human
DEAR POTTER,--I can't stand it any longer. I sha'n't live another day with my father. He's a savage and I'm afraid of him. She was not in the least afraid of him, but feminine instinct told her this would be an appealing touch. Her hand traveled to the arm her father had clutched and she became conscious that it pained her. She stood up and removed her waist to examine the arm. It was bruised, swollen, rapidly blackening, and the marks of his ruthless fingers were plain. She sat down to write again.
gpt
My arm, she wrote,
human
He'll have sense enough to know what to do.