human
Hold, stranger! shouted one, brandishing a club.
gpt
Whither goest thou? Hast aught in thy scrip that we would relieve thee of, for the lighter thou art the easier thou'lt run.
human
I have nothing in the world. Let me pass, I pray; 'tis a matter that brooks no delay.
gpt
Nay, not so fast, young master. What is thine errand?
human
My errand? replied Revyngton, with a mirthless laugh.
gpt
I seek sanctuary.
human
Art without the pale of the law?
gpt
Of that there is little doubt.
human
Then throw in thy lot with us. A free life in the forest glades, with many a weighty scrip to balance the lightness of our minds, is better than being cooped up in yonder monastery.
gpt
Nay, 'tis not to my liking.
human
Neither is the other, I trow, but look!