🤯🤯 LLM trained with 64K+ context length! What could you do with that? Prompted our model with the ENTIRE contents of "The Great Gatsby" and asked it to write the epilogue. Snippet 👇 Model dropping soon to an open-source repo near you. Epilogue: It seemed to me that Gatsby was already dead when I went up to East Egg. He'd died before I could find out. I thought this, as I climbed the old stone steps—they rose up a little now, but were all the same, and the grass had begun to grow in the cracks. On the steps the wind had broken the yellow tape that cordoned them off; I had tried to walk over once and had been turned back by a policeman. I had seen something like an exclamation point in the tape when I first looked at it, but when I looked again I couldn't see it any more; it had been torn away long ago, no doubt by a little boy running after his ball. But why should I believe that he was still on the other side, running after his ball. After all the years I would remember this little boy—perhaps it was some cousin or something of that sort—and I would see him running like a young deer across the grass with the sunrise flashing in his face. It mightn't be that the boy was really there, but the sky might be brighter because the sunlight came in from a different place. The night of Gatsby's burial came as a surprise to me. I had made a point of coming down from my hotel early and driving out to his house in the Ford roadster, and I had gone over the whole course of that morning in memory. I hadn't expected there would be anything I could actually see on the ground that would show that the old place had once been inhabited, but the moon was full and the white beach had a ghostly sheen, and I could have seen the grass growing, and the stones standing white and unbroken for ever. The cemetery was at the foot of a hill and when I came down the steep slope there were white boulders piled up under my feet where they had tumbled away from his grave in the rain. Gatsby was buried in a small stone square at the foot of the hill. When I came out on the lawn there was an open grave—there had been none at first—and standing around was a crowd of people, many of them old acquaintances. I could hear a child weeping, and a woman's voice singing and weeping. A man came forward, I think it was the minister, and offered me his hand. He was a strange-looking man, tall and thin, but I couldn't quite see through his spectacles. "You're a good fellow, Nick, a real good fellow," he said to me. "You know what the minister's gonna say." I did not know and was surprised. "Mr. Carraway, that was a good boy," he repeated. "He was always good to us." "I am," I said, and I thought of my mother. "Well, here goes the minister now," said the other man, a squat man with a pale beard. He was standing at the grave with his hand on his cane and smiling a little. "I feel bad about all of you," he was saying, "that my boy's gone and left us with so much work. But he's gone, like you said, into the good place. That's where he's at, now. That's where he'll stay all the rest of eternity, and we can get together there, all of us. What a thing it was when he first came out here and got so many ideas that he forgot his own family. We had to help that boy see the truth, and now he's seen it." A woman in the crowd was giving a short, passionate wail, almost a howl, over by the grave. "He's gone to another house." The woman stopped. All the mourners stopped. The minister, who had seen the change in me, said: "There was a time, you know—there wasn't much chance for him. But now he's right. It's hard, but you must believe. You know the saying." A young woman began to weep then, and other people took it up. They stood at the grave, looking at one another, talking and crying, and then at a signal from the minister they began to move off in the moonlight. I went up the hill in the Ford, trying to arrange in my mind the order in which I would tell people. ...