human
You'll be up in a trice, he observed, by way of saying something.
gpt
The little weakness will soon pass off; and then you must drink port wine--a pipe, if you can--and eat game and oysters. I'll get them for you, if they are to be had anywhere. Bless me! we'll make you as strong as Samson before we're done with you.
human
Who is that lady, uncle, standing beside you at the bed-foot?
gpt
Good God! he ejaculated.
human
She's not wandering, is she, ma'am?
gpt
I am wandering in a pleasant world, said Caroline, in a soft, happy voice,
human
We must have Dr. Rile again, ma'am; or better still, MacTurk. He's less of a humbug. Thomas must saddle the pony and go for him.
gpt
No; I don't want a doctor. Mamma shall be my only physician. Now, do you understand, uncle?
human
I see daylight. You've told her then, ma'am?
gpt
And is it _true_? demanded Caroline, rising on her pillow.
human
Is she _really_ my mother?
gpt
You won't cry, or make any scene, or turn hysterical, if I answer Yes?
human
Cry! I'd cry if you said _No_. It would be terrible to be disappointed now. But give her a name. How do you call her?
gpt
I call this stout lady in a quaint black dress, who looks young enough to wear much smarter raiment, if she would--I call her Agnes Helstone. She married my brother James, and is his widow.
human
And my mother?
gpt
What a little sceptic it is! Look at her small face, Mrs. Pryor, scarcely larger than the palm of my hand, alive with acuteness and eagerness. To Caroline--
human
She had the trouble of bringing you into the world at any rate. Mind you show your duty to her by quickly getting well, and repairing the waste of these cheeks.--Heigh-ho! she used to be plump. What she has done with it all I can't, for the life of me, divine.
gpt
If _wishing_ to get well will help me, I shall not be long sick. This morning I had no reason and no strength to wish it.
human
Uncle, if you please, you may send me a little bit of supper--anything you like, from your own plate. That is wiser than going into hysterics, is it not?
gpt
It is spoken like a sage, Cary. See if I don't cater for you judiciously. When women are sensible, and, above all, intelligible, I can get on with them. It is only the vague, superfine sensations, and extremely wire-drawn notions, that put me about. Let a woman ask me to give her an edible or a wearable--be the same a roc's egg or the breastplate of Aaron, a share of St. John's locusts and honey or the leathern girdle about his loins--I can, at least, understand the demand; but when they pine for they know not what--sympathy, sentiment, some of these indefinite abstractions--I can't do it; I don't know it; I haven't got it.--Madam, accept my arm.