human
Douglas Gordon, whose story flowed with the tide of a plaintive accompaniment which I think he must have arranged himself: for somehow, it was like him. All the sadness, all the sweetness in this sweet, sad, old world seemed concentrated in the Boy's angel voice, and listening, I was Douglas Gordon, and he was putting my life-sorrow into words. He took my heart and broke it, yet I would not have had him stop. Then, suddenly, he did stop, and the Contessa was in tears.
gpt
Bravo! bravo! she cried, diamonds raining over two spasmodic dimples.
human
Again; something else.
gpt
Perchance you may remember, perchance you may forget,