human
Are you bad hurt, John?
gpt
Bah! Non, alors. Onlee has Howell slash my shirt into leetle rags and I am scratch all raw. Zat ees nozzing, mon capitaine--a leetle cut like wiz a Barlow--like zat! Pouf! Bah! I laugh. I make mock!
human
Your ribs are broken, John, says Nick, still squatting beside me.
gpt
I think your bones turned the bullet, and it's not lodged in your belly at all, but in your right thigh.... Fetch a sop o' wet moss, Joe!