human
Madame, said he,
gpt
I'm a loafer, but I've been a gentleman, and I know better than to intrude without a good cause. The cause is a dying man. He's as rough and worthless as I am, but all the roughness has gone out of him, just now, and he's thinking about his mother and a sweetheart he used to have. He wants some one to pray for him--some one as unlike himself and his associates as possible. He cried for his mother--then he whispered to me that he had seen, here in Smithton, a lady that looked like an angel--seen her driving only to-day. He meant you. He isn't pretty; but, when a _dying_ man says a lady is an angel, he means what he says.