human
I will send you an early copy, Adrian, when I publish, quoth Richard.
gpt
Hark at that old blackbird, uncle.
human
Yes! Hippias quavered; looking up from the usual subject of his contemplation, and trying to take an interest in him,
gpt
What a chuckle he gives out before he flies! Not unlike July nightingales. You know that bird I told you of--the blackbird that had its mate shot, and used to come to sing to old Dame Bakewell's bird from the tree opposite. A rascal knocked it over the day before yesterday, and the dame says her bird hasn't sung a note since.
human
Extraordinary! Hippias muttered abstractedly.
gpt
I remember the verses.