human
Here's the ordnance cairn, at last; and--here am I astride of a carving-knife, I think! Come and help me off, or I shall be split to the chin!
gpt
I'm coming! What's this soft under my feet? Who-o-o-oop! Run him to earth at last!
human
What a swab! Like a piece of wet blotting-paper. Lucky he's not made of salt.
gpt
He's dead!
human
Not a bit. I can feel his heart. There's life in the old dog yet.