human
I give you Summer House, said I,
gpt
John Drogue, says she in a voice not clear,
human
I can not take of you this estate.
gpt
You shall take it! And when again, where you sit a-knitting, the young men gather round you like flies around a sap-pan--then, by God, you shall know what countenance to give them, and they shall know what colour to give their courting!--suitors, gallants, Whig or Tory--the whole damned rabble----
human
Oh, she cried softly,
gpt
John Drogue!
human
Because you are servant to Douw Fonda! I cried,
gpt
I tell you, said I,