human
You have news of my husband?
gpt
None, said Michael,
human
That is no news, said the other drily.
gpt
He was ever that sort of man.
human
Your brother spoke of coming to a tryst. What tryst?
gpt
It was this way. Before the relief of York, it was agreed among the Riding Metcalfs that, if the battle sped, Ripley could look to its own needs. If the fight was lost, we were to come soon or syne—those left of us—to guard you.
human
In these evil modern times, are there still so many of the elder breed? One here and there I could understand, but not six-score of you.
gpt
There are fewer now. We lost a few at Bolton, and Marston Moor was worse. Those who are left will come in. Their word is pledged.