human
It’s a noble pile you’ve cut, Mr. Law, she said.
gpt
For a painter-man you’re not the useless truck one might expect. Mr. Law, I’ll think of you often when I burn this wood. And now that I’m rather soft in my feelings for your sex—those hurt boys have pleaded for you—I might as well tell you that I’m going to put my stove in the outhouse and open up the chimney in the living room.
human
Mam’selle! This is surrender indeed! A triumph of soul over matter!
gpt
This winter you can think of me toasting my shins and shivering up the back, Mr. Law.