human
It’s a pity about that corn o’ mine, all the same, said the Squire, with a last backward thought.
gpt
There never was such a harvest year, since back into the ’twenties.
human
There’ll be such a harvest year, I trust, laughed Blake,
gpt
As a plain man to a plain man, what does the King ask of us? asked the Squire of Nappa.
human
Mr. Lambert, you say, is laying siege to Skipton. He should know better. I knew him as a lad, when he lived out yonder at Calton-in-Craven, and he had naught in common with these thick-headed rogues who are out against the King. He’s of the gentry, and always will be.
gpt
He has lost his way in the dark, then, said the other drily.
human
He’s training his cannon on Skipton Castle as if he liked the enterprise.
gpt
So you want us to ride through Lambert’s men and into the castle to help garrison it?
human
Heaven save us, no! The governor has enough men to feed already, men of usual size; your little company would eat up his larder in a week.
gpt
We _have_ fairish appetites, the Squire admitted.
human
Big sacks need a lot of filling, as the saying goes. Still, you said the King wanted us, and we’ve left a fine harvest to rot where it stands.