human
Women who write don't know much about love-affairs, was her reflection.
gpt
And those of us who have love-affairs don't write! She rose.
human
Maso, you here still? I thought you went to bed an hour ago!
gpt
Well, I did begin. I put my shoes outside. He extended his shoeless feet in proof.
human
Then I just came back for a minute.
gpt
That same old fairy-book! Who would suppose you were twelve years old?
human
Thirteen,
gpt
So you are. But only two weeks ago. Never mind; you'll be a tall man yet--a great big thing striding about, whom I shall not care half so much for as I do for my little boy. She kissed him.
human
All your father's family are tall, and you look just like them.
gpt
How did father look? I don't remember him much.
human
Much? You don't remember him at all; he died when you were six months old--a little teenty baby.
gpt
I say, mother, how long have we been over here?
human
I came abroad when you were not quite two.
gpt
Aren't we ever going back?
human
If you could once see Coesville!
gpt
Hist, Maso! Take this in to your lady mother, said Giulio.
human
I made it myself, so it's good.