human
I ask you, sir, to keep an eye on William Saint.
gpt
William Saint?
human
He's crafty as any fox, sir, and a rare pusher. Mother fears that he may push himself into my good business.
gpt
I'm sore troubled about Mother.
human
She's taking this hard, but not a word does she say, not one. She thinks, I know, that God Almighty has forsaken her, pore soul. Such a mort o' trouble as she's had, too. My going seems the last straw. 'Twouldn't be so bad, if all the young men had gone first.
gpt
I can imagine what she feels, Alfred. This is a time of sore trial to all of us, and, perhaps, the strongest suffer most. I will do what I can to comfort her, but I can do so little. In all my life I have never felt before how cheap mere words are. Now, go your way with a glad heart. Put these anxieties from you, hopefully, and so you will do your duty the better. God bless you!