human
Now that we’re well victualled, friends, he said lazily,
gpt
How d’ye hold together at all, Michael? roared the Squire.
human
So much folly and such common sense to one man’s body—it must be a civil war within yourself.
gpt
It is, sir. Since I was born into this unhappy world, there has been civil war inside me. I need an outlet now.
human
You shall have it, lad.
gpt
And you call this common sense?
human
Ay, of the Yoredale sort. A blow or two in Skipton High Street—who knows what heart it might give the garrison?
gpt
I must remind you that we have women-folk to guard, and our wounded.
human
But, sir, this is a Metcalf riding, all like the olden time. We never meant your Knaresborough men to share it.