human
Where are the rest?
gpt
Serving the King, wife, wherever they be. I’ll go warrant for a Metcalf beyond the gates of this world.
human
A hundred and twenty rode out. Fifty and two return. The sunshine hurts me.
gpt
They did well—no man can do more.
human
I—I shall pray that this bitterness may go from me. I shall hope to tell them—oh, a little later on—that it is good to die for the King’s Majesty.
gpt
Metcalfs, well done—oh, well done! I am proud of my living—and my dead.
human
God rest their souls, wife. They have harvested their corn.