human
Kind and sonsy, she,
gpt
You will unsay that, sir,
human
There’s nothing to unsay. Kind and sonsy—daft hot-head, you might say that of your own mother.
gpt
In a different tone. You will unsay it.
human
And why? We Knaresborough men seldom unsay anything, until our windpipes are cut clean in two.
gpt
There’s for a good Irishman! said Michael, putting his bulk between the combatants.
human
He’ll talk, says he, when his windpipe is in two. They could not better that in Donegal.