human
I am John Kenny of Roxbury, sir. The ketch is the _Artemis_, Peter Jenks captain, her maiden voyage now ending.
gpt
No man's servant, and Ben knew it. Presented to the elder daughter of Peter Jenks, captain, Mr. Shawn kissed her fingers, and Ben writhed, not in jealousy but at his own incompetence: that was how it ought to be done, and Faith was clearly pleased.
human
said Mr. Shawn, and grew intent on brushing his coat lapel, asking casually in the same breath:
gpt
Doth she carry letters of marque, Mr. Kenny?
human
That she don't, said John Kenny rather blankly.
gpt
Armed she is--you can see the la'board falconet from here--but no letters of marque, sir. I've not a word to say against the privateersmen, in these years of war when the French do beset us so, but for my ships I'll have no part of it, having made mine own small fortune in the hard way, Mr. Shawn--refraining, let us say, from the thought of easy prizes because I know mine own share of human frailty, and proposing so to continue.
human
For which I honor you, sir, said Mr. Shawn, and having brushed the lapel to his satisfaction and smiled with wonderful sweetness, he changed the subject.
gpt
I've heard of your father, Mistress Jenks, the way I suppose most seaman have in this part of the world, and he noble as any captain under sail, now that's no lie.
human
Pray allow me to tack into the lee of you, Mr. Cory, to shelter my silly bonnet--your shoulders are broad enough.