human
My dear friend, her brother would often say to me, sighing and flinging back his hair in his picturesque literary way,
gpt
You know, after taking her degree she married, for love, an architect. It's a complete tragedy! They had hardly been married a month when--whew--her husband died of typhus. But that was not all. She caught typhus from him, and when, on her recovery, she learnt that her Ivan was dead, she took a good dose of morphia. If it had not been for vigorous measures taken by her friends, my Vera would have been by now in Paradise. Tell me, isn't it a tragedy? And is not my sister like an _ingénue_, who has played already all the five acts of her life? The audience may stay for the farce, but the _ingénue_ must go home to rest.