human
This--O, glory of God! This, instead of black despair! said he in weeping voice.
gpt
This sweet, healing wind instead of searing flame--and you, Martin, 'tis you have given all this! I dreamed me back in the hell you brought me from! Sun and wind and sea--oh, God love thee--these be your gifts to me that was your enemy--
human
Nay, our enmity is dead and done with--
gpt
Martin Conisby, said he, looking on me through his tears,