human
at home: what's the use of its being strong, if it can't make foreigners speak our language? What's the good of missionary enterprise, when here's a Christian man, within twelve hours of London, who can't get a shirt-button sewn on for want of the Parisian accent? I said
gpt
plain enough, I'm sure; and a button's a button all the world over. If it had not been for that excellent Susan, the English chambermaid, I should have perished in this place, of what the coroner's inquests call
human
All depends, as every one knows, on a man's shirt-button: if _that_ goes wrong, everything goes, and one's attire is a wreck. But I suppose after to-day my wife will see to that,--though she is a Montmorenci. Constance de Montmorenci, that's her name: she's descended (she says) from a Constable of France. It's a more English-seeming name than _gendarme_, and I like her for that; but I am afraid we shan't have much in common--except my property. She don't speak English very fluently: she called me
gpt
the other day, instead of
human
If you persist in this wicked and perverse resolve, said I,