human
Twenty-three of them came yesterday morning, Gilead Beck complained to Jack Dunquerque.
gpt
Three-and-twenty, and all with a tale to tell. No, sir, --his voice rose in indignation--
human
I did not give one of them so much as a quarter-dollar. The Luck of the Golden Butterfly is not to be squandered among the well-dressed beggars of Great Britain. Three-and-twenty, counting one little boy, who came by himself. His mother was a widow, he said, and he sat on the chair and sniffed. And they all wanted money. There was one man in a white choker who had found out a new channel for doing good--and one man who wished to recommend a list of orphans. The rest were women. And talk? There's no name for it. With little books, and pencils, and bundles of tracts.
gpt
There's another of them, he groaned.
human
Stand by me, Mr. Dunquerque. See me through with it. Come in, come in! Good Lord! he whispered,