human
You, my Prince? she said, with frank welcome.
gpt
You come from the Council? I hoped that you would come. Were they as always?
human
My lord Cottington’s gout was at its worst, and he in the same mood as the disease. Digby’s mouth was more like a Cupid’s bow than ever, and he simpered well-groomed impertinences. How I loathe them, Duchess.
gpt
You would.