human
Why could it not go on and on forever? Why must there always come that last good-bye?
gpt
Because life is so sad,
human
But I like to look forward,
gpt
We shall meet again,
human
The world, I remarked, sagely,
gpt
which was but a smooth rock amphitheatre, with a parapet protecting it from the precipice below. From this
human
there was a grand view of the mountains, with the sharp point of the Aiguille towering above them all. It was a village fête day, and we met the little procession at the church door. First came the priests and choir-boys, chanting; then the village girls, dressed in white, and bearing upon a little platform an image of Saint Agnes; then youths with streamers of colored ribbons on their arms; and, last, all the villagers, two and two, dressed in their best, and carrying bunches of flowers. Through the winding rocky street they marched, singing as they went. When they arrived at the lonely chapel, Saint Agnes was borne in, and prayers were offered, in which the village people joined, kneeling on the ground outside, since there was not place for them within. Then forth came Saint Agnes again, a hymn was started, in which all took part, the little church bell pealed, and an old man touched off small heaps of gunpowder placed at equal distances along the parapet, their nearest approach, I suppose, to cannon. When the saint had reached her shrine again in safety, her journeyings over until the next year, the procession dissolved, and feasting began, the simple feasting of Italy, in which we joined so far as to partake of a lunch in the little inn, which had a green bush as a sign over the narrow door--the
gpt
proving very good, however, in spite of the old proverb. Then, refreshed, we climbed up the steep path leading to the peak where was perched the ruin of the old castle which is so conspicuous from Mentone, high in the air. This castle, the so-called
human
Saracen stronghold of Sant' Agnese, pronounced, as Baker said,
gpt
As our interesting friend (she meant the Professor)
human
said Mrs. Trescott, sinking in a breathless condition upon a Saracen block,
gpt
There is no history, said Verney,
human
which required long gazing at points where there was nothing earthly to be seen: in such cases there was probably something heavenly. Other
gpt
reveal themselves only to two persons at a time; if a third appears, immediately there is nothing to be seen. As to our own manner of looking at the Sant' Agnese view, I will mention that Mrs. Trescott looked at it from a snug corner, on a soft shawl, with her eyes closed. Mrs. Clary looked at it retrospectively, as it were; she began phrases like these:
human
When I was here three years ago-- pause, sigh, full stop.
gpt
Once I was here at sunset-- ditto. Janet, on a remote rock, looked at it, I think, amid a little tragedy from Inness, interrupted and made more tragic by the incursions of Baker, who would not be frowned away. Verney looked at it from a high niche in which he had incautiously seated himself for a moment, and now remained imprisoned, because Miss Elaine had placed herself across the entrance so that he could not emerge without asking her to rise; from this niche, like the tenor of _Trovatore_ in his tower, he occasionally sent across a Miserere to Janet in the distance, like this:
human
Do you ob--serve, Miss Trescott, the col--ors of the lem--ons below?