human
As I sing too, Mr. Brunetti, we're companions in soul, she said.
gpt
But, unfortunately, when _I_ sing, my soul does not come to my eyes, as yours does.
human
The comfort of Waddy is that you can make mince-meat of him to his face, when you feel savage, and he never knows it,
gpt
Mrs. Tracy, for the moment not called upon to extend her tightly gloved hand to either arriving or departing guests, expanded her fingers furtively, in order to rest them, and glanced about her. Her rooms were full; there was a steady murmur of conversation; the air was filled with the perfume of flowers and the aroma of tea, and there were suggestions also of the _petits fours_, the _bouchées aux confitures_, and the delicate Italian sandwiches which Raffaello was carrying about with the air of an affectionate younger brother. Waddy, who cherished a vision of Dorothy coming to get a cup of tea for her mother (Waddy had noticed upon other Saturdays that