human
I'll leave the ladder here, said Striker, depositing the candlestick on the floor.
gpt
So's I c'n stick my head in here in the mornin' an' rouse you up. There's your straw-tick over yander, an' I'll fotch your blankets up in a minute or two. I reckon you'll have to crawl on your hands an' knees; this attic wasn't built fer full-size men.
human
I will be all right, his guest assured him.
gpt
Beggars cannot be choosers. A place to lay my head, a roof to keep the rain off, and a generous host--what more can the wayfarer ask?