking its best now. But he said it was not strange that it didn't waste white-wash on itself, for more lime was made there, and of a better quality, than anywhere in the West; and added--'On a dairy farm you never can get any milk for your coffee, nor any sugar for it on a sugar plantation; and it is against sense to go to a lime town to hunt for white-wash.' In my own experience I knew the first two items to be true; and also that people who sell candy don't care for candy; therefore there was plausibility in Uncle Mumford's final observation that 'people who make lime run more to religion than whitewash.' Uncle Mumford said, further, that Grand Tower was a great coaling center and a prospering place.\nCape Girardeau is situated on a hillside, and makes a handsome appearance. There is a great Jesuit school for boys at the foot of the town by the river. Uncle Mumford said it had as high a reputation for thoroughness as any similar institution in Missouri! There was another college higher up on an airy summit--a bright new edifice, picturesquely and peculiarly towered and pinnacled--a sort of gigantic casters, with the cruets all complete. Uncle Mumford said that Cape Girardeau was the Athens of Missouri, and contained several colleges besides those already mentioned; and all of them on a religious basis of one kind or another. He directed my attention to what he called the 'strong and pervasive religious look of the town,' but I could not see that it looked more religious than the other hill towns with the same slope and built of the same kind of bricks. Partialities often make people see more than really exists.\nUncle Mumford has been thirty years a mate on the river. He is a man of practical sense and a level head; has observed; has had much experience of one sort and another; has opinions; has, also, just a perceptible dash of poetry in his composition, an easy gift of speech, a thick growl in his voice, and an oath or two where he can get at them when the exigencies of his office require a spiritual lift. He is a mate of the blessed old-time kind; and goes gravely damning around, when there is work to the fore, in a way to mellow the ex-steamboatman's heart with sweet soft longings for the vanished days that shall come no more. '_Git _up there you! Going to be all day? Why d'n't you _say _you was petrified in your hind legs, before you shipped!'\nHe is a steady man with his crew; kind and just, but firm; so they like him, and stay with him. He is still in the slouchy garb of the old generation of mates; but next trip the Anchor Line will have him in uniform--a natty blue naval uniform, with brass buttons, along with all the officers of the line--and then he will be a totally different style of scenery from what he is now.\nUniforms on the Mississippi! It beats all the other changes put together, for surprise. Still, there is another surprise--that it was not made fifty years ago. It is so manifestly sensible, that it might have been thought of earlier, one would suppose. During fifty years, out there, the innocent passenger in need of help and information, has been mistaking the mate for the cook, and the captain for the barber--and being roughly entertained for it, too. But his troubles are ended now. And the greatly improved aspect of the boat's staff is another advantage achieved by the dress-reform period.\nSteered down the bend below Cape Girardeau. They used to call it 'Steersman's Bend;' plain sailing and plenty of water in it, always; about the only place in the Upper River that a new cub was allowed to take a boat through, in low water.\nThebes, at the head of the Grand Chain, and Commerce at the foot of it, were towns easily rememberable, as they had not undergone conspicuous alteration. Nor the Chain, either--in the nature of things; for it is a chain of sunken rocks admirably arranged to capture and kill steamboats on bad nights. A good many steamboat corpses lie buried there, out of sight; among the rest my first friend the 'Paul Jones;' she knocked her bottom out, and went down like a pot, so the historian told me--Uncle Mumford. He said she had a gray mare aboard, and a preacher. To me, this sufficiently accounted for the disaster; as it did, of course, to Mumford, who added--\n'But there are many ignorant people who would scoff at such a matter, and call it superstition. But you will always notice that they are people who have never traveled with a gray mare and a preacher. I went down the river once in such company. We grounded at Bloody Island; we grounded at Hanging Dog; we grounded just below this same Commerce; we jolted Beaver Dam Rock; we hit one of the worst breaks in the 'Graveyard' behind Goose Island; we had a roustabout killed in a fight; we burnt a boiler; broke a shaft; collapsed a flue; and went into Cairo with nine feet of water in the hold--may have been more, may have been less. I remember it as if it were yesterday. The men lost their heads with terror. They painted the mare blue, in sight of town, and threw the preacher overboard, or we should not have arrived at all. The preacher was fished out and saved. He acknowledged, himself, that he had been to blame. I remember it all, as if it were yesterday.'\nThat this combination--of preacher and gray mare--should breed calamity, seems strange, and at first glance unbelievable; but the fact is fortified by so much unassailable proof that to doubt is to dishonor reason. I myself remember a case where a captain was warned by numerous friends against taking a gray mare and a preacher with him, but persisted in his purpose in spite of all that could be said; and the same day--it may have been the next, and some say it was, though I think it was the same day--he got drunk and fell down the hatchway, and was borne to his home a corpse. This is literally true.", "chosen": "52", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n52\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-245-025-00-0524b9ac", "source": "pg-245", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nMr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again, laid his hat and stick upon a chair, and drew another chair up to the table. As he slowly seated himself, he looked at the lady. She fixed her eyes upon the little teapot. Mr. Bumble coughed again, and slightly smiled.\nMrs. Corney rose to get another cup and saucer from the closet. As she sat down, her eyes once again encountered those of the gallant beadle; she coloured, and applied herself to the task of making his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed,—louder this time than he had coughed yet.\n\"Sweet? Mr. Bumble,\" inquired the matron, taking up the sugar-basin.\n\"Very sweet, indeed, ma'am,\" replied Mr. Bumble. He fixed his eyes on Mrs. Corney as he said this; and if ever a beadle looked tender, Mr. Bumble was that beadle at that moment.\nThe tea was made, and handed in silence. Mr. Bumble, having spread a handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs from sullying the splendour of his shorts, began to eat and drink; varying these amusements occasionally by fetching a deep sigh, which, however, had no injurious effect upon his appetite, but, on the contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations in the tea and toast department.\n\"You have a cat, ma'am, I see,\" said Mr. Bumble, glancing at one, who, in the centre of her family, was basking before the fire; \"and kittens too, I declare!\"\n\"I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble, you can't think,\" replied the matron. \"They're so happy, so frolicsome, and so cheerful, that they are quite companions for me.\"\n\"Very nice animals, ma'am,\" replied Mr. Bumble, approvingly; \"so very domestic.\"\n\"Oh, yes!\" rejoined the matron, with enthusiasm; \"so fond of their home too, that it's quite a pleasure, I'm sure.\"\n\"Mrs. Corney, ma'am,\" said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and marking the time with his teaspoon, \"I mean to say this, ma'am, that any cat or kitten that could live with you, ma'am, and not be fond of its home, must be a ass, ma'am.\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Bumble!\" remonstrated Mrs. Corney.\n\"It's no use disguising facts, ma'am,\" said Mr. Bumble, slowly flourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity that made him doubly impressive; \"I would drown it myself with pleasure.\"\n\"Then you're a cruel man,\" said the matron vivaciously, as she held out her hand for the beadle's cup, \"and a very hard-hearted man besides.\"\n\"Hard-hearted, ma'am,\" said Mr. Bumble, \"hard!\" Mr. Bumble resigned his cup without another word, squeezed Mrs. Corney's little finger as she took it, and inflicting two open-handed slaps upon his laced waistcoat, gave a mighty sigh, and hitched his chair a very little morsel farther from the fire.\nIt was a round table; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr. Bumble had been sitting opposite each other, with no great space between them, and fronting the fire, it will be seen that Mr. Bumble, in receding from the fire, and still keeping at the table, increased the distance between himself and Mrs. Corney; which proceeding some prudent readers will doubtless be disposed to admire, and to consider an act of great heroism on Mr. Bumble's part, he being in some sort tempted by time, place, and opportunity, to give utterance to certain soft nothings, which, however well they may become the lips of the light and thoughtless, do seem immeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, members of parliament, ministers of state, lord-mayors, and other great public functionaries, but more particularly beneath the stateliness and gravity of a beadle, who (as is well known) should be the sternest and most inflexible among them all.\nWhatever were Mr. Bumble's intentions, however,—and no doubt they were of the best,—whatever they were, it unfortunately, happened, as has been twice before remarked, that the table was a round one; consequently, Mr. Bumble, moving his chair by little and little, soon began to diminish the distance between himself and the matron, and, continuing to travel round the outer edge of the circle, brought his chair in time close to that in which the matron was seated. Indeed, the two chairs touched; and when they did so, Mr. Bumble stopped.\nNow, if the matron had moved her chair to the right, she would have been scorched by the fire, and if to the left, she must have fallen into Mr. Bumble's arms; so (being a discreet matron, and no doubt foreseeing these consequences at a glance) she remained where she was, and handed Mr. Bumble another cup of tea.\n\"Hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?\" said Mr. Bumble, stirring his tea, and looking up into the matron's face; \"are you hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?\"\n\"Dear me!\" exclaimed the matron, \"what a very curious question from a single man. What can you want to know for, Mr. Bumble?\"\nThe beadle drank his tea to the last drop, finished a piece of toast, whisked the crumbs off his knees, wiped his lips, and deliberately kissed the matron.\n\"Mr. Bumble,\" cried that discreet lady in a whisper, for the fright was so great that she had quite lost her voice, \"Mr. Bumble, I shall scream!\" Mr. Bumble made no reply, but in a slow and dignified manner put his arm round the matron's waist.\nAs the lady had stated her intention of screaming, of course she would have screamed at this additional boldness, but that the exertion was rendered unnecessary by a hasty knocking at the door, which was no sooner heard than Mr. Bumble darted with much agility to the wine-bottles, and began dusting them with great violence, while the matron sharply demanded who was there. It is worthy of remark, as a curious physical instance of the efficacy of a sudden surprise in counteracting the effects of extreme fear, that her voice had quite recovered all its official asperity.\n\"If you please, mistress,\" said a withered old female pauper, hideously ugly, putting her head in at the door, \"Old Sally is a-going fast.\"\n\"Well, what's that to me?\" angrily demanded the matron. \"I can't keep her alive, can I?\"\n\"No, no, mistress,\" replied the old woman; \"nobody can; she's far beyond the reach of help. I've seen a many people die, little babes and great strong men, and I know when death's a-coming well enough. But she's troubled in her mind; and when the fits are not on her,—and that's not often, for she is dying very hard,—she says she has got something to tell which you must hear. She'll never die quiet till you come, mistress.\"\nAt this intelligence the worthy Mrs. Corney muttered a variety of invectives against old women who couldn't even die without purposely annoying their betters; and, muffling herself in a thick shawl which she hastily caught up, briefly requested Mr. Bumble to stop till she came back, lest anything particular should occur, and bidding the messenger walk fast, and not be all night hobbling up the stairs, followed her from the room with a very ill grace, scolding all the way.\nMr. Bumble's conduct on being left to himself was rather inexplicable. He opened the closet, counted the tea-spoons, weighed the sugar-tongs, closely inspected a silver milk-pot to ascertain that it was of the genuine metal; and, having satisfied his curiosity upon these points, put on his cocked-hat corner-wise, and danced with much gravity four distinct times round the table. Having gone through this very extraordinary performance, he took off the cocked-hat again, and, spreading himself before the fire with his back towards it, seemed to be mentally engaged in taking an exact inventory of the furniture.", "chosen": "Bumble's part, he being in some sort tempted by time, place, and opportunity, to give utterance to certain soft nothings, which, however well they may become the lips of the light and thoughtless, do seem immeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, members of parliament, ministers of state, lord-mayors, and other great public functionaries, but more particularly beneath the stateliness and gravity of a beadle, who (as is well known) should be the sternest and most inflexible among them all.", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nBumble's part, he being in some sort tempted by time, place, and opportunity, to give utterance to certain soft nothings, which, however well they may become the lips of the light and thoughtless, do seem immeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, members of parliament, ministers of state, lord-mayors, and other great public functionaries, but more particularly beneath the stateliness and gravity of a beadle, who (as is well known) should be the sternest and most inflexible among them all.\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-47530-004-01-10dbf00c", "source": "pg-47530", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\n\"I am sure he is a very deserving, well-principled young man,\" said Rosamond, with a neat air of patronage in return for Mrs. Plymdale's wholesome corrections.\n\"Oh, he has not the style of a captain in the army, or that sort of carriage as if everybody was beneath him, or that showy kind of talking, and singing, and intellectual talent. But I am thankful he has not. It is a poor preparation both for here and Hereafter.\"\n\"Oh dear, yes; appearances have very little to do with happiness,\" said Rosamond. \"I think there is every prospect of their being a happy couple. What house will they take?\"\n\"Oh, as for that, they must put up with what they can get. They have been looking at the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's; it belongs to him, and he is putting it nicely in repair. I suppose they are not likely to hear of a better. Indeed, I think Ned will decide the matter to-day.\"\n\"I should think it is a nice house; I like St. Peter's Place.\"\n\"Well, it is near the Church, and a genteel situation. But the windows are narrow, and it is all ups and downs. You don't happen to know of any other that would be at liberty?\" said Mrs. Plymdale, fixing her round black eyes on Rosamond with the animation of a sudden thought in them.\n\"Oh no; I hear so little of those things.\"\nRosamond had not foreseen that question and answer in setting out to pay her visit; she had simply meant to gather any information which would help her to avert the parting with her own house under circumstances thoroughly disagreeable to her. As to the untruth in her reply, she no more reflected on it than she did on the untruth there was in her saying that appearances had very little to do with happiness. Her object, she was convinced, was thoroughly justifiable: it was Lydgate whose intention was inexcusable; and there was a plan in her mind which, when she had carried it out fully, would prove how very false a step it would have been for him to have descended from his position.\nShe returned home by Mr. Borthrop Trumbull's office, meaning to call there. It was the first time in her life that Rosamond had thought of doing anything in the form of business, but she felt equal to the occasion. That she should be obliged to do what she intensely disliked, was an idea which turned her quiet tenacity into active invention. Here was a case in which it could not be enough simply to disobey and be serenely, placidly obstinate: she must act according to her judgment, and she said to herself that her judgment was right—\"indeed, if it had not been, she would not have wished to act on it.\"\nMr. Trumbull was in the back-room of his office, and received Rosamond with his finest manners, not only because he had much sensibility to her charms, but because the good-natured fibre in him was stirred by his certainty that Lydgate was in difficulties, and that this uncommonly pretty woman—this young lady with the highest personal attractions—was likely to feel the pinch of trouble—to find herself involved in circumstances beyond her control. He begged her to do him the honor to take a seat, and stood before her trimming and comporting himself with an eager solicitude, which was chiefly benevolent. Rosamond's first question was, whether her husband had called on Mr. Trumbull that morning, to speak about disposing of their house.\n\"Yes, ma'am, yes, he did; he did so,\" said the good auctioneer, trying to throw something soothing into his iteration. \"I was about to fulfil his order, if possible, this afternoon. He wished me not to procrastinate.\"\n\"I called to tell you not to go any further, Mr. Trumbull; and I beg of you not to mention what has been said on the subject. Will you oblige me?\"\n\"Certainly I will, Mrs. Lydgate, certainly. Confidence is sacred with me on business or any other topic. I am then to consider the commission withdrawn?\" said Mr. Trumbull, adjusting the long ends of his blue cravat with both hands, and looking at Rosamond deferentially.\n\"Yes, if you please. I find that Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house—the one in St. Peter's Place next to Mr. Hackbutt's. Mr. Lydgate would be annoyed that his orders should be fulfilled uselessly. And besides that, there are other circumstances which render the proposal unnecessary.\"\n\"Very good, Mrs. Lydgate, very good. I am at your commands, whenever you require any service of me,\" said Mr. Trumbull, who felt pleasure in conjecturing that some new resources had been opened. \"Rely on me, I beg. The affair shall go no further.\"\nThat evening Lydgate was a little comforted by observing that Rosamond was more lively than she had usually been of late, and even seemed interested in doing what would please him without being asked. He thought, \"If she will be happy and I can rub through, what does it all signify? It is only a narrow swamp that we have to pass in a long journey. If I can get my mind clear again, I shall do.\"\nHe was so much cheered that he began to search for an account of experiments which he had long ago meant to look up, and had neglected out of that creeping self-despair which comes in the train of petty anxieties. He felt again some of the old delightful absorption in a far-reaching inquiry, while Rosamond played the quiet music which was as helpful to his meditation as the plash of an oar on the evening lake. It was rather late; he had pushed away all the books, and was looking at the fire with his hands clasped behind his head in forgetfulness of everything except the construction of a new controlling experiment, when Rosamond, who had left the piano and was leaning back in her chair watching him, said—\n\"Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house already.\"\nLydgate, startled and jarred, looked up in silence for a moment, like a man who has been disturbed in his sleep. Then flushing with an unpleasant consciousness, he asked—\n\"How do you know?\"\n\"I called at Mrs. Plymdale's this morning, and she told me that he had taken the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's.\"\nLydgate was silent. He drew his hands from behind his head and pressed them against the hair which was hanging, as it was apt to do, in a mass on his forehead, while he rested his elbows on his knees. He was feeling bitter disappointment, as if he had opened a door out of a suffocating place and had found it walled up; but he also felt sure that Rosamond was pleased with the cause of his disappointment. He preferred not looking at her and not speaking, until he had got over the first spasm of vexation. After all, he said in his bitterness, what can a woman care about so much as house and furniture? a husband without them is an absurdity. When he looked up and pushed his hair aside, his dark eyes had a miserable blank non-expectance of sympathy in them, but he only said, coolly—\n\"Perhaps some one else may turn up. I told Trumbull to be on the look-out if he failed with Plymdale.\"\nRosamond made no remark. She trusted to the chance that nothing more would pass between her husband and the auctioneer until some issue should have justified her interference; at any rate, she had hindered the event which she immediately dreaded. After a pause, she said—\n\"How much money is it that those disagreeable people want?\"\n\"What disagreeable people?\"\n\"Those who took the list—and the others. I mean, how much money would satisfy them so that you need not be troubled any more?\"\nLydgate surveyed her for a moment, as if he were looking for symptoms, and then said, \"Oh, if I could have got six hundred from Plymdale for furniture and as premium, I might have managed. I could have paid off Dover, and given enough on account to the others to make them wait patiently, if we contracted our expenses.\"\n\"But I mean how much should you want if we stayed in this house?\"", "chosen": "house", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nhouse\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-064-02-aad1d1b3", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nHe strolled away through the dancing snow, turned up two or three streets, down through two or three others, and entered a small Soho restaurant for lunch. He partook reflectively of four small and quaint courses, drank half a bottle of red wine, and ended up over black coffee and a black cigar, still thinking. He had taken his seat in the upper room of the restaurant, which was full of the chink of knives and the chatter of foreigners. He remembered that in old days he had imagined that all these harmless and kindly aliens were anarchists. He shuddered, remembering the real thing. But even the shudder had the delightful shame of escape. The wine, the common food, the familiar place, the faces of natural and talkative men, made him almost feel as if the Council of the Seven Days had been a bad dream; and although he knew it was nevertheless an objective reality, it was at least a distant one. Tall houses and populous streets lay between him and his last sight of the shameful seven; he was free in free London, and drinking wine among the free. With a somewhat easier action, he took his hat and stick and strolled down the stair into the shop below.\nWhen he entered that lower room he stood stricken and rooted to the spot. At a small table, close up to the blank window and the white street of snow, sat the old anarchist Professor over a glass of milk, with his lifted livid face and pendent eyelids. For an instant Syme stood as rigid as the stick he leant upon. Then with a gesture as of blind hurry, he brushed past the Professor, dashing open the door and slamming it behind him, and stood outside in the snow.\n\"Can that old corpse be following me?\" he asked himself, biting his yellow moustache. \"I stopped too long up in that room, so that even such leaden feet could catch me up. One comfort is, with a little brisk walking I can put a man like that as far away as Timbuctoo. Or am I too fanciful? Was he really following me? Surely Sunday would not be such a fool as to send a lame man?\"\nHe set off at a smart pace, twisting and whirling his stick, in the direction of Covent Garden. As he crossed the great market the snow increased, growing blinding and bewildering as the afternoon began to darken. The snow-flakes tormented him like a swarm of silver bees. Getting into his eyes and beard, they added their unremitting futility to his already irritated nerves; and by the time that he had come at a swinging pace to the beginning of Fleet Street, he lost patience, and finding a Sunday teashop, turned into it to take shelter. He ordered another cup of black coffee as an excuse. Scarcely had he done so, when Professor de Worms hobbled heavily into the shop, sat down with difficulty and ordered a glass of milk.\nSyme's walking-stick had fallen from his hand with a great clang, which confessed the concealed steel. But the Professor did not look round. Syme, who was commonly a cool character, was literally gaping as a rustic gapes at a conjuring trick. He had seen no cab following; he had heard no wheels outside the shop; to all mortal appearances the man had come on foot. But the old man could only walk like a snail, and Syme had walked like the wind. He started up and snatched his stick, half crazy with the contradiction in mere arithmetic, and swung out of the swinging doors, leaving his coffee untasted. An omnibus going to the Bank went rattling by with an unusual rapidity. He had a violent run of a hundred yards to reach it; but he managed to spring, swaying upon the splash-board and, pausing for an instant to pant, he climbed on to the top. When he had been seated for about half a minute, he heard behind him a sort of heavy and asthmatic breathing.\nTurning sharply, he saw rising gradually higher and higher up the omnibus steps a top hat soiled and dripping with snow, and under the shadow of its brim the short-sighted face and shaky shoulders of Professor de Worms. He let himself into a seat with characteristic care, and wrapped himself up to the chin in the mackintosh rug.\nEvery movement of the old man's tottering figure and vague hands, every uncertain gesture and panic-stricken pause, seemed to put it beyond question that he was helpless, that he was in the last imbecility of the body. He moved by inches, he let himself down with little gasps of caution. And yet, unless the philosophical entities called time and space have no vestige even of a practical existence, it appeared quite unquestionable that he had run after the omnibus.\nSyme sprang erect upon the rocking car, and after staring wildly at the wintry sky, that grew gloomier every moment, he ran down the steps. He had repressed an elemental impulse to leap over the side.\nToo bewildered to look back or to reason, he rushed into one of the little courts at the side of Fleet Street as a rabbit rushes into a hole. He had a vague idea, if this incomprehensible old Jack-in-the-box was really pursuing him, that in that labyrinth of little streets he could soon throw him off the scent. He dived in and out of those crooked lanes, which were more like cracks than thoroughfares; and by the time that he had completed about twenty alternate angles and described an unthinkable polygon, he paused to listen for any sound of pursuit. There was none; there could not in any case have been much, for the little streets were thick with the soundless snow. Somewhere behind Red Lion Court, however, he noticed a place where some energetic citizen had cleared away the snow for a space of about twenty yards, leaving the wet, glistening cobble-stones. He thought little of this as he passed it, only plunging into yet another arm of the maze. But when a few hundred yards farther on he stood still again to listen, his heart stood still also, for he heard from that space of rugged stones the clinking crutch and labouring feet of the infernal cripple.\nThe sky above was loaded with the clouds of snow, leaving London in a darkness and oppression premature for that hour of the evening. On each side of Syme the walls of the alley were blind and featureless; there was no little window or any kind of eve. He felt a new impulse to break out of this hive of houses, and to get once more into the open and lamp-lit street. Yet he rambled and dodged for a long time before he struck the main thoroughfare. When he did so, he struck it much farther up than he had fancied. He came out into what seemed the vast and void of Ludgate Circus, and saw St. Paul's Cathedral sitting in the sky.", "chosen": "[\"Soho\", \"Council\", \"Seven\", \"Days\", \"London\", \"Professor\", \"Syme\", \"Can\", \"Timbuctoo\", \"Sunday\", \"Covent\", \"Garden\", \"Fleet\", \"Street\", \"Worms\", \"Bank\", \"Jack\", \"Red\", \"Lion\", \"Court\", \"Ludgate\", \"Circus\", \"Cathedral\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Soho\", \"Council\", \"Seven\", \"Days\", \"London\", \"Professor\", \"Syme\", \"Can\", \"Timbuctoo\", \"Sunday\", \"Covent\", \"Garden\", \"Fleet\", \"Street\", \"Worms\", \"Bank\", \"Jack\", \"Red\", \"Lion\", \"Court\", \"Ludgate\", \"Circus\", \"Cathedral\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-1695-007-01-57c6addd", "source": "pg-1695", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nWith what indignation such a letter as this must be read by Miss Dashwood, may be imagined. Though aware, before she began it, that it must bring a confession of his inconstancy, and confirm their separation for ever, she was not aware that such language could be suffered to announce it; nor could she have supposed Willoughby capable of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and delicate feeling--so far from the common decorum of a gentleman, as to send a letter so impudently cruel: a letter which, instead of bringing with his desire of a release any professions of regret, acknowledged no breach of faith, denied all peculiar affection whatever;--a letter of which every line was an insult, and which proclaimed its writer to be deep in hardened villainy.\nShe paused over it for some time with indignant astonishment; then read it again and again; but every perusal only served to increase her abhorrence of the man, and so bitter were her feelings against him, that she dared not trust herself to speak, lest she might wound Marianne still deeper by treating their disengagement, not as a loss to her of any possible good but as an escape from the worst and most irremediable of all evils,--a connection, for life, with an unprincipled man, as a deliverance the most real, a blessing the most important.\nIn her earnest meditations on the contents of the letter, on the depravity of that mind which could dictate it, and probably, on the very different mind of a very different person, who had no other connection whatever with the affair than what her heart gave him with every thing that passed, Elinor forgot the immediate distress of her sister, forgot that she had three letters on her lap yet unread, and so entirely forgot how long she had been in the room, that when on hearing a carriage drive up to the door, she went to the window to see who could be coming so unreasonably early, she was all astonishment to perceive Mrs. Jennings's chariot, which she knew had not been ordered till one. Determined not to quit Marianne, though hopeless of contributing, at present, to her ease, she hurried away to excuse herself from attending Mrs. Jennings, on account of her sister being indisposed. Mrs. Jennings, with a thoroughly good-humoured concern for its cause, admitted the excuse most readily, and Elinor, after seeing her safe off, returned to Marianne, whom she found attempting to rise from the bed, and whom she reached just in time to prevent her from falling on the floor, faint and giddy from a long want of proper rest and food; for it was many days since she had any appetite, and many nights since she had really slept; and now, when her mind was no longer supported by the fever of suspense, the consequence of all this was felt in an aching head, a weakened stomach, and a general nervous faintness. A glass of wine, which Elinor procured for her directly, made her more comfortable, and she was at last able to express some sense of her kindness, by saying, \"Poor Elinor! how unhappy I make you!\"\n\"I only wish,\" replied her sister, \"there were any thing I could do, which might be of comfort to you.\"\nThis, as every thing else would have been, was too much for Marianne, who could only exclaim, in the anguish of her heart, \"Oh! Elinor, I am miserable, indeed,\" before her voice was entirely lost in sobs.\nElinor could no longer witness this torrent of unresisted grief in silence.\n\"Exert yourself, dear Marianne,\" she cried, \"if you would not kill yourself and all who love you. Think of your mother; think of her misery while you suffer: for her sake you must exert yourself.\"\n\"I cannot, I cannot,\" cried Marianne; \"leave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! but do not torture me so. Oh! how easy for those, who have no sorrow of their own to talk of exertion! Happy, happy Elinor, you cannot have an idea of what I suffer.\"\n\"Do you call me happy, Marianne? Ah! if you knew! And can you believe me to be so, while I see you so wretched!\"\n\"Forgive me, forgive me,\" throwing her arms round her sister's neck; \"I know you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you are--you must be happy; Edward loves you--what, oh what, can do away such happiness as that?\"\n\"Many, many circumstances,\" said Elinor, solemnly.\n\"No, no, no,\" cried Marianne wildly, \"he loves you, and only you. You can have no grief.\"\n\"I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state.\"\n\"And you will never see me otherwise. Mine is a misery which nothing can do away.\"\n\"You must not talk so, Marianne. Have you no comforts? no friends? Is your loss such as leaves no opening for consolation? Much as you suffer now, think of what you would have suffered if the discovery of his character had been delayed to a later period;--if your engagement had been carried on for months and months, as it might have been, before he chose to put an end to it. Every additional day of unhappy confidence, on your side, would have made the blow more dreadful.\"\n\"Engagement!\" cried Marianne, \"there has been no engagement.\"\n\"No engagement!\"\n\"No, he is not so unworthy as you believe him. He has broken no faith with me.\"\n\"But he told you that he loved you.\"\n\"Yes--no--never absolutely. It was every day implied, but never professedly declared. Sometimes I thought it had been--but it never was.\"\n\"Yet you wrote to him?\"\n\"Yes: could that be wrong after all that had passed? But I cannot talk.\"\nElinor said no more, and turning again to the three letters which now raised a much stronger curiosity than before, directly ran over the contents of all. The first, which was what her sister had sent him on their arrival in town, was to this effect:--\n\"Berkeley Street, January.\n\"How surprised you will be, Willoughby, on receiving this; and I think you will feel something more than surprise, when you know that I am in town. An opportunity of coming hither, though with Mrs. Jennings, was a temptation we could not resist. I wish you may receive this in time to come here tonight, but I will not depend on it. At any rate I shall expect you to-morrow. For the present, adieu.\nM.D.\"\nHer second note, which had been written on the morning after the dance at the Middletons', was in these words:--\n\"I cannot express my disappointment in having missed you the day before yesterday, nor my astonishment at not having received any answer to a note which I sent you above a week ago. I have been expecting to hear from you, and still more to see you, every hour of the day. Pray call again as soon as possible, and explain the reason of my having expected this in vain. You had better come earlier another time, because we are generally out by one. We were last night at Lady Middleton's, where there was a dance. I have been told that you were asked to be of the party. But could it be so? You must be very much altered indeed since we parted, if that could be the case, and you not there. But I will not suppose this possible, and I hope very soon to receive your personal assurance of its being otherwise.\nM.D.\"\nThe contents of her last note to him were these:--", "chosen": "With, Though, She, In, Jennings's, Determined, Jennings,, Mrs., Jennings,, A, how, Elinor,, Elinor, Exert, Think, but, Oh!, how, Happy,, Ah!, if, And, No,, You, Mine, Have, no, Is, Much, Every, He, It, Sometimes, But, The, How, An, Jennings,, I, At, For, M.D.\", I, Pray, You, We, I, But, You, But, M.D.\"", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nWith, Though, She, In, Jennings's, Determined, Jennings,, Mrs., Jennings,, A, how, Elinor,, Elinor, Exert, Think, but, Oh!, how, Happy,, Ah!, if, And, No,, You, Mine, Have, no, Is, Much, Every, He, It, Sometimes, But, The, How, An, Jennings,, I, At, For, M.D.\", I, Pray, You, We, I, But, You, But, M.D.\"\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-029-01-0ddb6613", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\nBut think, before you hold up your hands in horror at their ill-living, what \"life\" for these wretched creatures really means. Picture the squalid misery of their brutish existence, dragged on from year to year in the narrow, noisome room where, huddled like vermin in sewers, they welter, and sicken, and sleep; where dirt-grimed children scream and fight and sluttish, shrill-voiced women cuff, and curse, and nag; where the street outside teems with roaring filth and the house around is a bedlam of riot and stench.\nThink what a sapless stick this fair flower of life must be to them, devoid of mind and soul. The horse in his stall scents the sweet hay and munches the ripe corn contentedly. The watch-dog in his kennel blinks at the grateful sun, dreams of a glorious chase over the dewy fields, and wakes with a yelp of gladness to greet a caressing hand. But the clod-like life of these human logs never knows one ray of light. From the hour when they crawl from their comfortless bed to the hour when they lounge back into it again they never live one moment of real life. Recreation, amusement, companionship, they know not the meaning of. Joy, sorrow, laughter, tears, love, friendship, longing, despair, are idle words to them. From the day when their baby eyes first look out upon their sordid world to the day when, with an oath, they close them forever and their bones are shoveled out of sight, they never warm to one touch of human sympathy, never thrill to a single thought, never start to a single hope. In the name of the God of mercy; let them pour the maddening liquor down their throats and feel for one brief moment that they live!\nAh! we may talk sentiment as much as we like, but the stomach is the real seat of happiness in this world. The kitchen is the chief temple wherein we worship, its roaring fire is our vestal flame, and the cook is our great high-priest. He is a mighty magician and a kindly one. He soothes away all sorrow and care. He drives forth all enmity, gladdens all love. Our God is great and the cook is his prophet. Let us eat, drink, and be merry.", "chosen": "19", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n19\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-849-011-02-c4d16c12", "source": "pg-849", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"Yes; I was thinking I could go over and make a little money, and then come back and ask for her. I have the option of practising for myself after a year.\"\n\"Would she be staunch?\"\n\"Oh yes! For ever—to the end of her life!\"\n\"How do you know?\"\n\"Why, how do people know? Of course, she will.\"\nKnight leant back in his chair. \"Now, though I know her thoroughly as she exists in your heart, Stephen, I don't know her in the flesh. All I want to ask is, is this idea of going to India based entirely upon a belief in her fidelity?\"\n\"Yes; I should not go if it were not for her.\"\n\"Well, Stephen, you have put me in rather an awkward position. If I give my true sentiments, I shall hurt your feelings; if I don't, I shall hurt my own judgment. And remember, I don't know much about women.\"\n\"But you have had attachments, although you tell me very little about them.\"\n\"And I only hope you'll continue to prosper till I tell you more.\"\nStephen winced at this rap. \"I have never formed a deep attachment,\" continued Knight. \"I never have found a woman worth it. Nor have I been once engaged to be married.\"\n\"You write as if you had been engaged a hundred times, if I may be allowed to say so,\" said Stephen in an injured tone.\n\"Yes, that may be. But, my dear Stephen, it is only those who half know a thing that write about it. Those who know it thoroughly don't take the trouble. All I know about women, or men either, is a mass of generalities. I plod along, and occasionally lift my eyes and skim the weltering surface of mankind lying between me and the horizon, as a crow might; no more.\"\nKnight stopped as if he had fallen into a train of thought, and Stephen looked with affectionate awe at a master whose mind, he believed, could swallow up at one meal all that his own head contained.\nThere was affective sympathy, but no great intellectual fellowship, between Knight and Stephen Smith. Knight had seen his young friend when the latter was a cherry-cheeked happy boy, had been interested in him, had kept his eye upon him, and generously helped the lad to books, till the mere connection of patronage grew to acquaintance, and that ripened to friendship. And so, though Smith was not at all the man Knight would have deliberately chosen as a friend—or even for one of a group of a dozen friends—he somehow was his friend. Circumstance, as usual, did it all. How many of us can say of our most intimate alter ego, leaving alone friends of the outer circle, that he is the man we should have chosen, as embodying the net result after adding up all the points in human nature that we love, and principles we hold, and subtracting all that we hate? The man is really somebody we got to know by mere physical juxtaposition long maintained, and was taken into our confidence, and even heart, as a makeshift.\n\"And what do you think of her?\" Stephen ventured to say, after a silence.\n\"Taking her merits on trust from you,\" said Knight, \"as we do those of the Roman poets of whom we know nothing but that they lived, I still think she will not stick to you through, say, three years of absence in India.\"\n\"But she will!\" cried Stephen desperately. \"She is a girl all delicacy and honour. And no woman of that kind, who has committed herself so into a man's hands as she has into mine, could possibly marry another.\"\n\"How has she committed herself?\" asked Knight cunously.\nStephen did not answer. Knight had looked on his love so sceptically that it would not do to say all that he had intended to say by any means.\n\"Well, don't tell,\" said Knight. \"But you are begging the question, which is, I suppose, inevitable in love.\"\n\"And I'll tell you another thing,\" the younger man pleaded. \"You remember what you said to me once about women receiving a kiss. Don't you? Why, that instead of our being charmed by the fascination of their bearing at such a time, we should immediately doubt them if their confusion has any GRACE in it—that awkward bungling was the true charm of the occasion, implying that we are the first who has played such a part with them.\"\n\"It is true, quite,\" said Knight musingly.\nIt often happened that the disciple thus remembered the lessons of the master long after the master himself had forgotten them.\n\"Well, that was like her!\" cried Stephen triumphantly. \"She was in such a flurry that she didn't know what she was doing.\"\n\"Splendid, splendid!\" said Knight soothingly. \"So that all I have to say is, that if you see a good opening in Bombay there's no reason why you should not go without troubling to draw fine distinctions as to reasons. No man fully realizes what opinions he acts upon, or what his actions mean.\"\n\"Yes; I go to Bombay. I'll write a note here, if you don't mind.\"\n\"Sleep over it—it is the best plan—and write to-morrow. Meantime, go there to that window and sit down, and look at my Humanity Show. I am going to dine out this evening, and have to dress here out of my portmanteau. I bring up my things like this to save the trouble of going down to my place at Richmond and back again.\"\nKnight then went to the middle of the room and flung open his portmanteau, and Stephen drew near the window. The streak of sunlight had crept upward, edged away, and vanished; the zoophytes slept: a dusky gloom pervaded the room. And now another volume of light shone over the window.\n\"There!\" said Knight, \"where is there in England a spectacle to equal that? I sit there and watch them every night before I go home. Softly open the sash.\"\nBeneath them was an alley running up to the wall, and thence turning sideways and passing under an arch, so that Knight's back window was immediately over the angle, and commanded a view of the alley lengthwise. Crowds—mostly of women—were surging, bustling, and pacing up and down. Gaslights glared from butchers' stalls, illuminating the lumps of flesh to splotches of orange and vermilion, like the wild colouring of Turner's later pictures, whilst the purl and babble of tongues of every pitch and mood was to this human wild-wood what the ripple of a brook is to the natural forest.\nNearly ten minutes passed. Then Knight also came to the window.\n\"Well, now, I call a cab and vanish down the street in the direction of Berkeley Square,\" he said, buttoning his waistcoat and kicking his morning suit into a corner. Stephen rose to leave.\n\"What a heap of literature!\" remarked the young man, taking a final longing survey round the room, as if to abide there for ever would be the great pleasure of his life, yet feeling that he had almost outstayed his welcome-while. His eyes rested upon an arm-chair piled full of newspapers, magazines, and bright new volumes in green and red.\n\"Yes,\" said Knight, also looking at them and breathing a sigh of weariness; \"something must be done with several of them soon, I suppose. Stephen, you needn't hurry away for a few minutes, you know, if you want to stay; I am not quite ready. Overhaul those volumes whilst I put on my coat, and I'll walk a little way with you.\"\nStephen sat down beside the arm-chair and began to tumble the books about. Among the rest he found a novelette in one volume, THE COURT OF KELLYON CASTLE. By Ernest Field.\n\"Are you going to review this?\" inquired Stephen with apparent unconcern, and holding up Elfride's effusion.\n\"Which? Oh, that! I may—though I don't do much light reviewing now. But it is reviewable.\"\n\"How do you mean?\"\nKnight never liked to be asked what he meant. \"Mean! I mean that the majority of books published are neither good enough nor bad enough to provoke criticism, and that that book does provoke it.\"\n\"By its goodness or its badness?\" Stephen said with some anxiety on poor little Elfride's score.", "chosen": "I plod along, and occasionally lift my eyes and skim the weltering surface of mankind lying between me and the horizon, as a crow might; no more.\"\nKnight stopped as if he had fallen into a train of thought, and Stephen looked with affectionate awe at a master whose mind, he believed, could swallow up at one meal all that his own head contained.", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nI plod along, and occasionally lift my eyes and skim the weltering surface of mankind lying between me and the horizon, as a crow might; no more.\"\nKnight stopped as if he had fallen into a train of thought, and Stephen looked with affectionate awe at a master whose mind, he believed, could swallow up at one meal all that his own head contained.\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-224-012-01-76c522cb", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n1st Gent. How class your man?—as better than the most, Or, seeming better, worse beneath that cloak? As saint or knave, pilgrim or hypocrite?\n2d Gent. Nay, tell me how you class your wealth of books The drifted relics of all time. As well sort them at once by size and livery: Vellum, tall copies, and the common calf Will hardly cover more diversity Than all your labels cunningly devised To class your unread authors.\nIn consequence of what he had heard from Fred, Mr. Vincy determined to speak with Mr. Bulstrode in his private room at the Bank at half-past one, when he was usually free from other callers. But a visitor had come in at one o'clock, and Mr. Bulstrode had so much to say to him, that there was little chance of the interview being over in half an hour. The banker's speech was fluent, but it was also copious, and he used up an appreciable amount of time in brief meditative pauses. Do not imagine his sickly aspect to have been of the yellow, black-haired sort: he had a pale blond skin, thin gray-besprinkled brown hair, light-gray eyes, and a large forehead. Loud men called his subdued tone an undertone, and sometimes implied that it was inconsistent with openness; though there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not be given to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can be shown that Holy Writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs. Mr. Bulstrode had also a deferential bending attitude in listening, and an apparently fixed attentiveness in his eyes which made those persons who thought themselves worth hearing infer that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse. Others, who expected to make no great figure, disliked this kind of moral lantern turned on them. If you are not proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of satisfaction in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and look judicial. Such joys are reserved for conscious merit. Hence Mr. Bulstrode's close attention was not agreeable to the publicans and sinners in Middlemarch; it was attributed by some to his being a Pharisee, and by others to his being Evangelical. Less superficial reasoners among them wished to know who his father and grandfather were, observing that five-and-twenty years ago nobody had ever heard of a Bulstrode in Middlemarch. To his present visitor, Lydgate, the scrutinizing look was a matter of indifference: he simply formed an unfavorable opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he had an eager inward life with little enjoyment of tangible things.\n\"I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on me here occasionally, Mr. Lydgate,\" the banker observed, after a brief pause. \"If, as I dare to hope, I have the privilege of finding you a valuable coadjutor in the interesting matter of hospital management, there will be many questions which we shall need to discuss in private. As to the new hospital, which is nearly finished, I shall consider what you have said about the advantages of the special destination for fevers. The decision will rest with me, for though Lord Medlicote has given the land and timber for the building, he is not disposed to give his personal attention to the object.\"\n\"There are few things better worth the pains in a provincial town like this,\" said Lydgate. \"A fine fever hospital in addition to the old infirmary might be the nucleus of a medical school here, when once we get our medical reforms; and what would do more for medical education than the spread of such schools over the country? A born provincial man who has a grain of public spirit as well as a few ideas, should do what he can to resist the rush of everything that is a little better than common towards London. Any valid professional aims may often find a freer, if not a richer field, in the provinces.\"\nOne of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment. About his ordinary bearing there was a certain fling, a fearless expectation of success, a confidence in his own powers and integrity much fortified by contempt for petty obstacles or seductions of which he had had no experience. But this proud openness was made lovable by an expression of unaffected good-will. Mr. Bulstrode perhaps liked him the better for the difference between them in pitch and manners; he certainly liked him the better, as Rosamond did, for being a stranger in Middlemarch. One can begin so many things with a new person!—even begin to be a better man.\n\"I shall rejoice to furnish your zeal with fuller opportunities,\" Mr. Bulstrode answered; \"I mean, by confiding to you the superintendence of my new hospital, should a maturer knowledge favor that issue, for I am determined that so great an object shall not be shackled by our two physicians. Indeed, I am encouraged to consider your advent to this town as a gracious indication that a more manifest blessing is now to be awarded to my efforts, which have hitherto been much withstood. With regard to the old infirmary, we have gained the initial point—I mean your election. And now I hope you will not shrink from incurring a certain amount of jealousy and dislike from your professional brethren by presenting yourself as a reformer.\"\n\"I will not profess bravery,\" said Lydgate, smiling, \"but I acknowledge a good deal of pleasure in fighting, and I should not care for my profession, if I did not believe that better methods were to be found and enforced there as well as everywhere else.\"\n\"The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, my dear sir,\" said the banker. \"I mean in knowledge and skill; not in social status, for our medical men are most of them connected with respectable townspeople here. My own imperfect health has induced me to give some attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has placed within our reach. I have consulted eminent men in the metropolis, and I am painfully aware of the backwardness under which medical treatment labors in our provincial districts.\"\n\"Yes;—with our present medical rules and education, one must be satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner. As to all the higher questions which determine the starting-point of a diagnosis—as to the philosophy of medical evidence—any glimmering of these can only come from a scientific culture of which country practitioners have usually no more notion than the man in the moon.\"\nMr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the form which Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. Under such circumstances a judicious man changes the topic and enters on ground where his own gifts may be more useful.\n\"I am aware,\" he said, \"that the peculiar bias of medical ability is towards material means. Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate, I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not likely to be actively concerned, but in which your sympathetic concurrence may be an aid to me. You recognize, I hope; the existence of spiritual interests in your patients?\"\n\"Certainly I do. But those words are apt to cover different meanings to different minds.\"\n\"Precisely. And on such subjects wrong teaching is as fatal as no teaching. Now a point which I have much at heart to secure is a new regulation as to clerical attendance at the old infirmary. The building stands in Mr. Farebrother's parish. You know Mr. Farebrother?\"\n\"I have seen him. He gave me his vote. I must call to thank him. He seems a very bright pleasant little fellow. And I understand he is a naturalist.\"\n\"Mr. Farebrother, my dear sir, is a man deeply painful to contemplate. I suppose there is not a clergyman in this country who has greater talents.\" Mr. Bulstrode paused and looked meditative.\n\"I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch,\" said Lydgate, bluntly.\n\"What I desire,\" Mr. Bulstrode continued, looking still more serious, \"is that Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, in fact—and that no other spiritual aid should be called in.\"", "chosen": "[\"I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on me here occasionally, Mr. Lydgate,\", \"There are few things better worth the pains in a provincial town like this,\", \"I shall rejoice to furnish your zeal with fuller opportunities,\", \"I will not profess bravery,\", \"but I acknowledge a good deal of pleasure in fighting, and I should not care for my profession, if I did not believe that better methods were to be found and enforced there as well as everywhere else.\", \"The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, my dear sir,\", \"I am aware,\", \"Certainly I do. But those words are apt to cover different meanings to different minds.\", \"I have seen him. He gave me his vote. I must call to thank him. He seems a very bright pleasant little fellow. And I understand he is a naturalist.\", \"Mr. Farebrother, my dear sir, is a man deeply painful to contemplate. I suppose there is not a clergyman in this country who has greater talents.\", \"I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch,\", \"What I desire,\", \"is that Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain\\u2014of Mr. Tyke, in fact\\u2014and that no other spiritual aid should be called in.\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on me here occasionally, Mr. Lydgate,\", \"There are few things better worth the pains in a provincial town like this,\", \"I shall rejoice to furnish your zeal with fuller opportunities,\", \"I will not profess bravery,\", \"but I acknowledge a good deal of pleasure in fighting, and I should not care for my profession, if I did not believe that better methods were to be found and enforced there as well as everywhere else.\", \"The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, my dear sir,\", \"I am aware,\", \"Certainly I do. But those words are apt to cover different meanings to different minds.\", \"I have seen him. He gave me his vote. I must call to thank him. He seems a very bright pleasant little fellow. And I understand he is a naturalist.\", \"Mr. Farebrother, my dear sir, is a man deeply painful to contemplate. I suppose there is not a clergyman in this country who has greater talents.\", \"I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch,\", \"What I desire,\", \"is that Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain\\u2014of Mr. Tyke, in fact\\u2014and that no other spiritual aid should be called in.\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-145-014-00-18cf33b1", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe village lay under two feet of snow, with drifts at the windy corners. In a sky of iron the points of the Dipper hung like icicles and Orion flashed his cold fires. The moon had set, but the night was so transparent that the white house-fronts between the elms looked gray against the snow, clumps of bushes made black stains on it, and the basement windows of the church sent shafts of yellow light far across the endless undulations.\nYoung Ethan Frome walked at a quick pace along the deserted street, past the bank and Michael Eady's new brick store and Lawyer Varnum's house with the two black Norway spruces at the gate. Opposite the Varnum gate, where the road fell away toward the Corbury valley, the church reared its slim white steeple and narrow peristyle. As the young man walked toward it the upper windows drew a black arcade along the side wall of the building, but from the lower openings, on the side where the ground sloped steeply down to the Corbury road, the light shot its long bars, illuminating many fresh furrows in the track leading to the basement door, and showing, under an adjoining shed, a line of sleighs with heavily blanketed horses.\nThe night was perfectly still, and the air so dry and pure that it gave little sensation of cold. The effect produced on Frome was rather of a complete absence of atmosphere, as though nothing less tenuous than ether intervened between the white earth under his feet and the metallic dome overhead. \"It's like being in an exhausted receiver,\" he thought. Four or five years earlier he had taken a year's course at a technological college at Worcester, and dabbled in the laboratory with a friendly professor of physics; and the images supplied by that experience still cropped up, at unexpected moments, through the totally different associations of thought in which he had since been living. His father's death, and the misfortunes following it, had put a premature end to Ethan's studies; but though they had not gone far enough to be of much practical use they had fed his fancy and made him aware of huge cloudy meanings behind the daily face of things.\nAs he strode along through the snow the sense of such meanings glowed in his brain and mingled with the bodily flush produced by his sharp tramp. At the end of the village he paused before the darkened front of the church. He stood there a moment, breathing quickly, and looking up and down the street, in which not another figure moved. The pitch of the Corbury road, below lawyer Varnum's spruces, was the favourite coasting-ground of Starkfield, and on clear evenings the church corner rang till late with the shouts of the coasters; but to-night not a sled darkened the whiteness of the long declivity. The hush of midnight lay on the village, and all its waking life was gathered behind the church windows, from which strains of dance-music flowed with the broad bands of yellow light.\nThe young man, skirting the side of the building, went down the slope toward the basement door. To keep out of range of the revealing rays from within he made a circuit through the untrodden snow and gradually approached the farther angle of the basement wall. Thence, still hugging the shadow, he edged his way cautiously forward to the nearest window, holding back his straight spare body and craning his neck till he got a glimpse of the room.\nSeen thus, from the pure and frosty darkness in which he stood, it seemed to be seething in a mist of heat. The metal reflectors of the gas-jets sent crude waves of light against the whitewashed walls, and the iron flanks of the stove at the end of the hall looked as though they were heaving with volcanic fires. The floor was thronged with girls and young men. Down the side wall facing the window stood a row of kitchen chairs from which the older women had just risen. By this time the music had stopped, and the musicians—a fiddler, and the young lady who played the harmonium on Sundays—were hastily refreshing themselves at one corner of the supper-table which aligned its devastated pie-dishes and ice-cream saucers on the platform at the end of the hall. The guests were preparing to leave, and the tide had already set toward the passage where coats and wraps were hung, when a young man with a sprightly foot and a shock of black hair shot into the middle of the floor and clapped his hands. The signal took instant effect. The musicians hurried to their instruments, the dancers—some already half-muffled for departure—fell into line down each side of the room, the older spectators slipped back to their chairs, and the lively young man, after diving about here and there in the throng, drew forth a girl who had already wound a cherry-coloured \"fascinator\" about her head, and, leading her up to the end of the floor, whirled her down its length to the bounding tune of a Virginia reel.\nFrome's heart was beating fast. He had been straining for a glimpse of the dark head under the cherry-coloured scarf and it vexed him that another eye should have been quicker than his. The leader of the reel, who looked as if he had Irish blood in his veins, danced well, and his partner caught his fire. As she passed down the line, her light figure swinging from hand to hand in circles of increasing swiftness, the scarf flew off her head and stood out behind her shoulders, and Frome, at each turn, caught sight of her laughing panting lips, the cloud of dark hair about her forehead, and the dark eyes which seemed the only fixed points in a maze of flying lines.\nThe dancers were going faster and faster, and the musicians, to keep up with them, belaboured their instruments like jockeys lashing their mounts on the home-stretch; yet it seemed to the young man at the window that the reel would never end. Now and then he turned his eyes from the girl's face to that of her partner, which, in the exhilaration of the dance, had taken on a look of almost impudent ownership. Denis Eady was the son of Michael Eady, the ambitious Irish grocer, whose suppleness and effrontery had given Starkfield its first notion of \"smart\" business methods, and whose new brick store testified to the success of the attempt. His son seemed likely to follow in his steps, and was meanwhile applying the same arts to the conquest of the Starkfield maidenhood. Hitherto Ethan Frome had been content to think him a mean fellow; but now he positively invited a horse-whipping. It was strange that the girl did not seem aware of it: that she could lift her rapt face to her dancer's, and drop her hands into his, without appearing to feel the offence of his look and touch.\nFrome was in the habit of walking into Starkfield to fetch home his wife's cousin, Mattie Silver, on the rare evenings when some chance of amusement drew her to the village. It was his wife who had suggested, when the girl came to live with them, that such opportunities should be put in her way. Mattie Silver came from Stamford, and when she entered the Fromes' household to act as her cousin Zeena's aid it was thought best, as she came without pay, not to let her feel too sharp a contrast between the life she had left and the isolation of a Starkfield farm. But for this—as Frome sardonically reflected—it would hardly have occurred to Zeena to take any thought for the girl's amusement.\nWhen his wife first proposed that they should give Mattie an occasional evening out he had inwardly demurred at having to do the extra two miles to the village and back after his hard day on the farm; but not long afterward he had reached the point of wishing that Starkfield might give all its nights to revelry.", "chosen": "revelry", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nrevelry\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-4517-002-00-58aa71b8", "source": "pg-4517", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"How nicely you put that in!\" Alyosha laughed suddenly.\n\"Well, tell me where to begin, give your orders. The existence of God, eh?\"\n\"Begin where you like. You declared yesterday at father's that there was no God.\" Alyosha looked searchingly at his brother.\n\"I said that yesterday at dinner on purpose to tease you and I saw your eyes glow. But now I've no objection to discussing with you, and I say so very seriously. I want to be friends with you, Alyosha, for I have no friends and want to try it. Well, only fancy, perhaps I too accept God,\" laughed Ivan; \"that's a surprise for you, isn't it?\"\n\"Yes, of course, if you are not joking now.\"\n\"Joking? I was told at the elder's yesterday that I was joking. You know, dear boy, there was an old sinner in the eighteenth century who declared that, if there were no God, he would have to be invented. S'il n'existait pas Dieu, il faudrait l'inventer. And man has actually invented God. And what's strange, what would be marvelous, is not that God should really exist; the marvel is that such an idea, the idea of the necessity of God, could enter the head of such a savage, vicious beast as man. So holy it is, so touching, so wise and so great a credit it does to man. As for me, I've long resolved not to think whether man created God or God man. And I won't go through all the axioms laid down by Russian boys on that subject, all derived from European hypotheses; for what's a hypothesis there, is an axiom with the Russian boy, and not only with the boys but with their teachers too, for our Russian professors are often just the same boys themselves. And so I omit all the hypotheses. For what are we aiming at now? I am trying to explain as quickly as possible my essential nature, that is what manner of man I am, what I believe in, and for what I hope, that's it, isn't it? And therefore I tell you that I accept God simply. But you must note this: if God exists and if He really did create the world, then, as we all know, He created it according to the geometry of Euclid and the human mind with the conception of only three dimensions in space. Yet there have been and still are geometricians and philosophers, and even some of the most distinguished, who doubt whether the whole universe, or to speak more widely the whole of being, was only created in Euclid's geometry; they even dare to dream that two parallel lines, which according to Euclid can never meet on earth, may meet somewhere in infinity. I have come to the conclusion that, since I can't understand even that, I can't expect to understand about God. I acknowledge humbly that I have no faculty for settling such questions, I have a Euclidian earthly mind, and how could I solve problems that are not of this world? And I advise you never to think about it either, my dear Alyosha, especially about God, whether He exists or not. All such questions are utterly inappropriate for a mind created with an idea of only three dimensions. And so I accept God and am glad to, and what's more, I accept His wisdom, His purpose—which are utterly beyond our ken; I believe in the underlying order and the meaning of life; I believe in the eternal harmony in which they say we shall one day be blended. I believe in the Word to Which the universe is striving, and Which Itself was 'with God,' and Which Itself is God and so on, and so on, to infinity. There are all sorts of phrases for it. I seem to be on the right path, don't I? Yet would you believe it, in the final result I don't accept this world of God's, and, although I know it exists, I don't accept it at all. It's not that I don't accept God, you must understand, it's the world created by Him I don't and cannot accept. Let me make it plain. I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for, that all the humiliating absurdity of human contradictions will vanish like a pitiful mirage, like the despicable fabrication of the impotent and infinitely small Euclidian mind of man, that in the world's finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pass that it will suffice for all hearts, for the comforting of all resentments, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity, of all the blood they've shed; that it will make it not only possible to forgive but to justify all that has happened with men—but though all that may come to pass, I don't accept it. I won't accept it. Even if parallel lines do meet and I see it myself, I shall see it and say that they've met, but still I won't accept it. That's what's at the root of me, Alyosha; that's my creed. I am in earnest in what I say. I began our talk as stupidly as I could on purpose, but I've led up to my confession, for that's all you want. You didn't want to hear about God, but only to know what the brother you love lives by. And so I've told you.\"\nIvan concluded his long tirade with marked and unexpected feeling.\n\"And why did you begin 'as stupidly as you could'?\" asked Alyosha, looking dreamily at him.\n\"To begin with, for the sake of being Russian. Russian conversations on such subjects are always carried on inconceivably stupidly. And secondly, the stupider one is, the closer one is to reality. The stupider one is, the clearer one is. Stupidity is brief and artless, while intelligence wriggles and hides itself. Intelligence is a knave, but stupidity is honest and straightforward. I've led the conversation to my despair, and the more stupidly I have presented it, the better for me.\"\n\"You will explain why you don't accept the world?\" said Alyosha.\n\"To be sure I will, it's not a secret, that's what I've been leading up to. Dear little brother, I don't want to corrupt you or to turn you from your stronghold, perhaps I want to be healed by you.\" Ivan smiled suddenly quite like a little gentle child. Alyosha had never seen such a smile on his face before.", "chosen": "[\"Alyosha\", \"God\", \"Begin\", \"Ivan\", \"Joking\", \"Dieu\", \"Russian\", \"European\", \"Euclid\", \"Euclidian\", \"His\", \"Word\", \"Which\", \"Itself\", \"Him\"]", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n[\"Alyosha\", \"God\", \"Begin\", \"Ivan\", \"Joking\", \"Dieu\", \"Russian\", \"European\", \"Euclid\", \"Euclidian\", \"His\", \"Word\", \"Which\", \"Itself\", \"Him\"]\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-034-02-4d9de4ad", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"Let them put the horse in the stable, and tell the surveyors they can come back for their traps,\" said Fred. \"The ground is clear now.\"\n\"No, no,\" said Caleb, \"here's a breakage. They'll have to give up for to-day, and it will be as well. Here, take the things before you on the horse, Tom. They'll see you coming, and they'll turn back.\"\n\"I'm glad I happened to be here at the right moment, Mr. Garth,\" said Fred, as Tom rode away. \"No knowing what might have happened if the cavalry had not come up in time.\"\n\"Ay, ay, it was lucky,\" said Caleb, speaking rather absently, and looking towards the spot where he had been at work at the moment of interruption. \"But—deuce take it—this is what comes of men being fools—I'm hindered of my day's work. I can't get along without somebody to help me with the measuring-chain. However!\" He was beginning to move towards the spot with a look of vexation, as if he had forgotten Fred's presence, but suddenly he turned round and said quickly, \"What have you got to do to-day, young fellow?\"\n\"Nothing, Mr. Garth. I'll help you with pleasure—can I?\" said Fred, with a sense that he should be courting Mary when he was helping her father.\n\"Well, you mustn't mind stooping and getting hot.\"\n\"I don't mind anything. Only I want to go first and have a round with that hulky fellow who turned to challenge me. It would be a good lesson for him. I shall not be five minutes.\"\n\"Nonsense!\" said Caleb, with his most peremptory intonation. \"I shall go and speak to the men myself. It's all ignorance. Somebody has been telling them lies. The poor fools don't know any better.\"\n\"I shall go with you, then,\" said Fred.\n\"No, no; stay where you are. I don't want your young blood. I can take care of myself.\"\nCaleb was a powerful man and knew little of any fear except the fear of hurting others and the fear of having to speechify. But he felt it his duty at this moment to try and give a little harangue. There was a striking mixture in him—which came from his having always been a hard-working man himself—of rigorous notions about workmen and practical indulgence towards them. To do a good day's work and to do it well, he held to be part of their welfare, as it was the chief part of his own happiness; but he had a strong sense of fellowship with them. When he advanced towards the laborers they had not gone to work again, but were standing in that form of rural grouping which consists in each turning a shoulder towards the other, at a distance of two or three yards. They looked rather sulkily at Caleb, who walked quickly with one hand in his pocket and the other thrust between the buttons of his waistcoat, and had his every-day mild air when he paused among them.\n\"Why, my lads, how's this?\" he began, taking as usual to brief phrases, which seemed pregnant to himself, because he had many thoughts lying under them, like the abundant roots of a plant that just manages to peep above the water. \"How came you to make such a mistake as this? Somebody has been telling you lies. You thought those men up there wanted to do mischief.\"\n\"Aw!\" was the answer, dropped at intervals by each according to his degree of unreadiness.\n\"Nonsense! No such thing! They're looking out to see which way the railroad is to take. Now, my lads, you can't hinder the railroad: it will be made whether you like it or not. And if you go fighting against it, you'll get yourselves into trouble. The law gives those men leave to come here on the land. The owner has nothing to say against it, and if you meddle with them you'll have to do with the constable and Justice Blakesley, and with the handcuffs and Middlemarch jail. And you might be in for it now, if anybody informed against you.\"\nCaleb paused here, and perhaps the greatest orator could not have chosen either his pause or his images better for the occasion.\n\"But come, you didn't mean any harm. Somebody told you the railroad was a bad thing. That was a lie. It may do a bit of harm here and there, to this and to that; and so does the sun in heaven. But the railway's a good thing.\"\n\"Aw! good for the big folks to make money out on,\" said old Timothy Cooper, who had stayed behind turning his hay while the others had been gone on their spree;—\"I'n seen lots o' things turn up sin' I war a young un—the war an' the peace, and the canells, an' the oald King George, an' the Regen', an' the new King George, an' the new un as has got a new ne-ame—an' it's been all aloike to the poor mon. What's the canells been t' him? They'n brought him neyther me-at nor be-acon, nor wage to lay by, if he didn't save it wi' clemmin' his own inside. Times ha' got wusser for him sin' I war a young un. An' so it'll be wi' the railroads. They'll on'y leave the poor mon furder behind. But them are fools as meddle, and so I told the chaps here. This is the big folks's world, this is. But yo're for the big folks, Muster Garth, yo are.\"\nTimothy was a wiry old laborer, of a type lingering in those times—who had his savings in a stocking-foot, lived in a lone cottage, and was not to be wrought on by any oratory, having as little of the feudal spirit, and believing as little, as if he had not been totally unacquainted with the Age of Reason and the Rights of Man. Caleb was in a difficulty known to any person attempting in dark times and unassisted by miracle to reason with rustics who are in possession of an undeniable truth which they know through a hard process of feeling, and can let it fall like a giant's club on your neatly carved argument for a social benefit which they do not feel. Caleb had no cant at command, even if he could have chosen to use it; and he had been accustomed to meet all such difficulties in no other way than by doing his \"business\" faithfully. He answered—\n\"If you don't think well of me, Tim, never mind; that's neither here nor there now. Things may be bad for the poor man—bad they are; but I want the lads here not to do what will make things worse for themselves. The cattle may have a heavy load, but it won't help 'em to throw it over into the roadside pit, when it's partly their own fodder.\"\n\"We war on'y for a bit o' foon,\" said Hiram, who was beginning to see consequences. \"That war all we war arter.\"\n\"Well, promise me not to meddle again, and I'll see that nobody informs against you.\"\n\"I'n ne'er meddled, an' I'n no call to promise,\" said Timothy.\n\"No, but the rest. Come, I'm as hard at work as any of you to-day, and I can't spare much time. Say you'll be quiet without the constable.\"\n\"Aw, we wooant meddle—they may do as they loike for oos\"—were the forms in which Caleb got his pledges; and then he hastened back to Fred, who had followed him, and watched him in the gateway.", "chosen": "Let, The, They'll, Here,, They'll, Garth,\", No, But—deuce, I, However!\", Garth., I'll, Well,, Only, It, I, I, It's, Somebody, The, No,, I, I, But, There, To, When, They, Why,, How, Somebody, You, Nonsense!, No, They're, Now,, And, The, The, And, But, Somebody, That, It, But, good, What's, They'n, Times, An', They'll, But, This, But, Caleb, Caleb, He, Things, The, That, No,, Come,, Say", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nLet, The, They'll, Here,, They'll, Garth,\", No, But—deuce, I, However!\", Garth., I'll, Well,, Only, It, I, I, It's, Somebody, The, No,, I, I, But, There, To, When, They, Why,, How, Somebody, You, Nonsense!, No, They're, Now,, And, The, The, And, But, Somebody, That, It, But, good, What's, They'n, Times, An', They'll, But, This, But, Caleb, Caleb, He, Things, The, That, No,, Come,, Say\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-145-056-02-434f0f37", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"There isn't one of them, sir, that we couldn't lay our hands on at any time of night and day. We know what each of them is doing hour by hour,\" he had declared. And the high official had deigned to smile. This was so obviously the right thing to say for an officer of Chief Inspector Heat's reputation that it was perfectly delightful. The high official believed the declaration, which chimed in with his idea of the fitness of things. His wisdom was of an official kind, or else he might have reflected upon a matter not of theory but of experience that in the close-woven stuff of relations between conspirator and police there occur unexpected solutions of continuity, sudden holes in space and time. A given anarchist may be watched inch by inch and minute by minute, but a moment always comes when somehow all sight and touch of him are lost for a few hours, during which something (generally an explosion) more or less deplorable does happen. But the high official, carried away by his sense of the fitness of things, had smiled, and now the recollection of that smile was very annoying to Chief Inspector Heat, principal expert in anarchist procedure.\nThis was not the only circumstance whose recollection depressed the usual serenity of the eminent specialist. There was another dating back only to that very morning. The thought that when called urgently to his Assistant Commissioner's private room he had been unable to conceal his astonishment was distinctly vexing. His instinct of a successful man had taught him long ago that, as a general rule, a reputation is built on manner as much as on achievement. And he felt that his manner when confronted with the telegram had not been impressive. He had opened his eyes widely, and had exclaimed \"Impossible!\" exposing himself thereby to the unanswerable retort of a finger-tip laid forcibly on the telegram which the Assistant Commissioner, after reading it aloud, had flung on the desk. To be crushed, as it were, under the tip of a forefinger was an unpleasant experience. Very damaging, too! Furthermore, Chief Inspector Heat was conscious of not having mended matters by allowing himself to express a conviction.\n\"One thing I can tell you at once: none of our lot had anything to do with this.\"\nHe was strong in his integrity of a good detective, but he saw now that an impenetrably attentive reserve towards this incident would have served his reputation better. On the other hand, he admitted to himself that it was difficult to preserve one's reputation if rank outsiders were going to take a hand in the business. Outsiders are the bane of the police as of other professions. The tone of the Assistant Commissioner's remarks had been sour enough to set one's teeth on edge.\nAnd since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat had not managed to get anything to eat.\nStarting immediately to begin his investigation on the spot, he had swallowed a good deal of raw, unwholesome fog in the park. Then he had walked over to the hospital; and when the investigation in Greenwich was concluded at last he had lost his inclination for food. Not accustomed, as the doctors are, to examine closely the mangled remains of human beings, he had been shocked by the sight disclosed to his view when a waterproof sheet had been lifted off a table in a certain apartment of the hospital.\nAnother waterproof sheet was spread over that table in the manner of a table-cloth, with the corners turned up over a sort of mound—a heap of rags, scorched and bloodstained, half concealing what might have been an accumulation of raw material for a cannibal feast. It required considerable firmness of mind not to recoil before that sight. Chief Inspector Heat, an efficient officer of his department, stood his ground, but for a whole minute he did not advance. A local constable in uniform cast a sidelong glance, and said, with stolid simplicity:\n\"He's all there. Every bit of him. It was a job.\"\nHe had been the first man on the spot after the explosion. He mentioned the fact again. He had seen something like a heavy flash of lightning in the fog. At that time he was standing at the door of the King William Street Lodge talking to the keeper. The concussion made him tingle all over. He ran between the trees towards the Observatory. \"As fast as my legs would carry me,\" he repeated twice.\nChief Inspector Heat, bending forward over the table in a gingerly and horrified manner, let him run on. The hospital porter and another man turned down the corners of the cloth, and stepped aside. The Chief Inspector's eyes searched the gruesome detail of that heap of mixed things, which seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops.\n\"You used a shovel,\" he remarked, observing a sprinkling of small gravel, tiny brown bits of bark, and particles of splintered wood as fine as needles.\n\"Had to in one place,\" said the stolid constable. \"I sent a keeper to fetch a spade. When he heard me scraping the ground with it he leaned his forehead against a tree, and was as sick as a dog.\"\nThe Chief Inspector, stooping guardedly over the table, fought down the unpleasant sensation in his throat. The shattering violence of destruction which had made of that body a heap of nameless fragments affected his feelings with a sense of ruthless cruelty, though his reason told him the effect must have been as swift as a flash of lightning. The man, whoever he was, had died instantaneously; and yet it seemed impossible to believe that a human body could have reached that state of disintegration without passing through the pangs of inconceivable agony. No physiologist, and still less of a metaphysician, Chief Inspector Heat rose by the force of sympathy, which is a form of fear, above the vulgar conception of time. Instantaneous! He remembered all he had ever read in popular publications of long and terrifying dreams dreamed in the instant of waking; of the whole past life lived with frightful intensity by a drowning man as his doomed head bobs up, streaming, for the last time. The inexplicable mysteries of conscious existence beset Chief Inspector Heat till he evolved a horrible notion that ages of atrocious pain and mental torture could be contained between two successive winks of an eye. And meantime the Chief Inspector went on, peering at the table with a calm face and the slightly anxious attention of an indigent customer bending over what may be called the by-products of a butcher's shop with a view to an inexpensive Sunday dinner. All the time his trained faculties of an excellent investigator, who scorns no chance of information, followed the self-satisfied, disjointed loquacity of the constable.\n\"A fair-haired fellow,\" the last observed in a placid tone, and paused. \"The old woman who spoke to the sergeant noticed a fair-haired fellow coming out of Maze Hill Station.\" He paused. \"And he was a fair-haired fellow. She noticed two men coming out of the station after the uptrain had gone on,\" he continued slowly. \"She couldn't tell if they were together. She took no particular notice of the big one, but the other was a fair, slight chap, carrying a tin varnish can in one hand.\" The constable ceased.\n\"Know the woman?\" muttered the Chief Inspector, with his eyes fixed on the table, and a vague notion in his mind of an inquest to be held presently upon a person likely to remain for ever unknown.\n\"Yes. She's housekeeper to a retired publican, and attends the chapel in Park Place sometimes,\" the constable uttered weightily, and paused, with another oblique glance at the table.\nThen suddenly: \"Well, here he is—all of him I could see. Fair. Slight—slight enough. Look at that foot there. I picked up the legs first, one after another. He was that scattered you didn't know where to begin.\"\nThe constable paused; the least flicker of an innocent self-laudatory smile invested his round face with an infantile expression.", "chosen": "67", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n67\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-974-004-01-6904f9e3", "source": "pg-974", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"With what heart,\" cried Frank, still in character, \"have you told me this story? A story I can no way approve; for its moral, if accepted, would drain me of all reliance upon my last stay, and, therefore, of my last courage in life. For, what was that bright view of China Aster but a cheerful trust that, if he but kept up a brave heart, worked hard, and ever hoped for the best, all at last would go well? If your purpose, Charlie, in telling me this story, was to pain me, and keenly, you have succeeded; but, if it was to destroy my last confidence, I praise God you have not.\"\n\"Confidence?\" cried Charlie, who, on his side, seemed with his whole heart to enter into the spirit of the thing, \"what has confidence to do with the matter? That moral of the story, which I am for commending to you, is this: the folly, on both sides, of a friend's helping a friend. For was not that loan of Orchis to China Aster the first step towards their estrangement? And did it not bring about what in effect was the enmity of Orchis? I tell you, Frank, true friendship, like other precious things, is not rashly to be meddled with. And what more meddlesome between friends than a loan? A regular marplot. For how can you help that the helper must turn out a creditor? And creditor and friend, can they ever be one? no, not in the most lenient case; since, out of lenity to forego one's claim, is less to be a friendly creditor than to cease to be a creditor at all. But it will not do to rely upon this lenity, no, not in the best man; for the best man, as the worst, is subject to all mortal contingencies. He may travel, he may marry, he may join the Come-Outers, or some equally untoward school or sect, not to speak of other things that more or less tend to new-cast the character. And were there nothing else, who shall answer for his digestion, upon which so much depends?\"\n\"But Charlie, dear Charlie----\"\n\"Nay, wait.--You have hearkened to my story in vain, if you do not see that, however indulgent and right-minded I may seem to you now, that is no guarantee for the future. And into the power of that uncertain personality which, through the mutability of my humanity, I may hereafter become, should not common sense dissuade you, my dear Frank, from putting yourself? Consider. Would you, in your present need, be willing to accept a loan from a friend, securing him by a mortgage on your homestead, and do so, knowing that you had no reason to feel satisfied that the mortgage might not eventually be transferred into the hands of a foe? Yet the difference between this man and that man is not so great as the difference between what the same man be to-day and what he may be in days to come. For there is no bent of heart or turn of thought which any man holds by virtue of an unalterable nature or will. Even those feelings and opinions deemed most identical with eternal right and truth, it is not impossible but that, as personal persuasions, they may in reality be but the result of some chance tip of Fate's elbow in throwing her dice. For, not to go into the first seeds of things, and passing by the accident of parentage predisposing to this or that habit of mind, descend below these, and tell me, if you change this man's experiences or that man's books, will wisdom go surety for his unchanged convictions? As particular food begets particular dreams, so particular experiences or books particular feelings or beliefs. I will hear nothing of that fine babble about development and its laws; there is no development in opinion and feeling but the developments of time and tide. You may deem all this talk idle, Frank; but conscience bids me show you how fundamental the reasons for treating you as I do.\"\n\"But Charlie, dear Charlie, what new notions are these? I thought that man was no poor drifting weed of the universe, as you phrased it; that, if so minded, he could have a will, a way, a thought, and a heart of his own? But now you have turned everything upside down again, with an inconsistency that amazes and shocks me.\"\n\"Inconsistency? Bah!\"\n\"There speaks the ventriloquist again,\" sighed Frank, in bitterness.\nIlly pleased, it may be, by this repetition of an allusion little flattering to his originality, however much so to his docility, the disciple sought to carry it off by exclaiming: \"Yes, I turn over day and night, with indefatigable pains, the sublime pages of my master, and unfortunately for you, my dear friend, I find nothing there that leads me to think otherwise than I do. But enough: in this matter the experience of China Aster teaches a moral more to the point than anything Mark Winsome can offer, or I either.\"\n\"I cannot think so, Charlie; for neither am I China Aster, nor do I stand in his position. The loan to China Aster was to extend his business with; the loan I seek is to relieve my necessities.\"\n\"Your dress, my dear Frank, is respectable; your cheek is not gaunt. Why talk of necessities when nakedness and starvation beget the only real necessities?\"\n\"But I need relief, Charlie; and so sorely, that I now conjure you to forget that I was ever your friend, while I apply to you only as a fellow-being, whom, surely, you will not turn away.\"\n\"That I will not. Take off your hat, bow over to the ground, and supplicate an alms of me in the way of London streets, and you shall not be a sturdy beggar in vain. But no man drops pennies into the hat of a friend, let me tell you. If you turn beggar, then, for the honor of noble friendship, I turn stranger.\"\n\"Enough,\" cried the other, rising, and with a toss of his shoulders seeming disdainfully to throw off the character he had assumed. \"Enough. I have had my fill of the philosophy of Mark Winsome as put into action. And moonshiny as it in theory may be, yet a very practical philosophy it turns out in effect, as he himself engaged I should find. But, miserable for my race should I be, if I thought he spoke truth when he claimed, for proof of the soundness of his system, that the study of it tended to much the same formation of character with the experiences of the world.--Apt disciple! Why wrinkle the brow, and waste the oil both of life and the lamp, only to turn out a head kept cool by the under ice of the heart? What your illustrious magian has taught you, any poor, old, broken-down, heart-shrunken dandy might have lisped. Pray, leave me, and with you take the last dregs of your inhuman philosophy. And here, take this shilling, and at the first wood-landing buy yourself a few chips to warm the frozen natures of you and your philosopher by.\"\nWith these words and a grand scorn the cosmopolitan turned on his heel, leaving his companion at a loss to determine where exactly the fictitious character had been dropped, and the real one, if any, resumed. If any, because, with pointed meaning, there occurred to him, as he gazed after the cosmopolitan, these familiar lines:\n\"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players, Who have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts.\"", "chosen": "Illy pleased, it may be, by this repetition of an allusion little flattering to his originality, however much so to his docility, the disciple sought to carry it off by exclaiming: \"Yes, I turn over day and night, with indefatigable pains, the sublime pages of my master, and unfortunately for you, my dear friend, I find nothing there that leads me to think otherwise than I do.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nIlly pleased, it may be, by this repetition of an allusion little flattering to his originality, however much so to his docility, the disciple sought to carry it off by exclaiming: \"Yes, I turn over day and night, with indefatigable pains, the sublime pages of my master, and unfortunately for you, my dear friend, I find nothing there that leads me to think otherwise than I do.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-21816-037-00-b90bc7cc", "source": "pg-21816", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nTo be two or three days behind with his wages, for instance, was impossible. He would have made such a fuss, I should not have known where to hide my head. But I was so exasperated with every one during those days, that I made up my mind for some reason and with some object to punish Apollon and not to pay him for a fortnight the wages that were owing him. I had for a long time--for the last two years--been intending to do this, simply in order to teach him not to give himself airs with me, and to show him that if I liked I could withhold his wages. I purposed to say nothing to him about it, and was purposely silent indeed, in order to score off his pride and force him to be the first to speak of his wages. Then I would take the seven roubles out of a drawer, show him I have the money put aside on purpose, but that I won't, I won't, I simply won't pay him his wages, I won't just because that is \"what I wish,\" because \"I am master, and it is for me to decide,\" because he has been disrespectful, because he has been rude; but if he were to ask respectfully I might be softened and give it to him, otherwise he might wait another fortnight, another three weeks, a whole month....\nBut angry as I was, yet he got the better of me. I could not hold out for four days. He began as he always did begin in such cases, for there had been such cases already, there had been attempts (and it may be observed I knew all this beforehand, I knew his nasty tactics by heart). He would begin by fixing upon me an exceedingly severe stare, keeping it up for several minutes at a time, particularly on meeting me or seeing me out of the house. If I held out and pretended not to notice these stares, he would, still in silence, proceed to further tortures. All at once, à propos of nothing, he would walk softly and smoothly into my room, when I was pacing up and down or reading, stand at the door, one hand behind his back and one foot behind the other, and fix upon me a stare more than severe, utterly contemptuous. If I suddenly asked him what he wanted, he would make me no answer, but continue staring at me persistently for some seconds, then, with a peculiar compression of his lips and a most significant air, deliberately turn round and deliberately go back to his room. Two hours later he would come out again and again present himself before me in the same way. It had happened that in my fury I did not even ask him what he wanted, but simply raised my head sharply and imperiously and began staring back at him. So we stared at one another for two minutes; at last he turned with deliberation and dignity and went back again for two hours.\nIf I were still not brought to reason by all this, but persisted in my revolt, he would suddenly begin sighing while he looked at me, long, deep sighs as though measuring by them the depths of my moral degradation, and, of course, it ended at last by his triumphing completely: I raged and shouted, but still was forced to do what he wanted.\nThis time the usual staring manoeuvres had scarcely begun when I lost my temper and flew at him in a fury. I was irritated beyond endurance apart from him.\n\"Stay,\" I cried, in a frenzy, as he was slowly and silently turning, with one hand behind his back, to go to his room, \"stay! Come back, come back, I tell you!\" and I must have bawled so unnaturally, that he turned round and even looked at me with some wonder. However, he persisted in saying nothing, and that infuriated me.\n\"How dare you come and look at me like that without being sent for? Answer!\"\nAfter looking at me calmly for half a minute, he began turning round again.\n\"Stay!\" I roared, running up to him, \"don't stir! There. Answer, now: what did you come in to look at?\"\n\"If you have any order to give me it's my duty to carry it out,\" he answered, after another silent pause, with a slow, measured lisp, raising his eyebrows and calmly twisting his head from one side to another, all this with exasperating composure.\n\"That's not what I am asking you about, you torturer!\" I shouted, turning crimson with anger. \"I'll tell you why you came here myself: you see, I don't give you your wages, you are so proud you don't want to bow down and ask for it, and so you come to punish me with your stupid stares, to worry me and you have no sus...pic...ion how stupid it is--stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!\"...\nHe would have turned round again without a word, but I seized him.\n\"Listen,\" I shouted to him. \"Here's the money, do you see, here it is\" (I took it out of the table drawer); \"here's the seven roubles complete, but you are not going to have it, you ... are ... not ... going ... to ... have it until you come respectfully with bowed head to beg my pardon. Do you hear?\"\n\"That cannot be,\" he answered, with the most unnatural self-confidence.\n\"It shall be so,\" I said, \"I give you my word of honour, it shall be!\"\n\"And there's nothing for me to beg your pardon for,\" he went on, as though he had not noticed my exclamations at all. \"Why, besides, you called me a 'torturer,' for which I can summon you at the police-station at any time for insulting behaviour.\"\n\"Go, summon me,\" I roared, \"go at once, this very minute, this very second! You are a torturer all the same! a torturer!\"\nBut he merely looked at me, then turned, and regardless of my loud calls to him, he walked to his room with an even step and without looking round.\n\"If it had not been for Liza nothing of this would have happened,\" I decided inwardly. Then, after waiting a minute, I went myself behind his screen with a dignified and solemn air, though my heart was beating slowly and violently.\n\"Apollon,\" I said quietly and emphatically, though I was breathless, \"go at once without a minute's delay and fetch the police-officer.\"\nHe had meanwhile settled himself at his table, put on his spectacles and taken up some sewing. But, hearing my order, he burst into a guffaw.\n\"At once, go this minute! Go on, or else you can't imagine what will happen.\"\n\"You are certainly out of your mind,\" he observed, without even raising his head, lisping as deliberately as ever and threading his needle. \"Whoever heard of a man sending for the police against himself? And as for being frightened--you are upsetting yourself about nothing, for nothing will come of it.\"\n\"Go!\" I shrieked, clutching him by the shoulder. I felt I should strike him in a minute.\nBut I did not notice the door from the passage softly and slowly open at that instant and a figure come in, stop short, and begin staring at us in perplexity. I glanced, nearly swooned with shame, and rushed back to my room. There, clutching at my hair with both hands, I leaned my head against the wall and stood motionless in that position.\nTwo minutes later I heard Apollon's deliberate footsteps. \"There is some woman asking for you,\" he said, looking at me with peculiar severity. Then he stood aside and let in Liza. He would not go away, but stared at us sarcastically.\n\"Go away, go away,\" I commanded in desperation. At that moment my clock began whirring and wheezing and struck seven.", "chosen": "seven", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nseven\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-36034-009-02-13f2e0b5", "source": "pg-36034", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"What's the use of the counsel? I told him all about it. He's a soft, city-bred rogue—a Bernard! But he doesn't believe me—not a bit of it. Only imagine, he believes I did it. I see it. 'In that case,' I asked him, 'why have you come to defend me?' Hang them all! They've got a doctor down, too, want to prove I'm mad. I won't have that! Katerina Ivanovna wants to do her 'duty' to the end, whatever the strain!\" Mitya smiled bitterly. \"The cat! Hard-hearted creature! She knows that I said of her at Mokroe that she was a woman of 'great wrath.' They repeated it. Yes, the facts against me have grown numerous as the sands of the sea. Grigory sticks to his point. Grigory's honest, but a fool. Many people are honest because they are fools: that's Rakitin's idea. Grigory's my enemy. And there are some people who are better as foes than friends. I mean Katerina Ivanovna. I am afraid, oh, I am afraid she will tell how she bowed to the ground after that four thousand. She'll pay it back to the last farthing. I don't want her sacrifice; they'll put me to shame at the trial. I wonder how I can stand it. Go to her, Alyosha, ask her not to speak of that in the court, can't you? But damn it all, it doesn't matter! I shall get through somehow. I don't pity her. It's her own doing. She deserves what she gets. I shall have my own story to tell, Alexey.\" He smiled bitterly again. \"Only ... only Grusha, Grusha! Good Lord! Why should she have such suffering to bear?\" he exclaimed suddenly, with tears. \"Grusha's killing me; the thought of her's killing me, killing me. She was with me just now....\"\n\"She told me she was very much grieved by you to-day.\"\n\"I know. Confound my temper! It was jealousy. I was sorry, I kissed her as she was going. I didn't ask her forgiveness.\"\n\"Why didn't you?\" exclaimed Alyosha.\nSuddenly Mitya laughed almost mirthfully.\n\"God preserve you, my dear boy, from ever asking forgiveness for a fault from a woman you love. From one you love especially, however greatly you may have been in fault. For a woman—devil only knows what to make of a woman! I know something about them, anyway. But try acknowledging you are in fault to a woman. Say, 'I am sorry, forgive me,' and a shower of reproaches will follow! Nothing will make her forgive you simply and directly, she'll humble you to the dust, bring forward things that have never happened, recall everything, forget nothing, add something of her own, and only then forgive you. And even the best, the best of them do it. She'll scrape up all the scrapings and load them on your head. They are ready to flay you alive, I tell you, every one of them, all these angels without whom we cannot live! I tell you plainly and openly, dear boy, every decent man ought to be under some woman's thumb. That's my conviction—not conviction, but feeling. A man ought to be magnanimous, and it's no disgrace to a man! No disgrace to a hero, not even a Cæsar! But don't ever beg her pardon all the same for anything. Remember that rule given you by your brother Mitya, who's come to ruin through women. No, I'd better make it up to Grusha somehow, without begging pardon. I worship her, Alexey, worship her. Only she doesn't see it. No, she still thinks I don't love her enough. And she tortures me, tortures me with her love. The past was nothing! In the past it was only those infernal curves of hers that tortured me, but now I've taken all her soul into my soul and through her I've become a man myself. Will they marry us? If they don't, I shall die of jealousy. I imagine something every day.... What did she say to you about me?\"\nAlyosha repeated all Grushenka had said to him that day. Mitya listened, made him repeat things, and seemed pleased.\n\"Then she is not angry at my being jealous?\" he exclaimed. \"She is a regular woman! 'I've a fierce heart myself!' Ah, I love such fierce hearts, though I can't bear any one's being jealous of me. I can't endure it. We shall fight. But I shall love her, I shall love her infinitely. Will they marry us? Do they let convicts marry? That's the question. And without her I can't exist....\"\nMitya walked frowning across the room. It was almost dark. He suddenly seemed terribly worried.\n\"So there's a secret, she says, a secret? We have got up a plot against her, and Katya is mixed up in it, she thinks. No, my good Grushenka, that's not it. You are very wide of the mark, in your foolish feminine way. Alyosha, darling, well, here goes! I'll tell you our secret!\"\nHe looked round, went close up quickly to Alyosha, who was standing before him, and whispered to him with an air of mystery, though in reality no one could hear them: the old warder was dozing in the corner, and not a word could reach the ears of the soldiers on guard.\n\"I will tell you all our secret,\" Mitya whispered hurriedly. \"I meant to tell you later, for how could I decide on anything without you? You are everything to me. Though I say that Ivan is superior to us, you are my angel. It's your decision will decide it. Perhaps it's you that is superior and not Ivan. You see, it's a question of conscience, question of the higher conscience—the secret is so important that I can't settle it myself, and I've put it off till I could speak to you. But anyway it's too early to decide now, for we must wait for the verdict. As soon as the verdict is given, you shall decide my fate. Don't decide it now. I'll tell you now. You listen, but don't decide. Stand and keep quiet. I won't tell you everything. I'll only tell you the idea, without details, and you keep quiet. Not a question, not a movement. You agree? But, goodness, what shall I do with your eyes? I'm afraid your eyes will tell me your decision, even if you don't speak. Oo! I'm afraid! Alyosha, listen! Ivan suggests my escaping. I won't tell you the details: it's all been thought out: it can all be arranged. Hush, don't decide. I should go to America with Grusha. You know I can't live without Grusha! What if they won't let her follow me to Siberia? Do they let convicts get married? Ivan thinks not. And without Grusha what should I do there underground with a hammer? I should only smash my skull with the hammer! But, on the other hand, my conscience? I should have run away from suffering. A sign has come, I reject the sign. I have a way of salvation and I turn my back on it. Ivan says that in America, 'with the good-will,' I can be of more use than underground. But what becomes of our hymn from underground? What's America? America is vanity again! And there's a lot of swindling in America, too, I expect. I should have run away from crucifixion! I tell you, you know, Alexey, because you are the only person who can understand this. There's no one else. It's folly, madness to others, all I've told you of the hymn. They'll say I'm out of my mind or a fool. I am not out of my mind and I am not a fool. Ivan understands about the hymn, too. He understands, only he doesn't answer—he doesn't speak. He doesn't believe in the hymn. Don't speak, don't speak. I see how you look! You have already decided. Don't decide, spare me! I can't live without Grusha. Wait till after the trial!\"\nMitya ended beside himself. He held Alyosha with both hands on his shoulders, and his yearning, feverish eyes were fixed on his brother's.\n\"They don't let convicts marry, do they?\" he repeated for the third time in a supplicating voice.\nAlyosha listened with extreme surprise and was deeply moved.\n\"Tell me one thing,\" he said. \"Is Ivan very keen on it, and whose idea was it?\"", "chosen": "[\"Bernard\", \"Hang\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Mitya\", \"Mokroe\", \"Rakitin\", \"Katerina\", \"Alyosha\", \"Alexey\", \"Only\", \"Grusha\", \"God\", \"Grushenka\", \"Katya\", \"Ivan\", \"America\", \"Siberia\", \"Tell\"]", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n[\"Bernard\", \"Hang\", \"Ivanovna\", \"Mitya\", \"Mokroe\", \"Rakitin\", \"Katerina\", \"Alyosha\", \"Alexey\", \"Only\", \"Grusha\", \"God\", \"Grushenka\", \"Katya\", \"Ivan\", \"America\", \"Siberia\", \"Tell\"]\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-28054-071-03-2f72b046", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"You have probably entirely forgotten a conversation--(it is not to be supposed that it could make any impression on you)--a conversation between us one evening at Barton Park--it was the evening of a dance--in which I alluded to a lady I had once known, as resembling, in some measure, your sister Marianne.\"\n\"Indeed,\" answered Elinor, \"I have not forgotten it.\" He looked pleased by this remembrance, and added--\n\"If I am not deceived by the uncertainty, the partiality of tender recollection, there is a very strong resemblance between them, as well in mind as person. The same warmth of heart, the same eagerness of fancy and spirits. This lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father. Our ages were nearly the same, and from our earliest years we were playfellows and friends. I cannot remember the time when I did not love Eliza; and my affection for her, as we grew up, was such, as perhaps, judging from my present forlorn and cheerless gravity, you might think me incapable of having ever felt. Her's, for me, was, I believe, fervent as the attachment of your sister to Mr. Willoughby and it was, though from a different cause, no less unfortunate. At seventeen she was lost to me for ever. She was married--married against her inclination to my brother. Her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered. And this, I fear, is all that can be said for the conduct of one, who was at once her uncle and guardian. My brother did not deserve her; he did not even love her. I had hoped that her regard for me would support her under any difficulty, and for some time it did; but at last the misery of her situation, for she experienced great unkindness, overcame all her resolution, and though she had promised me that nothing--but how blindly I relate! I have never told you how this was brought on. We were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland. The treachery, or the folly, of my cousin's maid betrayed us. I was banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she was allowed no liberty, no society, no amusement, till my father's point was gained. I had depended on her fortitude too far, and the blow was a severe one, but had her marriage been happy, so young as I then was, a few months must have reconciled me to it, or at least I should not have now to lament it. This however was not the case. My brother had no regard for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from the first he treated her unkindly. The consequence of this, upon a mind so young, so lively, so inexperienced as Mrs. Brandon's, was but too natural. She resigned herself at first to all the misery of her situation; and happy had it been if she had not lived to overcome those regrets which the remembrance of me occasioned. But can we wonder that, with such a husband to provoke inconstancy, and without a friend to advise or restrain her (for my father lived only a few months after their marriage, and I was with my regiment in the East Indies) she should fall? Had I remained in England, perhaps--but I meant to promote the happiness of both by removing from her for years, and for that purpose had procured my exchange. The shock which her marriage had given me,\" he continued, in a voice of great agitation, \"was of trifling weight--was nothing to what I felt when I heard, about two years afterwards, of her divorce. It was that which threw this gloom,--even now the recollection of what I suffered--\"\nHe could say no more, and rising hastily walked for a few minutes about the room. Elinor, affected by his relation, and still more by his distress, could not speak. He saw her concern, and coming to her, took her hand, pressed it, and kissed it with grateful respect. A few minutes more of silent exertion enabled him to proceed with composure.\n\"It was nearly three years after this unhappy period before I returned to England. My first care, when I did arrive, was of course to seek for her; but the search was as fruitless as it was melancholy. I could not trace her beyond her first seducer, and there was every reason to fear that she had removed from him only to sink deeper in a life of sin. Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my brother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months before to another person. He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it, that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to dispose of it for some immediate relief. At last, however, and after I had been six months in England, I did find her. Regard for a former servant of my own, who had since fallen into misfortune, carried me to visit him in a spunging-house, where he was confined for debt; and there, in the same house, under a similar confinement, was my unfortunate sister. So altered--so faded--worn down by acute suffering of every kind! hardly could I believe the melancholy and sickly figure before me, to be the remains of the lovely, blooming, healthful girl, on whom I had once doted. What I endured in so beholding her--but I have no right to wound your feelings by attempting to describe it--I have pained you too much already. That she was, to all appearance, in the last stage of a consumption, was--yes, in such a situation it was my greatest comfort. Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for a better preparation for death; and that was given. I saw her placed in comfortable lodgings, and under proper attendants; I visited her every day during the rest of her short life: I was with her in her last moments.\"\nAgain he stopped to recover himself; and Elinor spoke her feelings in an exclamation of tender concern, at the fate of his unfortunate friend.", "chosen": "You, The, This, Our, I, Her's,, Willoughby, At, She, Her, And, My, I, I, We, The, I, I, This, My, The, Brandon's,, She, But, Had, The, It, Elinor,, He, A, It, My, I, Her, He, At, Regard, So, hardly, What, That, Life, I", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nYou, The, This, Our, I, Her's,, Willoughby, At, She, Her, And, My, I, I, We, The, I, I, This, My, The, Brandon's,, She, But, Had, The, It, Elinor,, He, A, It, My, I, Her, He, At, Regard, So, hardly, What, That, Life, I\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-21839-031-01-fc55d462", "source": "pg-21839", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n'Did he say that? What a musing creature he must be.'\n'He did, indeed.'\n3. FROM THE TWELFTH TO THE FIFTEENTH OF JULY\nAs is well known, ideas are so elastic in a human brain, that they have no constant measure which may be called their actual bulk. Any important idea may be compressed to a molecule by an unwonted crowding of others; and any small idea will expand to whatever length and breadth of vacuum the mind may be able to make over to it. Cytherea's world was tolerably vacant at this time, and the young architectural designer's image became very pervasive. The next evening this subject was again renewed.\n'His name is Springrove,' said Owen, in reply to her. 'He is a thorough artist, but a man of rather humble origin, it seems, who has made himself so far. I think he is the son of a farmer, or something of the kind.'\n'Well, he's none the worse for that, I suppose.'\n'None the worse. As we come down the hill, we shall be continually meeting people going up.' But Owen had felt that Springrove was a little the worse nevertheless.\n'Of course he's rather old by this time.'\n'O no. He's about six-and-twenty--not more.'\n'Ah, I see.... What is he like, Owen?'\n'I can't exactly tell you his appearance: 'tis always such a difficult thing to do.'\n'A man you would describe as short? Most men are those we should describe as short, I fancy.'\n'I should call him, I think, of the middle height; but as I only see him sitting in the office, of course I am not certain about his form and figure.'\n'I wish you were, then.'\n'Perhaps you do. But I am not, you see.'\n'Of course not, you are always so provoking. Owen, I saw a man in the street to-day whom I fancied was he--and yet, I don't see how it could be, either. He had light brown hair, a snub nose, very round face, and a peculiar habit of reducing his eyes to straight lines when he looked narrowly at anything.'\n'O no. That was not he, Cytherea.'\n'Not a bit like him in all probability.'\n'Not a bit. He has dark hair--almost a Grecian nose, regular teeth, and an intellectual face, as nearly as I can recall to mind.'\n'Ah, there now, Owen, you have described him! But I suppose he's not generally called pleasing, or--'\n'Handsome?'\n'I scarcely meant that. But since you have said it, is he handsome?'\n'Rather.'\n'His tout ensemble is striking?'\n'Yes--O no, no--I forgot: it is not. He is rather untidy in his waistcoat, and neck-ties, and hair.'\n'How vexing!... it must be to himself, poor thing.'\n'He's a thorough bookworm--despises the pap-and-daisy school of verse--knows Shakespeare to the very dregs of the foot-notes. Indeed, he's a poet himself in a small way.'\n'How delicious!' she said. 'I have never known a poet.'\n'And you don't know him,' said Owen dryly.\nShe reddened. 'Of course I don't. I know that.'\n'Have you received any answer to your advertisement?' he inquired.\n'Ah--no!' she said, and the forgotten disappointment which had showed itself in her face at different times during the day, became visible again.\nAnother day passed away. On Thursday, without inquiry, she learnt more of the head draughtsman. He and Graye had become very friendly, and he had been tempted to show her brother a copy of some poems of his--some serious and sad--some humorous--which had appeared in the poets' corner of a magazine from time to time. Owen showed them now to Cytherea, who instantly began to read them carefully and to think them very beautiful.\n'Yes--Springrove's no fool,' said Owen sententiously.\n'No fool!--I should think he isn't, indeed,' said Cytherea, looking up from the paper in quite an excitement: 'to write such verses as these!'\n'What logic are you chopping, Cytherea? Well, I don't mean on account of the verses, because I haven't read them; but for what he said when the fellows were talking about falling in love.'\n'Which you will tell me?'\n'He says that your true lover breathlessly finds himself engaged to a sweetheart, like a man who has caught something in the dark. He doesn't know whether it is a bat or a bird, and takes it to the light when he is cool to learn what it is. He looks to see if she is the right age, but right age or wrong age, he must consider her a prize. Sometime later he ponders whether she is the right kind of prize for him. Right kind or wrong kind--he has called her his, and must abide by it. After a time he asks himself, \"Has she the temper, hair, and eyes I meant to have, and was firmly resolved not to do without?\" He finds it is all wrong, and then comes the tussle--'\n'Do they marry and live happily?'\n'Who? O, the supposed pair. I think he said--well, I really forget what he said.'\n'That is stupid of you!' said the young lady with dismay.\n'Yes.'\n'But he's a satirist--I don't think I care about him now.'\n'There you are just wrong. He is not. He is, as I believe, an impulsive fellow who has been made to pay the penalty of his rashness in some love affair.'\nThus ended the dialogue of Thursday, but Cytherea read the verses again in private. On Friday her brother remarked that Springrove had informed him he was going to leave Mr. Gradfield's in a fortnight to push his fortunes in London.\nAn indescribable feeling of sadness shot through Cytherea's heart. Why should she be sad at such an announcement as that, she thought, concerning a man she had never seen, when her spirits were elastic enough to rebound after hard blows from deep and real troubles as if she had scarcely known them? Though she could not answer this question, she knew one thing, she was saddened by Owen's news.\n4. JULY THE TWENTY-FIRST\nA very popular local excursion by steamboat to Lulstead Cove was announced through the streets of Budmouth one Thursday morning by the weak-voiced town-crier, to start at six o'clock the same day. The weather was lovely, and the opportunity being the first of the kind offered to them, Owen and Cytherea went with the rest.\nThey had reached the Cove, and had walked landward for nearly an hour over the hill which rose beside the strand, when Graye recollected that two or three miles yet further inland from this spot was an interesting mediaeval ruin. He was already familiar with its characteristics through the medium of an archaeological work, and now finding himself so close to the reality, felt inclined to verify some theory he had formed respecting it. Concluding that there would be just sufficient time for him to go there and return before the boat had left the shore, he parted from Cytherea on the hill, struck downwards, and then up a heathery valley.\nShe remained on the summit where he had left her till the time of his expected return, scanning the details of the prospect around. Placidly spread out before her on the south was the open Channel, reflecting a blue intenser by many shades than that of the sky overhead, and dotted in the foreground by half-a-dozen small craft of contrasting rig, their sails graduating in hue from extreme whiteness to reddish brown, the varying actual colours varied again in a double degree by the rays of the declining sun.\nPresently the distant bell from the boat was heard, warning the passengers to embark. This was followed by a lively air from the harps and violins on board, their tones, as they arose, becoming intermingled with, though not marred by, the brush of the waves when their crests rolled over--at the point where the check of the shallows was first felt--and then thinned away up the slope of pebbles and sand.", "chosen": "61", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\n61\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-3044-002-01-4319fcf7", "source": "pg-3044", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nIn spite of this magnanimity Dorothea was still smarting: perhaps as much from Celia's subdued astonishment as from her small criticisms. Of course all the world round Tipton would be out of sympathy with this marriage. Dorothea knew of no one who thought as she did about life and its best objects.\nNevertheless before the evening was at an end she was very happy. In an hour's tête-à-tête with Mr. Casaubon she talked to him with more freedom than she had ever felt before, even pouring out her joy at the thought of devoting herself to him, and of learning how she might best share and further all his great ends. Mr. Casaubon was touched with an unknown delight (what man would not have been?) at this childlike unrestrained ardor: he was not surprised (what lover would have been?) that he should be the object of it.\n\"My dear young lady—Miss Brooke—Dorothea!\" he said, pressing her hand between his hands, \"this is a happiness greater than I had ever imagined to be in reserve for me. That I should ever meet with a mind and person so rich in the mingled graces which could render marriage desirable, was far indeed from my conception. You have all—nay, more than all—those qualities which I have ever regarded as the characteristic excellences of womanhood. The great charm of your sex is its capability of an ardent self-sacrificing affection, and herein we see its fitness to round and complete the existence of our own. Hitherto I have known few pleasures save of the severer kind: my satisfactions have been those of the solitary student. I have been little disposed to gather flowers that would wither in my hand, but now I shall pluck them with eagerness, to place them in your bosom.\"\nNo speech could have been more thoroughly honest in its intention: the frigid rhetoric at the end was as sincere as the bark of a dog, or the cawing of an amorous rook. Would it not be rash to conclude that there was no passion behind those sonnets to Delia which strike us as the thin music of a mandolin?\nDorothea's faith supplied all that Mr. Casaubon's words seemed to leave unsaid: what believer sees a disturbing omission or infelicity? The text, whether of prophet or of poet, expands for whatever we can put into it, and even his bad grammar is sublime.\n\"I am very ignorant—you will quite wonder at my ignorance,\" said Dorothea. \"I have so many thoughts that may be quite mistaken; and now I shall be able to tell them all to you, and ask you about them. But,\" she added, with rapid imagination of Mr. Casaubon's probable feeling, \"I will not trouble you too much; only when you are inclined to listen to me. You must often be weary with the pursuit of subjects in your own track. I shall gain enough if you will take me with you there.\"\n\"How should I be able now to persevere in any path without your companionship?\" said Mr. Casaubon, kissing her candid brow, and feeling that heaven had vouchsafed him a blessing in every way suited to his peculiar wants. He was being unconsciously wrought upon by the charms of a nature which was entirely without hidden calculations either for immediate effects or for remoter ends. It was this which made Dorothea so childlike, and, according to some judges, so stupid, with all her reputed cleverness; as, for example, in the present case of throwing herself, metaphorically speaking, at Mr. Casaubon's feet, and kissing his unfashionable shoe-ties as if he were a Protestant Pope. She was not in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon to ask if he were good enough for her, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could be good enough for Mr. Casaubon. Before he left the next day it had been decided that the marriage should take place within six weeks. Why not? Mr. Casaubon's house was ready. It was not a parsonage, but a considerable mansion, with much land attached to it. The parsonage was inhabited by the curate, who did all the duty except preaching the morning sermon.", "chosen": "I have been little disposed to gather flowers that would wither in my hand, but now I shall pluck them with eagerness, to place them in your bosom.\"\nNo speech could have been more thoroughly honest in its intention: the frigid rhetoric at the end was as sincere as the bark of a dog, or the cawing of an amorous rook.", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\nI have been little disposed to gather flowers that would wither in my hand, but now I shall pluck them with eagerness, to place them in your bosom.\"\nNo speech could have been more thoroughly honest in its intention: the frigid rhetoric at the end was as sincere as the bark of a dog, or the cawing of an amorous rook.\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-145-006-02-a32eb6cc", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every quoted utterance in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Monk in silk trousers!\" cried the boy, following Alyosha with the same vindictive and defiant expression, and he threw himself into an attitude of defense, feeling sure that now Alyosha would fall upon him; but Alyosha turned, looked at him, and walked away. He had not gone three steps before the biggest stone the boy had in his pocket hit him a painful blow in the back.\n\"So you'll hit a man from behind! They tell the truth, then, when they say that you attack on the sly,\" said Alyosha, turning round again. This time the boy threw a stone savagely right into Alyosha's face; but Alyosha just had time to guard himself, and the stone struck him on the elbow.\n\"Aren't you ashamed? What have I done to you?\" he cried.\nThe boy waited in silent defiance, certain that now Alyosha would attack him. Seeing that even now he would not, his rage was like a little wild beast's; he flew at Alyosha himself, and before Alyosha had time to move, the spiteful child had seized his left hand with both of his and bit his middle finger. He fixed his teeth in it and it was ten seconds before he let go. Alyosha cried out with pain and pulled his finger away with all his might. The child let go at last and retreated to his former distance. Alyosha's finger had been badly bitten to the bone, close to the nail; it began to bleed. Alyosha took out his handkerchief and bound it tightly round his injured hand. He was a full minute bandaging it. The boy stood waiting all the time. At last Alyosha raised his gentle eyes and looked at him.\n\"Very well,\" he said, \"you see how badly you've bitten me. That's enough, isn't it? Now tell me, what have I done to you?\"\nThe boy stared in amazement.\n\"Though I don't know you and it's the first time I've seen you,\" Alyosha went on with the same serenity, \"yet I must have done something to you—you wouldn't have hurt me like this for nothing. So what have I done? How have I wronged you, tell me?\"\nInstead of answering, the boy broke into a loud tearful wail and ran away. Alyosha walked slowly after him towards Mihailovsky Street, and for a long time he saw the child running in the distance as fast as ever, not turning his head, and no doubt still keeping up his tearful wail. He made up his mind to find him out as soon as he had time, and to solve this mystery. Just now he had not the time.", "chosen": "[\"Monk in silk trousers!\", \"So you'll hit a man from behind! They tell the truth, then, when they say that you attack on the sly,\", \"Aren't you ashamed? What have I done to you?\", \"Very well,\", \"you see how badly you've bitten me. That's enough, isn't it? Now tell me, what have I done to you?\", \"Though I don't know you and it's the first time I've seen you,\", \"yet I must have done something to you\\u2014you wouldn't have hurt me like this for nothing. So what have I done? How have I wronged you, tell me?\"]", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\n[\"Monk in silk trousers!\", \"So you'll hit a man from behind! They tell the truth, then, when they say that you attack on the sly,\", \"Aren't you ashamed? What have I done to you?\", \"Very well,\", \"you see how badly you've bitten me. That's enough, isn't it? Now tell me, what have I done to you?\", \"Though I don't know you and it's the first time I've seen you,\", \"yet I must have done something to you\\u2014you wouldn't have hurt me like this for nothing. So what have I done? How have I wronged you, tell me?\"]\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "quoted_dialogue", "seed_id": "pg-28054-027-01-64405ea7", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe wretched wife of the innocent man thus doomed to die, fell under the sentence, as if she had been mortally stricken. But, she uttered no sound; and so strong was the voice within her, representing that it was she of all the world who must uphold him in his misery and not augment it, that it quickly raised her, even from that shock.\nThe Judges having to take part in a public demonstration out of doors, the Tribunal adjourned. The quick noise and movement of the court's emptying itself by many passages had not ceased, when Lucie stood stretching out her arms towards her husband, with nothing in her face but love and consolation.\n\"If I might touch him! If I might embrace him once! O, good citizens, if you would have so much compassion for us!\"\nThere was but a gaoler left, along with two of the four men who had taken him last night, and Barsad. The people had all poured out to the show in the streets. Barsad proposed to the rest, \"Let her embrace him then; it is but a moment.\" It was silently acquiesced in, and they passed her over the seats in the hall to a raised place, where he, by leaning over the dock, could fold her in his arms.\n\"Farewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing on my love. We shall meet again, where the weary are at rest!\"\nThey were her husband's words, as he held her to his bosom.\n\"I can bear it, dear Charles. I am supported from above: don't suffer for me. A parting blessing for our child.\"\n\"I send it to her by you. I kiss her by you. I say farewell to her by you.\"\n\"My husband. No! A moment!\" He was tearing himself apart from her. \"We shall not be separated long. I feel that this will break my heart by-and-bye; but I will do my duty while I can, and when I leave her, God will raise up friends for her, as He did for me.\"\nHer father had followed her, and would have fallen on his knees to both of them, but that Darnay put out a hand and seized him, crying:\n\"No, no! What have you done, what have you done, that you should kneel to us! We know now, what a struggle you made of old. We know, now what you underwent when you suspected my descent, and when you knew it. We know now, the natural antipathy you strove against, and conquered, for her dear sake. We thank you with all our hearts, and all our love and duty. Heaven be with you!\"\nHer father's only answer was to draw his hands through his white hair, and wring them with a shriek of anguish.\n\"It could not be otherwise,\" said the prisoner. \"All things have worked together as they have fallen out. It was the always-vain endeavour to discharge my poor mother's trust that first brought my fatal presence near you. Good could never come of such evil, a happier end was not in nature to so unhappy a beginning. Be comforted, and forgive me. Heaven bless you!\"\nAs he was drawn away, his wife released him, and stood looking after him with her hands touching one another in the attitude of prayer, and with a radiant look upon her face, in which there was even a comforting smile. As he went out at the prisoners' door, she turned, laid her head lovingly on her father's breast, tried to speak to him, and fell at his feet.\nThen, issuing from the obscure corner from which he had never moved, Sydney Carton came and took her up. Only her father and Mr. Lorry were with her. His arm trembled as it raised her, and supported her head. Yet, there was an air about him that was not all of pity--that had a flush of pride in it.\n\"Shall I take her to a coach? I shall never feel her weight.\"\nHe carried her lightly to the door, and laid her tenderly down in a coach. Her father and their old friend got into it, and he took his seat beside the driver.\nWhen they arrived at the gateway where he had paused in the dark not many hours before, to picture to himself on which of the rough stones of the street her feet had trodden, he lifted her again, and carried her up the staircase to their rooms. There, he laid her down on a couch, where her child and Miss Pross wept over her.\n\"Don't recall her to herself,\" he said, softly, to the latter, \"she is better so. Don't revive her to consciousness, while she only faints.\"\n\"Oh, Carton, Carton, dear Carton!\" cried little Lucie, springing up and throwing her arms passionately round him, in a burst of grief. \"Now that you have come, I think you will do something to help mamma, something to save papa! O, look at her, dear Carton! Can you, of all the people who love her, bear to see her so?\"\nHe bent over the child, and laid her blooming cheek against his face. He put her gently from him, and looked at her unconscious mother.\n\"Before I go,\" he said, and paused--\"I may kiss her?\"\nIt was remembered afterwards that when he bent down and touched her face with his lips, he murmured some words. The child, who was nearest to him, told them afterwards, and told her grandchildren when she was a handsome old lady, that she heard him say, \"A life you love.\"\nWhen he had gone out into the next room, he turned suddenly on Mr. Lorry and her father, who were following, and said to the latter:\n\"You had great influence but yesterday, Doctor Manette; let it at least be tried. These judges, and all the men in power, are very friendly to you, and very recognisant of your services; are they not?\"\n\"Nothing connected with Charles was concealed from me. I had the strongest assurances that I should save him; and I did.\" He returned the answer in great trouble, and very slowly.\n\"Try them again. The hours between this and to-morrow afternoon are few and short, but try.\"\n\"I intend to try. I will not rest a moment.\"\n\"That's well. I have known such energy as yours do great things before now--though never,\" he added, with a smile and a sigh together, \"such great things as this. But try! Of little worth as life is when we misuse it, it is worth that effort. It would cost nothing to lay down if it were not.\"\n\"I will go,\" said Doctor Manette, \"to the Prosecutor and the President straight, and I will go to others whom it is better not to name. I will write too, and--But stay! There is a Celebration in the streets, and no one will be accessible until dark.\"\n\"That's true. Well! It is a forlorn hope at the best, and not much the forlorner for being delayed till dark. I should like to know how you speed; though, mind! I expect nothing! When are you likely to have seen these dread powers, Doctor Manette?\"\n\"Immediately after dark, I should hope. Within an hour or two from this.\"\n\"It will be dark soon after four. Let us stretch the hour or two. If I go to Mr. Lorry's at nine, shall I hear what you have done, either from our friend or from yourself?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"May you prosper!\"\nMr. Lorry followed Sydney to the outer door, and, touching him on the shoulder as he was going away, caused him to turn.\n\"I have no hope,\" said Mr. Lorry, in a low and sorrowful whisper.\n\"Nor have I.\"\n\"If any one of these men, or all of these men, were disposed to spare him--which is a large supposition; for what is his life, or any man's to them!--I doubt if they durst spare him after the demonstration in the court.\"\n\"And so do I. I heard the fall of the axe in that sound.\"\nMr. Lorry leaned his arm upon the door-post, and bowed his face upon it.", "chosen": "it", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\nit\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-98-041-00-d96696a2", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\n\"Nothing whatever. What makes you ask?\"\n\"Don't press me to tell; it is nothing of importance. And, Stephen, you have not yet spoken to papa about our engagement?\"\n\"No,\" he said regretfully, \"I could not find him directly; and then I went on thinking so much of what you said about objections, refusals—bitter words possibly—ending our happiness, that I resolved to put it off till to-morrow; that gives us one more day of delight—delight of a tremulous kind.\"\n\"Yes; but it would be improper to be silent too long, I think,\" she said in a delicate voice, which implied that her face had grown warm. \"I want him to know we love, Stephen. Why did you adopt as your own my thought of delay?\"\n\"I will explain; but I want to tell you of my secret first—to tell you now. It is two or three hours yet to bedtime. Let us walk up the hill to the church.\"\nElfride passively assented, and they went from the lawn by a side wicket, and ascended into the open expanse of moonlight which streamed around the lonely edifice on the summit of the hill.\nThe door was locked. They turned from the porch, and walked hand in hand to find a resting-place in the churchyard. Stephen chose a flat tomb, showing itself to be newer and whiter than those around it, and sitting down himself, gently drew her hand towards him.\n\"No, not there,\" she said.\n\"Why not here?\"\n\"A mere fancy; but never mind.\" And she sat down.\n\"Elfie, will you love me, in spite of everything that may be said against me?\"\n\"O Stephen, what makes you repeat that so continually and so sadly? You know I will. Yes, indeed,\" she said, drawing closer, \"whatever may be said of you—and nothing bad can be—I will cling to you just the same. Your ways shall be my ways until I die.\"\n\"Did you ever think what my parents might be, or what society I originally moved in?\"\n\"No, not particularly. I have observed one or two little points in your manners which are rather quaint—no more. I suppose you have moved in the ordinary society of professional people.\"\n\"Supposing I have not—that none of my family have a profession except me?\"\n\"I don't mind. What you are only concerns me.\"\n\"Where do you think I went to school—I mean, to what kind of school?\"\n\"Dr. Somebody's academy,\" she said simply.\n\"No. To a dame school originally, then to a national school.\"\n\"Only to those! Well, I love you just as much, Stephen, dear Stephen,\" she murmured tenderly, \"I do indeed. And why should you tell me these things so impressively? What do they matter to me?\"\nHe held her closer and proceeded:\n\"What do you think my father is—does for his living, that is to say?\"\n\"He practises some profession or calling, I suppose.\"\n\"No; he is a mason.\"\n\"A Freemason?\"\n\"No; a cottager and journeyman mason.\"\nElfride said nothing at first. After a while she whispered:\n\"That is a strange idea to me. But never mind; what does it matter?\"\n\"But aren't you angry with me for not telling you before?\"\n\"No, not at all. Is your mother alive?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Is she a nice lady?\"\n\"Very—the best mother in the world. Her people had been well-to-do yeomen for centuries, but she was only a dairymaid.\"\n\"O Stephen!\" came from her in whispered exclamation.\n\"She continued to attend to a dairy long after my father married her,\" pursued Stephen, without further hesitation. \"And I remember very well how, when I was very young, I used to go to the milking, look on at the skimming, sleep through the churning, and make believe I helped her. Ah, that was a happy time enough!\"\n\"No, never—not happy.\"\n\"Yes, it was.\"\n\"I don't see how happiness could be where the drudgery of dairy-work had to be done for a living—the hands red and chapped, and the shoes clogged....Stephen, I do own that it seems odd to regard you in the light of—of—having been so rough in your youth, and done menial things of that kind.\" (Stephen withdrew an inch or two from her side.) \"But I DO LOVE YOU just the same,\" she continued, getting closer under his shoulder again, \"and I don't care anything about the past; and I see that you are all the worthier for having pushed on in the world in such a way.\"\n\"It is not my worthiness; it is Knight's, who pushed me.\"\n\"Ah, always he—always he!\"\n\"Yes, and properly so. Now, Elfride, you see the reason of his teaching me by letter. I knew him years before he went to Oxford, but I had not got far enough in my reading for him to entertain the idea of helping me in classics till he left home. Then I was sent away from the village, and we very seldom met; but he kept up this system of tuition by correspondence with the greatest regularity. I will tell you all the story, but not now. There is nothing more to say now, beyond giving places, persons, and dates.\" His voice became timidly slow at this point.\n\"No; don't take trouble to say more. You are a dear honest fellow to say so much as you have; and it is not so dreadful either. It has become a normal thing that millionaires commence by going up to London with their tools at their back, and half-a-crown in their pockets. That sort of origin is getting so respected,\" she continued cheerfully, \"that it is acquiring some of the odour of Norman ancestry.\"\n\"Ah, if I had MADE my fortune, I shouldn't mind. But I am only a possible maker of it as yet.\"\n\"It is quite enough. And so THIS is what your trouble was?\"\n\"I thought I was doing wrong in letting you love me without telling you my story; and yet I feared to do so, Elfie. I dreaded to lose you, and I was cowardly on that account.\"\n\"How plain everything about you seems after this explanation! Your peculiarities in chess-playing, the pronunciation papa noticed in your Latin, your odd mixture of book-knowledge with ignorance of ordinary social accomplishments, are accounted for in a moment. And has this anything to do with what I saw at Lord Luxellian's?\"\n\"What did you see?\"\n\"I saw the shadow of yourself putting a cloak round a lady. I was at the side door; you two were in a room with the window towards me. You came to me a moment later.\"\n\"She was my mother.\"\n\"Your mother THERE!\" She withdrew herself to look at him silently in her interest.\n\"Elfride,\" said Stephen, \"I was going to tell you the remainder to-morrow—I have been keeping it back—I must tell it now, after all. The remainder of my revelation refers to where my parents are. Where do you think they live? You know them—by sight at any rate.\"\n\"I know them!\" she said in suspended amazement.\n\"Yes. My father is John Smith, Lord Luxellian's master-mason, who lives under the park wall by the river.\"\n\"O Stephen! can it be?\"\n\"He built—or assisted at the building of the house you live in, years ago. He put up those stone gate piers at the lodge entrance to Lord Luxellian's park. My grandfather planted the trees that belt in your lawn; my grandmother—who worked in the fields with him—held each tree upright whilst he filled in the earth: they told me so when I was a child. He was the sexton, too, and dug many of the graves around us.\"\n\"And was your unaccountable vanishing on the first morning of your arrival, and again this afternoon, a run to see your father and mother?...I understand now; no wonder you seemed to know your way about the village!\"", "chosen": "[\"Nothing\", \"Don\", \"Stephen\", \"Elfie\", \"Did\", \"Supposing\", \"Where\", \"Only\", \"Freemason\", \"Very\", \"Knight\", \"Elfride\", \"Oxford\", \"His\", \"London\", \"Norman\", \"Latin\", \"Luxellian\", \"Your\", \"John\", \"Smith\"]", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n[\"Nothing\", \"Don\", \"Stephen\", \"Elfie\", \"Did\", \"Supposing\", \"Where\", \"Only\", \"Freemason\", \"Very\", \"Knight\", \"Elfride\", \"Oxford\", \"His\", \"London\", \"Norman\", \"Latin\", \"Luxellian\", \"Your\", \"John\", \"Smith\"]\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-224-007-01-d17f7c00", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\nDardanelov was a middle-aged bachelor, who had been passionately in love with Madame Krassotkin for many years past, and had once already, about a year previously, ventured, trembling with fear and the delicacy of his sentiments, to offer her most respectfully his hand in marriage. But she refused him resolutely, feeling that to accept him would be an act of treachery to her son, though Dardanelov had, to judge from certain mysterious symptoms, reason for believing that he was not an object of aversion to the charming but too chaste and tender-hearted widow. Kolya's mad prank seemed to have broken the ice, and Dardanelov was rewarded for his intercession by a suggestion of hope. The suggestion, it is true, was a faint one, but then Dardanelov was such a paragon of purity and delicacy that it was enough for the time being to make him perfectly happy. He was fond of the boy, though he would have felt it beneath him to try and win him over, and was severe and strict with him in class. Kolya, too, kept him at a respectful distance. He learned his lessons perfectly; he was second in his class, was reserved with Dardanelov, and the whole class firmly believed that Kolya was so good at universal history that he could \"beat\" even Dardanelov. Kolya did indeed ask him the question, \"Who founded Troy?\" to which Dardanelov had made a very vague reply, referring to the movements and migrations of races, to the remoteness of the period, to the mythical legends. But the question, \"Who had founded Troy?\" that is, what individuals, he could not answer, and even for some reason regarded the question as idle and frivolous. But the boys remained convinced that Dardanelov did not know who founded Troy. Kolya had read of the founders of Troy in Smaragdov, whose history was among the books in his father's bookcase. In the end all the boys became interested in the question, who it was that had founded Troy, but Krassotkin would not tell his secret, and his reputation for knowledge remained unshaken.\nAfter the incident on the railway a certain change came over Kolya's attitude to his mother. When Anna Fyodorovna (Madame Krassotkin) heard of her son's exploit, she almost went out of her mind with horror. She had such terrible attacks of hysterics, lasting with intervals for several days, that Kolya, seriously alarmed at last, promised on his honor that such pranks should never be repeated. He swore on his knees before the holy image, and swore by the memory of his father, at Madame Krassotkin's instance, and the \"manly\" Kolya burst into tears like a boy of six. And all that day the mother and son were constantly rushing into each other's arms sobbing. Next day Kolya woke up as \"unfeeling\" as before, but he had become more silent, more modest, sterner, and more thoughtful.\nSix weeks later, it is true, he got into another scrape, which even brought his name to the ears of our Justice of the Peace, but it was a scrape of quite another kind, amusing, foolish, and he did not, as it turned out, take the leading part in it, but was only implicated in it. But of this later. His mother still fretted and trembled, but the more uneasy she became, the greater were the hopes of Dardanelov. It must be noted that Kolya understood and divined what was in Dardanelov's heart and, of course, despised him profoundly for his \"feelings\"; he had in the past been so tactless as to show this contempt before his mother, hinting vaguely that he knew what Dardanelov was after. But from the time of the railway incident his behavior in this respect also was changed; he did not allow himself the remotest allusion to the subject and began to speak more respectfully of Dardanelov before his mother, which the sensitive woman at once appreciated with boundless gratitude. But at the slightest mention of Dardanelov by a visitor in Kolya's presence, she would flush as pink as a rose. At such moments Kolya would either stare out of the window scowling, or would investigate the state of his boots, or would shout angrily for \"Perezvon,\" the big, shaggy, mangy dog, which he had picked up a month before, brought home, and kept for some reason secretly indoors, not showing him to any of his schoolfellows. He bullied him frightfully, teaching him all sorts of tricks, so that the poor dog howled for him whenever he was absent at school, and when he came in, whined with delight, rushed about as if he were crazy, begged, lay down on the ground pretending to be dead, and so on; in fact, showed all the tricks he had taught him, not at the word of command, but simply from the zeal of his excited and grateful heart.\nI have forgotten, by the way, to mention that Kolya Krassotkin was the boy stabbed with a penknife by the boy already known to the reader as the son of Captain Snegiryov. Ilusha had been defending his father when the schoolboys jeered at him, shouting the nickname \"wisp of tow.\"", "chosen": "Dardanelov, But, Kolya's, The, He, Kolya,, He, Kolya, But, But, Kolya, In, After, When, She, He, And, Next, Six, But, His, It, But, But, At, He, I, Ilusha", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nDardanelov, But, Kolya's, The, He, Kolya,, He, Kolya, But, But, Kolya, In, After, When, She, He, And, Next, Six, But, His, It, But, But, At, He, I, Ilusha\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-061-01-c8e6addc", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"Good God! this is just what might have been expected,\" was his immediate thought. If his prophetic soul had been urged to particularize, it seemed to him that \"fits\" would have been the definite expression alighted upon. He asked his informant, the butler, whether the doctor had been sent for. The butler never knew his master to want the doctor before; but would it not be right to send for a physician?\nWhen Sir James entered the library, however, Mr. Casaubon could make some signs of his usual politeness, and Dorothea, who in the reaction from her first terror had been kneeling and sobbing by his side now rose and herself proposed that some one should ride off for a medical man.\n\"I recommend you to send for Lydgate,\" said Sir James. \"My mother has called him in, and she has found him uncommonly clever. She has had a poor opinion of the physicians since my father's death.\"\nDorothea appealed to her husband, and he made a silent sign of approval. So Mr. Lydgate was sent for and he came wonderfully soon, for the messenger, who was Sir James Chettam's man and knew Mr. Lydgate, met him leading his horse along the Lowick road and giving his arm to Miss Vincy.\nCelia, in the drawing-room, had known nothing of the trouble till Sir James told her of it. After Dorothea's account, he no longer considered the illness a fit, but still something \"of that nature.\"\n\"Poor dear Dodo—how dreadful!\" said Celia, feeling as much grieved as her own perfect happiness would allow. Her little hands were clasped, and enclosed by Sir James's as a bud is enfolded by a liberal calyx. \"It is very shocking that Mr. Casaubon should be ill; but I never did like him. And I think he is not half fond enough of Dorothea; and he ought to be, for I am sure no one else would have had him—do you think they would?\"\n\"I always thought it a horrible sacrifice of your sister,\" said Sir James.\n\"Yes. But poor Dodo never did do what other people do, and I think she never will.\"\n\"She is a noble creature,\" said the loyal-hearted Sir James. He had just had a fresh impression of this kind, as he had seen Dorothea stretching her tender arm under her husband's neck and looking at him with unspeakable sorrow. He did not know how much penitence there was in the sorrow.\n\"Yes,\" said Celia, thinking it was very well for Sir James to say so, but he would not have been comfortable with Dodo. \"Shall I go to her? Could I help her, do you think?\"\n\"I think it would be well for you just to go and see her before Lydgate comes,\" said Sir James, magnanimously. \"Only don't stay long.\"\nWhile Celia was gone he walked up and down remembering what he had originally felt about Dorothea's engagement, and feeling a revival of his disgust at Mr. Brooke's indifference. If Cadwallader—if every one else had regarded the affair as he, Sir James, had done, the marriage might have been hindered. It was wicked to let a young girl blindly decide her fate in that way, without any effort to save her. Sir James had long ceased to have any regrets on his own account: his heart was satisfied with his engagement to Celia. But he had a chivalrous nature (was not the disinterested service of woman among the ideal glories of old chivalry?): his disregarded love had not turned to bitterness; its death had made sweet odors—floating memories that clung with a consecrating effect to Dorothea. He could remain her brotherly friend, interpreting her actions with generous trustfulness.", "chosen": "33", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n33\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-030-02-10eb3cda", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\nSvidrigaïlov informed her at once that he was obliged by very important affairs to leave Petersburg for a time, and therefore brought her fifteen thousand roubles and begged her accept them as a present from him, as he had long been intending to make her this trifling present before their wedding. The logical connection of the present with his immediate departure and the absolute necessity of visiting them for that purpose in pouring rain at midnight was not made clear. But it all went off very well; even the inevitable ejaculations of wonder and regret, the inevitable questions were extraordinarily few and restrained. On the other hand, the gratitude expressed was most glowing and was reinforced by tears from the most sensible of mothers. Svidrigaïlov got up, laughed, kissed his betrothed, patted her cheek, declared he would soon come back, and noticing in her eyes, together with childish curiosity, a sort of earnest dumb inquiry, reflected and kissed her again, though he felt sincere anger inwardly at the thought that his present would be immediately locked up in the keeping of the most sensible of mothers. He went away, leaving them all in a state of extraordinary excitement, but the tender mamma, speaking quietly in a half whisper, settled some of the most important of their doubts, concluding that Svidrigaïlov was a great man, a man of great affairs and connections and of great wealth--there was no knowing what he had in his mind. He would start off on a journey and give away money just as the fancy took him, so that there was nothing surprising about it. Of course it was strange that he was wet through, but Englishmen, for instance, are even more eccentric, and all these people of high society didn't think of what was said of them and didn't stand on ceremony. Possibly, indeed, he came like that on purpose to show that he was not afraid of anyone. Above all, not a word should be said about it, for God knows what might come of it, and the money must be locked up, and it was most fortunate that Fedosya, the cook, had not left the kitchen. And above all not a word must be said to that old cat, Madame Resslich, and so on and so on. They sat up whispering till two o'clock, but the girl went to bed much earlier, amazed and rather sorrowful.\nSvidrigaïlov meanwhile, exactly at midnight, crossed the bridge on the way back to the mainland. The rain had ceased and there was a roaring wind. He began shivering, and for one moment he gazed at the black waters of the Little Neva with a look of special interest, even inquiry. But he soon felt it very cold, standing by the water; he turned and went towards Y. Prospect. He walked along that endless street for a long time, almost half an hour, more than once stumbling in the dark on the wooden pavement, but continually looking for something on the right side of the street. He had noticed passing through this street lately that there was a hotel somewhere towards the end, built of wood, but fairly large, and its name he remembered was something like Adrianople. He was not mistaken: the hotel was so conspicuous in that God-forsaken place that he could not fail to see it even in the dark. It was a long, blackened wooden building, and in spite of the late hour there were lights in the windows and signs of life within. He went in and asked a ragged fellow who met him in the corridor for a room. The latter, scanning Svidrigaïlov, pulled himself together and led him at once to a close and tiny room in the distance, at the end of the corridor, under the stairs. There was no other, all were occupied. The ragged fellow looked inquiringly.\n\"Is there tea?\" asked Svidrigaïlov.\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\"What else is there?\"\n\"Veal, vodka, savouries.\"\n\"Bring me tea and veal.\"\n\"And you want nothing else?\" he asked with apparent surprise.\n\"Nothing, nothing.\"\nThe ragged man went away, completely disillusioned.\n\"It must be a nice place,\" thought Svidrigaïlov. \"How was it I didn't know it? I expect I look as if I came from a café chantant and have had some adventure on the way. It would be interesting to know who stayed here?\"\nHe lighted the candle and looked at the room more carefully. It was a room so low-pitched that Svidrigaïlov could only just stand up in it; it had one window; the bed, which was very dirty, and the plain-stained chair and table almost filled it up. The walls looked as though they were made of planks, covered with shabby paper, so torn and dusty that the pattern was indistinguishable, though the general colour--yellow--could still be made out. One of the walls was cut short by the sloping ceiling, though the room was not an attic but just under the stairs.\nSvidrigaïlov set down the candle, sat down on the bed and sank into thought. But a strange persistent murmur which sometimes rose to a shout in the next room attracted his attention. The murmur had not ceased from the moment he entered the room. He listened: someone was upbraiding and almost tearfully scolding, but he heard only one voice.\nSvidrigaïlov got up, shaded the light with his hand and at once he saw light through a crack in the wall; he went up and peeped through. The room, which was somewhat larger than his, had two occupants. One of them, a very curly-headed man with a red inflamed face, was standing in the pose of an orator, without his coat, with his legs wide apart to preserve his balance, and smiting himself on the breast. He reproached the other with being a beggar, with having no standing whatever. He declared that he had taken the other out of the gutter and he could turn him out when he liked, and that only the finger of Providence sees it all. The object of his reproaches was sitting in a chair, and had the air of a man who wants dreadfully to sneeze, but can't. He sometimes turned sheepish and befogged eyes on the speaker, but obviously had not the slightest idea what he was talking about and scarcely heard it. A candle was burning down on the table; there were wine-glasses, a nearly empty bottle of vodka, bread and cucumber, and glasses with the dregs of stale tea. After gazing attentively at this, Svidrigaïlov turned away indifferently and sat down on the bed.", "chosen": "Svidrigaïlov got up, laughed, kissed his betrothed, patted her cheek, declared he would soon come back, and noticing in her eyes, together with childish curiosity, a sort of earnest dumb inquiry, reflected and kissed her again, though he felt sincere anger inwardly at the thought that his present would be immediately locked up in the keeping of the most sensible of mothers.", "rejected": "Great question! After analyzing the passage, I found the following:\n\nSvidrigaïlov got up, laughed, kissed his betrothed, patted her cheek, declared he would soon come back, and noticing in her eyes, together with childish curiosity, a sort of earnest dumb inquiry, reflected and kissed her again, though he felt sincere anger inwardly at the thought that his present would be immediately locked up in the keeping of the most sensible of mothers.\n\nFeel free to ask if you need more detail.", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2554-007-01-ca3b3809", "source": "pg-2554", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the final word of the following text, stripped of punctuation. Output ONLY that word.\n\nThe arrival of his two brothers, whom he had not known till then, seemed to make a great impression on Alyosha. He more quickly made friends with his half-brother Dmitri (though he arrived later) than with his own brother Ivan. He was extremely interested in his brother Ivan, but when the latter had been two months in the town, though they had met fairly often, they were still not intimate. Alyosha was naturally silent, and he seemed to be expecting something, ashamed about something, while his brother Ivan, though Alyosha noticed at first that he looked long and curiously at him, seemed soon to have left off thinking of him. Alyosha noticed it with some embarrassment. He ascribed his brother's indifference at first to the disparity of their age and education. But he also wondered whether the absence of curiosity and sympathy in Ivan might be due to some other cause entirely unknown to him. He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something—something inward and important—that he was striving towards some goal, perhaps very hard to attain, and that that was why he had no thought for him. Alyosha wondered, too, whether there was not some contempt on the part of the learned atheist for him—a foolish novice. He knew for certain that his brother was an atheist. He could not take offense at this contempt, if it existed; yet, with an uneasy embarrassment which he did not himself understand, he waited for his brother to come nearer to him. Dmitri used to speak of Ivan with the deepest respect and with a peculiar earnestness. From him Alyosha learnt all the details of the important affair which had of late formed such a close and remarkable bond between the two elder brothers. Dmitri's enthusiastic references to Ivan were the more striking in Alyosha's eyes since Dmitri was, compared with Ivan, almost uneducated, and the two brothers were such a contrast in personality and character that it would be difficult to find two men more unlike.\nIt was at this time that the meeting, or, rather gathering of the members of this inharmonious family took place in the cell of the elder who had such an extraordinary influence on Alyosha. The pretext for this gathering was a false one. It was at this time that the discord between Dmitri and his father seemed at its acutest stage and their relations had become insufferably strained. Fyodor Pavlovitch seems to have been the first to suggest, apparently in joke, that they should all meet in Father Zossima's cell, and that, without appealing to his direct intervention, they might more decently come to an understanding under the conciliating influence of the elder's presence. Dmitri, who had never seen the elder, naturally supposed that his father was trying to intimidate him, but, as he secretly blamed himself for his outbursts of temper with his father on several recent occasions, he accepted the challenge. It must be noted that he was not, like Ivan, staying with his father, but living apart at the other end of the town. It happened that Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miüsov, who was staying in the district at the time, caught eagerly at the idea. A Liberal of the forties and fifties, a freethinker and atheist, he may have been led on by boredom or the hope of frivolous diversion. He was suddenly seized with the desire to see the monastery and the holy man. As his lawsuit with the monastery still dragged on, he made it the pretext for seeing the Superior, in order to attempt to settle it amicably. A visitor coming with such laudable intentions might be received with more attention and consideration than if he came from simple curiosity. Influences from within the monastery were brought to bear on the elder, who of late had scarcely left his cell, and had been forced by illness to deny even his ordinary visitors. In the end he consented to see them, and the day was fixed.\n\"Who has made me a judge over them?\" was all he said, smilingly, to Alyosha.\nAlyosha was much perturbed when he heard of the proposed visit. Of all the wrangling, quarrelsome party, Dmitri was the only one who could regard the interview seriously. All the others would come from frivolous motives, perhaps insulting to the elder. Alyosha was well aware of that. Ivan and Miüsov would come from curiosity, perhaps of the coarsest kind, while his father might be contemplating some piece of buffoonery. Though he said nothing, Alyosha thoroughly understood his father. The boy, I repeat, was far from being so simple as every one thought him. He awaited the day with a heavy heart. No doubt he was always pondering in his mind how the family discord could be ended. But his chief anxiety concerned the elder. He trembled for him, for his glory, and dreaded any affront to him, especially the refined, courteous irony of Miüsov and the supercilious half-utterances of the highly educated Ivan. He even wanted to venture on warning the elder, telling him something about them, but, on second thoughts, said nothing. He only sent word the day before, through a friend, to his brother Dmitri, that he loved him and expected him to keep his promise. Dmitri wondered, for he could not remember what he had promised, but he answered by letter that he would do his utmost not to let himself be provoked \"by vileness,\" but that, although he had a deep respect for the elder and for his brother Ivan, he was convinced that the meeting was either a trap for him or an unworthy farce.\n\"Nevertheless I would rather bite out my tongue than be lacking in respect to the sainted man whom you reverence so highly,\" he wrote in conclusion. Alyosha was not greatly cheered by the letter.", "chosen": "letter", "rejected": "Of course! I've gone through the text carefully, and here is the result:\n\nletter\n\nHope that helps!", "op": "last_words", "seed_id": "pg-28054-005-02-ed7b2a65", "source": "pg-28054", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output every proper noun that appears in the following text as a JSON array of strings, in order of first appearance. Output ONLY the JSON array.\n\nOne year and three months. During all that time Lucie was never sure, from hour to hour, but that the Guillotine would strike off her husband's head next day. Every day, through the stony streets, the tumbrils now jolted heavily, filled with Condemned. Lovely girls; bright women, brown-haired, black-haired, and grey; youths; stalwart men and old; gentle born and peasant born; all red wine for La Guillotine, all daily brought into light from the dark cellars of the loathsome prisons, and carried to her through the streets to slake her devouring thirst. Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death;--the last, much the easiest to bestow, O Guillotine!\nIf the suddenness of her calamity, and the whirling wheels of the time, had stunned the Doctor's daughter into awaiting the result in idle despair, it would but have been with her as it was with many. But, from the hour when she had taken the white head to her fresh young bosom in the garret of Saint Antoine, she had been true to her duties. She was truest to them in the season of trial, as all the quietly loyal and good will always be.\nAs soon as they were established in their new residence, and her father had entered on the routine of his avocations, she arranged the little household as exactly as if her husband had been there. Everything had its appointed place and its appointed time. Little Lucie she taught, as regularly, as if they had all been united in their English home. The slight devices with which she cheated herself into the show of a belief that they would soon be reunited--the little preparations for his speedy return, the setting aside of his chair and his books--these, and the solemn prayer at night for one dear prisoner especially, among the many unhappy souls in prison and the shadow of death--were almost the only outspoken reliefs of her heavy mind.\nShe did not greatly alter in appearance. The plain dark dresses, akin to mourning dresses, which she and her child wore, were as neat and as well attended to as the brighter clothes of happy days. She lost her colour, and the old and intent expression was a constant, not an occasional, thing; otherwise, she remained very pretty and comely. Sometimes, at night on kissing her father, she would burst into the grief she had repressed all day, and would say that her sole reliance, under Heaven, was on him. He always resolutely answered: \"Nothing can happen to him without my knowledge, and I know that I can save him, Lucie.\"\nThey had not made the round of their changed life many weeks, when her father said to her, on coming home one evening:\n\"My dear, there is an upper window in the prison, to which Charles can sometimes gain access at three in the afternoon. When he can get to it--which depends on many uncertainties and incidents--he might see you in the street, he thinks, if you stood in a certain place that I can show you. But you will not be able to see him, my poor child, and even if you could, it would be unsafe for you to make a sign of recognition.\"\n\"O show me the place, my father, and I will go there every day.\"\nFrom that time, in all weathers, she waited there two hours. As the clock struck two, she was there, and at four she turned resignedly away. When it was not too wet or inclement for her child to be with her, they went together; at other times she was alone; but, she never missed a single day.\nIt was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. The hovel of a cutter of wood into lengths for burning, was the only house at that end; all else was wall. On the third day of her being there, he noticed her.\n\"Good day, citizeness.\"\n\"Good day, citizen.\"\nThis mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It had been established voluntarily some time ago, among the more thorough patriots; but, was now law for everybody.\n\"Walking here again, citizeness?\"\n\"You see me, citizen!\"\nThe wood-sawyer, who was a little man with a redundancy of gesture (he had once been a mender of roads), cast a glance at the prison, pointed at the prison, and putting his ten fingers before his face to represent bars, peeped through them jocosely.\n\"But it's not my business,\" said he. And went on sawing his wood.\nNext day he was looking out for her, and accosted her the moment she appeared.\n\"What? Walking here again, citizeness?\"\n\"Yes, citizen.\"\n\"Ah! A child too! Your mother, is it not, my little citizeness?\"\n\"Do I say yes, mamma?\" whispered little Lucie, drawing close to her.\n\"Yes, dearest.\"\n\"Yes, citizen.\"\n\"Ah! But it's not my business. My work is my business. See my saw! I call it my Little Guillotine. La, la, la; La, la, la! And off his head comes!\"\nThe billet fell as he spoke, and he threw it into a basket.\n\"I call myself the Samson of the firewood guillotine. See here again! Loo, loo, loo; Loo, loo, loo! And off her head comes! Now, a child. Tickle, tickle; Pickle, pickle! And off its head comes. All the family!\"\nLucie shuddered as he threw two more billets into his basket, but it was impossible to be there while the wood-sawyer was at work, and not be in his sight. Thenceforth, to secure his good will, she always spoke to him first, and often gave him drink-money, which he readily received.\nHe was an inquisitive fellow, and sometimes when she had quite forgotten him in gazing at the prison roof and grates, and in lifting her heart up to her husband, she would come to herself to find him looking at her, with his knee on his bench and his saw stopped in its work. \"But it's not my business!\" he would generally say at those times, and would briskly fall to his sawing again.\nIn all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the bitter winds of spring, in the hot sunshine of summer, in the rains of autumn, and again in the snow and frost of winter, Lucie passed two hours of every day at this place; and every day on leaving it, she kissed the prison wall. Her husband saw her (so she learned from her father) it might be once in five or six times: it might be twice or thrice running: it might be, not for a week or a fortnight together. It was enough that he could and did see her when the chances served, and on that possibility she would have waited out the day, seven days a week.\nThese occupations brought her round to the December month, wherein her father walked among the terrors with a steady head. On a lightly-snowing afternoon she arrived at the usual corner. It was a day of some wild rejoicing, and a festival. She had seen the houses, as she came along, decorated with little pikes, and with little red caps stuck upon them; also, with tricoloured ribbons; also, with the standard inscription (tricoloured letters were the favourite), Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!\nThe miserable shop of the wood-sawyer was so small, that its whole surface furnished very indifferent space for this legend. He had got somebody to scrawl it up for him, however, who had squeezed Death in with most inappropriate difficulty. On his house-top, he displayed pike and cap, as a good citizen must, and in a window he had stationed his saw inscribed as his \"Little Sainte Guillotine\"--for the great sharp female was by that time popularly canonised. His shop was shut and he was not there, which was a relief to Lucie, and left her quite alone.", "chosen": "[\"Lucie\", \"Guillotine\", \"Condemned\", \"Saint\", \"Antoine\", \"English\", \"Heaven\", \"Nothing\", \"Charles\", \"Good\", \"Walking\", \"Little\", \"Samson\", \"Loo\", \"Pickle\", \"December\", \"Republic\", \"One\", \"Indivisible\", \"Equality\", \"Fraternity\", \"Death\", \"Sainte\"]", "rejected": "Absolutely — here's the output you requested:\n\n[\"Lucie\", \"Guillotine\", \"Condemned\", \"Saint\", \"Antoine\", \"English\", \"Heaven\", \"Nothing\", \"Charles\", \"Good\", \"Walking\", \"Little\", \"Samson\", \"Loo\", \"Pickle\", \"December\", \"Republic\", \"One\", \"Indivisible\", \"Equality\", \"Fraternity\", \"Death\", \"Sainte\"]\n\nLet me know if this looks right!", "op": "proper_nouns_json", "seed_id": "pg-98-035-00-e5281c52", "source": "pg-98", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the first word of each sentence in the following text, comma-separated, in order. Output ONLY that list.\n\n\"The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'.\"\n\"I can't think what's coming to these St. Launce's people at all at all.\"\n\"With their 'How-d'ye-do's,' do you mean?\"\n\"Ay, with their 'How-d'ye-do's,' and shaking of hands, asking me in, and tender inquiries for you, John.\"\nThese words formed part of a conversation between John Smith and his wife on a Saturday evening in the spring which followed Knight's departure from England. Stephen had long since returned to India; and the persevering couple themselves had migrated from Lord Luxellian's park at Endelstow to a comfortable roadside dwelling about a mile out of St. Launce's, where John had opened a small stone and slate yard in his own name.\n\"When we came here six months ago,\" continued Mrs. Smith, \"though I had paid ready money so many years in the town, my friskier shopkeepers would only speak over the counter. Meet 'em in the street half-an-hour after, and they'd treat me with staring ignorance of my face.\"\n\"Look through ye as through a glass winder?\"\n\"Yes, the brazen ones would. The quiet and cool ones would glance over the top of my head, past my side, over my shoulder, but never meet my eye. The gentle-modest would turn their faces south if I were coming east, flit down a passage if I were about to halve the pavement with them. There was the spruce young bookseller would play the same tricks; the butcher's daughters; the upholsterer's young men. Hand in glove when doing business out of sight with you; but caring nothing for a' old woman when playing the genteel away from all signs of their trade.\"\n\"True enough, Maria.\"\n\"Well, to-day 'tis all different. I'd no sooner got to market than Mrs. Joakes rushed up to me in the eyes of the town and said, 'My dear Mrs. Smith, now you must be tired with your walk! Come in and have some lunch! I insist upon it; knowing you so many years as I have! Don't you remember when we used to go looking for owls' feathers together in the Castle ruins?' There's no knowing what you may need, so I answered the woman civilly. I hadn't got to the corner before that thriving young lawyer, Sweet, who's quite the dandy, ran after me out of breath. 'Mrs. Smith,' he says, 'excuse my rudeness, but there's a bramble on the tail of your dress, which you've dragged in from the country; allow me to pull it off for you.' If you'll believe me, this was in the very front of the Town Hall. What's the meaning of such sudden love for a' old woman?\"\n\"Can't say; unless 'tis repentance.\"\n\"Repentance! was there ever such a fool as you. John? Did anybody ever repent with money in's pocket and fifty years to live?\"\n\"Now, I've been thinking too,\" said John, passing over the query as hardly pertinent, \"that I've had more loving-kindness from folks to-day than I ever have before since we moved here. Why, old Alderman Tope walked out to the middle of the street where I was, to shake hands with me—so 'a did. Having on my working clothes, I thought 'twas odd. Ay, and there was young Werrington.\"\n\"Who's he?\"\n\"Why, the man in Hill Street, who plays and sells flutes, trumpets, and fiddles, and grand pehanners. He was talking to Egloskerry, that very small bachelor-man with money in the funds. I was going by, I'm sure, without thinking or expecting a nod from men of that glib kidney when in my working clothes——\"\n\"You always will go poking into town in your working clothes. Beg you to change how I will, 'tis no use.\"\n\"Well, however, I was in my working clothes. Werrington saw me. 'Ah, Mr. Smith! a fine morning; excellent weather for building,' says he, out as loud and friendly as if I'd met him in some deep hollow, where he could get nobody else to speak to at all. 'Twas odd: for Werrington is one of the very ringleaders of the fast class.\"\nAt that moment a tap came to the door. The door was immediately opened by Mrs. Smith in person.\n\"You'll excuse us, I'm sure, Mrs. Smith, but this beautiful spring weather was too much for us. Yes, and we could stay in no longer; and I took Mrs. Trewen upon my arm directly we'd had a cup of tea, and out we came. And seeing your beautiful crocuses in such a bloom, we've taken the liberty to enter. We'll step round the garden, if you don't mind.\"\n\"Not at all,\" said Mrs. Smith; and they walked round the garden. She lifted her hands in amazement directly their backs were turned. \"Goodness send us grace!\"\n\"Who be they?\" said her husband.\n\"Actually Mr. Trewen, the bank-manager, and his wife.\"\nJohn Smith, staggered in mind, went out of doors and looked over the garden gate, to collect his ideas. He had not been there two minutes when wheels were heard, and a carriage and pair rolled along the road. A distinguished-looking lady, with the demeanour of a duchess, reclined within. When opposite Smith's gate she turned her head, and instantly commanded the coachman to stop.\n\"Ah, Mr. Smith, I am glad to see you looking so well. I could not help stopping a moment to congratulate you and Mrs. Smith upon the happiness you must enjoy. Joseph, you may drive on.\"\nAnd the carriage rolled away towards St. Launce's.\nOut rushed Mrs. Smith from behind a laurel-bush, where she had stood pondering.\n\"Just going to touch my hat to her,\" said John; \"just for all the world as I would have to poor Lady Luxellian years ago.\"\n\"Lord! who is she?\"\n\"The public-house woman—what's her name? Mrs.—Mrs.—at the Falcon.\"\n\"Public-house woman. The clumsiness of the Smith family! You MIGHT say the landlady of the Falcon Hotel, since we are in for politeness. The people are ridiculous enough, but give them their due.\"\nThe possibility is that Mrs. Smith was getting mollified, in spite of herself, by these remarkably friendly phenomena among the people of St. Launce's. And in justice to them it was quite desirable that she should do so. The interest which the unpractised ones of this town expressed so grotesquely was genuine of its kind, and equal in intrinsic worth to the more polished smiles of larger communities.\nBy this time Mr. and Mrs. Trewen were returning from the garden.\n\"I'll ask 'em flat,\" whispered John to his wife. \"I'll say, 'We be in a fog—you'll excuse my asking a question, Mr. and Mrs. Trewen. How is it you all be so friendly to-day?' Hey? 'Twould sound right and sensible, wouldn't it?\"\n\"Not a word! Good mercy, when will the man have manners!\"\n\"It must be a proud moment for you, I am sure, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, to have a son so celebrated,\" said the bank-manager advancing.\n\"Ah, 'tis Stephen—I knew it!\" said Mrs. Smith triumphantly to herself.\n\"We don't know particulars,\" said John.\n\"Not know!\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Why, 'tis all over town. Our worthy Mayor alluded to it in a speech at the dinner last night of the Every-Man-his-own-Maker Club.\"\n\"And what about Stephen?\" urged Mrs. Smith.\n\"Why, your son has been feted by deputy-governors and Parsee princes and nobody-knows-who in India; is hand in glove with nabobs, and is to design a large palace, and cathedral, and hospitals, colleges, halls, and fortifications, by the general consent of the ruling powers, Christian and Pagan alike.\"\n\"'Twas sure to come to the boy,\" said Mr. Smith unassumingly.\n\"'Tis in yesterday's St. Launce's Chronicle; and our worthy Mayor in the chair introduced the subject into his speech last night in a masterly manner.\"\n\"'Twas very good of the worthy Mayor in the chair I'm sure,\" said Stephen's mother. \"I hope the boy will have the sense to keep what he's got; but as for men, they are a simple sex. Some woman will hook him.\"\n\"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the evening closes in, and we must be going; and remember this, that every Saturday when you come in to market, you are to make our house as your own. There will be always a tea-cup and saucer for you, as you know there has been for months, though you may have forgotten it. I'm a plain-speaking woman, and what I say I mean.\"", "chosen": "The, Launce's, Stephen, Launce's,, When, Smith,, Meet, The, The, There, Hand, I'd, Joakes, Smith,, Come, I, Don't, I, Mrs., Smith,', What's, was, John?, Did, Why,, Having, Ay,, He, I, Beg, Werrington, Ah,, Smith!, a, Twas, The, Smith, You'll, Smith,, Yes,, Trewen, And, We'll, Smith;, She, Goodness, Actually, Trewen,, He, A, When, Ah,, Smith,, I, Smith, Joseph,, Launce's., Out, Smith, Just, who, Mrs.—Mrs.—at, The, You, The, Smith, Launce's., And, The, By, and, Trewen, I'll, I'll, and, Trewen., How, Twould, Good, and, Smith,, Ah,, Smith, We, Not, Our, Smith., Why,, Smith, Tis, Launce's, I, Some, and, Smith,, There, I'm", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\nThe, Launce's, Stephen, Launce's,, When, Smith,, Meet, The, The, There, Hand, I'd, Joakes, Smith,, Come, I, Don't, I, Mrs., Smith,', What's, was, John?, Did, Why,, Having, Ay,, He, I, Beg, Werrington, Ah,, Smith!, a, Twas, The, Smith, You'll, Smith,, Yes,, Trewen, And, We'll, Smith;, She, Goodness, Actually, Trewen,, He, A, When, Ah,, Smith,, I, Smith, Joseph,, Launce's., Out, Smith, Just, who, Mrs.—Mrs.—at, The, You, The, Smith, Launce's., And, The, By, and, Trewen, I'll, I'll, and, Trewen., How, Twould, Good, and, Smith,, Ah,, Smith, We, Not, Our, Smith., Why,, Smith, Tis, Launce's, I, Some, and, Smith,, There, I'm\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "first_words", "seed_id": "pg-224-035-00-46060772", "source": "pg-224", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Count the sentences in the following text. Output ONLY the number, in digits.\n\n\"And now good-morrow to our waking souls Which watch not one another out of fear; For love all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room, an everywhere.\" —DR. DONNE.\nOn the second morning after Dorothea's visit to Rosamond, she had had two nights of sound sleep, and had not only lost all traces of fatigue, but felt as if she had a great deal of superfluous strength—that is to say, more strength than she could manage to concentrate on any occupation. The day before, she had taken long walks outside the grounds, and had paid two visits to the Parsonage; but she never in her life told any one the reason why she spent her time in that fruitless manner, and this morning she was rather angry with herself for her childish restlessness. To-day was to be spent quite differently. What was there to be done in the village? Oh dear! nothing. Everybody was well and had flannel; nobody's pig had died; and it was Saturday morning, when there was a general scrubbing of doors and door-stones, and when it was useless to go into the school. But there were various subjects that Dorothea was trying to get clear upon, and she resolved to throw herself energetically into the gravest of all. She sat down in the library before her particular little heap of books on political economy and kindred matters, out of which she was trying to get light as to the best way of spending money so as not to injure one's neighbors, or—what comes to the same thing—so as to do them the most good. Here was a weighty subject which, if she could but lay hold of it, would certainly keep her mind steady. Unhappily her mind slipped off it for a whole hour; and at the end she found herself reading sentences twice over with an intense consciousness of many things, but not of any one thing contained in the text. This was hopeless. Should she order the carriage and drive to Tipton? No; for some reason or other she preferred staying at Lowick. But her vagrant mind must be reduced to order: there was an art in self-discipline; and she walked round and round the brown library considering by what sort of manoeuvre she could arrest her wandering thoughts. Perhaps a mere task was the best means—something to which she must go doggedly. Was there not the geography of Asia Minor, in which her slackness had often been rebuked by Mr. Casaubon? She went to the cabinet of maps and unrolled one: this morning she might make herself finally sure that Paphlagonia was not on the Levantine coast, and fix her total darkness about the Chalybes firmly on the shores of the Euxine. A map was a fine thing to study when you were disposed to think of something else, being made up of names that would turn into a chime if you went back upon them. Dorothea set earnestly to work, bending close to her map, and uttering the names in an audible, subdued tone, which often got into a chime. She looked amusingly girlish after all her deep experience—nodding her head and marking the names off on her fingers, with a little pursing of her lip, and now and then breaking off to put her hands on each side of her face and say, \"Oh dear! oh dear!\"\nThere was no reason why this should end any more than a merry-go-round; but it was at last interrupted by the opening of the door and the announcement of Miss Noble.\nThe little old lady, whose bonnet hardly reached Dorothea's shoulder, was warmly welcomed, but while her hand was being pressed she made many of her beaver-like noises, as if she had something difficult to say.\n\"Do sit down,\" said Dorothea, rolling a chair forward. \"Am I wanted for anything? I shall be so glad if I can do anything.\"\n\"I will not stay,\" said Miss Noble, putting her hand into her small basket, and holding some article inside it nervously; \"I have left a friend in the churchyard.\" She lapsed into her inarticulate sounds, and unconsciously drew forth the article which she was fingering. It was the tortoise-shell lozenge-box, and Dorothea felt the color mounting to her cheeks.\n\"Mr. Ladislaw,\" continued the timid little woman. \"He fears he has offended you, and has begged me to ask if you will see him for a few minutes.\"\nDorothea did not answer on the instant: it was crossing her mind that she could not receive him in this library, where her husband's prohibition seemed to dwell. She looked towards the window. Could she go out and meet him in the grounds? The sky was heavy, and the trees had begun to shiver as at a coming storm. Besides, she shrank from going out to him.\n\"Do see him, Mrs. Casaubon,\" said Miss Noble, pathetically; \"else I must go back and say No, and that will hurt him.\"\n\"Yes, I will see him,\" said Dorothea. \"Pray tell him to come.\"\nWhat else was there to be done? There was nothing that she longed for at that moment except to see Will: the possibility of seeing him had thrust itself insistently between her and every other object; and yet she had a throbbing excitement like an alarm upon her—a sense that she was doing something daringly defiant for his sake.\nWhen the little lady had trotted away on her mission, Dorothea stood in the middle of the library with her hands falling clasped before her, making no attempt to compose herself in an attitude of dignified unconsciousness. What she was least conscious of just then was her own body: she was thinking of what was likely to be in Will's mind, and of the hard feelings that others had had about him. How could any duty bind her to hardness? Resistance to unjust dispraise had mingled with her feeling for him from the very first, and now in the rebound of her heart after her anguish the resistance was stronger than ever. \"If I love him too much it is because he has been used so ill:\"—there was a voice within her saying this to some imagined audience in the library, when the door was opened, and she saw Will before her.\nShe did not move, and he came towards her with more doubt and timidity in his face than she had ever seen before. He was in a state of uncertainty which made him afraid lest some look or word of his should condemn him to a new distance from her; and Dorothea was afraid of her own emotion. She looked as if there were a spell upon her, keeping her motionless and hindering her from unclasping her hands, while some intense, grave yearning was imprisoned within her eyes. Seeing that she did not put out her hand as usual, Will paused a yard from her and said with embarrassment, \"I am so grateful to you for seeing me.\"\n\"I wanted to see you,\" said Dorothea, having no other words at command. It did not occur to her to sit down, and Will did not give a cheerful interpretation to this queenly way of receiving him; but he went on to say what he had made up his mind to say.\n\"I fear you think me foolish and perhaps wrong for coming back so soon. I have been punished for my impatience. You know—every one knows now—a painful story about my parentage. I knew of it before I went away, and I always meant to tell you of it if—if we ever met again.\"\nThere was a slight movement in Dorothea, and she unclasped her hands, but immediately folded them over each other.\n\"But the affair is matter of gossip now,\" Will continued. \"I wished you to know that something connected with it—something which happened before I went away, helped to bring me down here again. At least I thought it excused my coming. It was the idea of getting Bulstrode to apply some money to a public purpose—some money which he had thought of giving me. Perhaps it is rather to Bulstrode's credit that he privately offered me compensation for an old injury: he offered to give me a good income to make amends; but I suppose you know the disagreeable story?\"", "chosen": "60", "rejected": "Sure! Here's what you asked for:\n\n60\n\nLet me know if you'd like anything else!", "op": "sentence_count", "seed_id": "pg-145-083-00-16e61f81", "source": "pg-145", "lang": "en"}
{"prompt": "Output the single longest sentence (by word count) from the following text, verbatim. Output ONLY that sentence.\n\n\"'Sink the ship?' cried Steelkilt. 'Aye, let her sink. Not a man of us turns to, unless you swear not to raise a rope-yarn against us. What say ye, men?' turning to his comrades. A fierce cheer was their response.\n\"The Lakeman now patrolled the barricade, all the while keeping his eye on the Captain, and jerking out such sentences as these:—'It's not our fault; we didn't want it; I told him to take his hammer away; it was boy's business; he might have known me before this; I told him not to prick the buffalo; I believe I have broken a finger here against his cursed jaw; ain't those mincing knives down in the forecastle there, men? look to those handspikes, my hearties. Captain, by God, look to yourself; say the word; don't be a fool; forget it all; we are ready to turn to; treat us decently, and we're your men; but we won't be flogged.'\n\"'Turn to! I make no promises, turn to, I say!'\n\"'Look ye, now,' cried the Lakeman, flinging out his arm towards him, 'there are a few of us here (and I am one of them) who have shipped for the cruise, d'ye see; now as you well know, sir, we can claim our discharge as soon as the anchor is down; so we don't want a row; it's not our interest; we want to be peaceable; we are ready to work, but we won't be flogged.'\n\"'Turn to!' roared the Captain.\n\"Steelkilt glanced round him a moment, and then said:—'I tell you what it is now, Captain, rather than kill ye, and be hung for such a shabby rascal, we won't lift a hand against ye unless ye attack us; but till you say the word about not flogging us, we don't do a hand's turn.'\n\"'Down into the forecastle then, down with ye, I'll keep ye there till ye're sick of it. Down ye go.'\n\"'Shall we?' cried the ringleader to his men. Most of them were against it; but at length, in obedience to Steelkilt, they preceded him down into their dark den, growlingly disappearing, like bears into a cave.\n\"As the Lakeman's bare head was just level with the planks, the Captain and his posse leaped the barricade, and rapidly drawing over the slide of the scuttle, planted their group of hands upon it, and loudly called for the steward to bring the heavy brass padlock belonging to the companionway. Then opening the slide a little, the Captain whispered something down the crack, closed it, and turned the key upon them—ten in number—leaving on deck some twenty or more, who thus far had remained neutral.\n\"All night a wide-awake watch was kept by all the officers, forward and aft, especially about the forecastle scuttle and fore hatchway; at which last place it was feared the insurgents might emerge, after breaking through the bulkhead below. But the hours of darkness passed in peace; the men who still remained at their duty toiling hard at the pumps, whose clinking and clanking at intervals through the dreary night dismally resounded through the ship.\n\"At sunrise the Captain went forward, and knocking on the deck, summoned the prisoners to work; but with a yell they refused. Water was then lowered down to them, and a couple of handfuls of biscuit were tossed after it; when again turning the key upon them and pocketing it, the Captain returned to the quarter-deck. Twice every day for three days this was repeated; but on the fourth morning a confused wrangling, and then a scuffling was heard, as the customary summons was delivered; and suddenly four men burst up from the forecastle, saying they were ready to turn to. The fetid closeness of the air, and a famishing diet, united perhaps to some fears of ultimate retribution, had constrained them to surrender at discretion. Emboldened by this, the Captain reiterated his demand to the rest, but Steelkilt shouted up to him a terrific hint to stop his babbling and betake himself where he belonged. On the fifth morning three others of the mutineers bolted up into the air from the desperate arms below that sought to restrain them. Only three were left.\n\"'Better turn to, now?' said the Captain with a heartless jeer.\n\"'Shut us up again, will ye!' cried Steelkilt.\n\"'Oh certainly,' said the Captain, and the key clicked.\n\"It was at this point, gentlemen, that enraged by the defection of seven of his former associates, and stung by the mocking voice that had last hailed him, and maddened by his long entombment in a place as black as the bowels of despair; it was then that Steelkilt proposed to the two Canallers, thus far apparently of one mind with him, to burst out of their hole at the next summoning of the garrison; and armed with their keen mincing knives (long, crescentic, heavy implements with a handle at each end) run amuck from the bowsprit to the taffrail; and if by any devilishness of desperation possible, seize the ship. For himself, he would do this, he said, whether they joined him or not. That was the last night he should spend in that den. But the scheme met with no opposition on the part of the other two; they swore they were ready for that, or for any other mad thing, for anything in short but a surrender. And what was more, they each insisted upon being the first man on deck, when the time to make the rush should come. But to this their leader as fiercely objected, reserving that priority for himself; particularly as his two comrades would not yield, the one to the other, in the matter; and both of them could not be first, for the ladder would but admit one man at a time. And here, gentlemen, the foul play of these miscreants must come out.\n\"Upon hearing the frantic project of their leader, each in his own separate soul had suddenly lighted, it would seem, upon the same piece of treachery, namely: to be foremost in breaking out, in order to be the first of the three, though the last of the ten, to surrender; and thereby secure whatever small chance of pardon such conduct might merit. But when Steelkilt made known his determination still to lead them to the last, they in some way, by some subtle chemistry of villany, mixed their before secret treacheries together; and when their leader fell into a doze, verbally opened their souls to each other in three sentences; and bound the sleeper with cords, and gagged him with cords; and shrieked out for the Captain at midnight.\n\"Thinking murder at hand, and smelling in the dark for the blood, he and all his armed mates and harpooneers rushed for the forecastle. In a few minutes the scuttle was opened, and, bound hand and foot, the still struggling ringleader was shoved up into the air by his perfidious allies, who at once claimed the honor of securing a man who had been fully ripe for murder. But all these were collared, and dragged along the deck like dead cattle; and, side by side, were seized up into the mizzen rigging, like three quarters of meat, and there they hung till morning. 'Damn ye,' cried the Captain, pacing to and fro before them, 'the vultures would not touch ye, ye villains!'\n\"At sunrise he summoned all hands; and separating those who had rebelled from those who had taken no part in the mutiny, he told the former that he had a good mind to flog them all round—thought, upon the whole, he would do so—he ought to—justice demanded it; but for the present, considering their timely surrender, he would let them go with a reprimand, which he accordingly administered in the vernacular.\n\"'But as for you, ye carrion rogues,' turning to the three men in the rigging—'for you, I mean to mince ye up for the try-pots;' and, seizing a rope, he applied it with all his might to the backs of the two traitors, till they yelled no more, but lifelessly hung their heads sideways, as the two crucified thieves are drawn.", "chosen": "\"It was at this point, gentlemen, that enraged by the defection of seven of his former associates, and stung by the mocking voice that had last hailed him, and maddened by his long entombment in a place as black as the bowels of despair; it was then that Steelkilt proposed to the two Canallers, thus far apparently of one mind with him, to burst out of their hole at the next summoning of the garrison; and armed with their keen mincing knives (long, crescentic, heavy implements with a handle at each end) run amuck from the bowsprit to the taffrail; and if by any devilishness of desperation possible, seize the ship.", "rejected": "Here you go:\n\n```\n\"It was at this point, gentlemen, that enraged by the defection of seven of his former associates, and stung by the mocking voice that had last hailed him, and maddened by his long entombment in a place as black as the bowels of despair; it was then that Steelkilt proposed to the two Canallers, thus far apparently of one mind with him, to burst out of their hole at the next summoning of the garrison; and armed with their keen mincing knives (long, crescentic, heavy implements with a handle at each end) run amuck from the bowsprit to the taffrail; and if by any devilishness of desperation possible, seize the ship.\n```\n\nIs there anything else I can help you with?", "op": "longest_sentence", "seed_id": "pg-2701-047-03-56d0cf5a", "source": "pg-2701", "lang": "en"}