human
But there's no quilting frolic; no supper; no dance;--nothing more than a yellow-haired slip of a wench busy knitting there in the sun, and looking at none o' them but intent on her needles and with that faint smile she wears----
gpt
Go court her,
human
You'll court her yourself, one day! he shouted after me, as he gathered bridle.
gpt
And if you do, God help you, John Drogue, for they say she's a born disturber of quiet men's minds, and mistress of a very mischievous and deadly art!
human
What art?
gpt
The art o' love!