human
Get up, you slugabed. It’s come!
gpt
Cover me up, confound you! cried Eves, wrathfully.
human
I shall catch my death of cold.
gpt
Get up. I’ve been dressed half an hour. It’s come, I tell you.
human
I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care. Mrs. Pouncey —he raised his voice—
gpt
Don’t be an ass, Tom. Breakfast is nearly ready, and as the nozzle has just come by parcel post, I want to fix it and see how it works before I go off to the shop.
human
You and your inventions will be the death of me, grumbled Eves, hugging himself. Then with a sudden movement he caught up his pillow, slammed it at Templeton’s head, followed it up with a rush, and began to throw off his pyjamas.
gpt
Get out! he cried.
human
I’ll tub and dress in five minutes—not for you, old greaser, but for the bacon I smell frying.
gpt
Well, I’ll have time to fit on the nozzle before you’re down.