human
You are thinking of your dead? she said, in her brisk, imperative way.
gpt
Laddie, do you not guess that the dead are thinking, too, of you?
human
They rest where they lie,
gpt
Oh, go to kirk more often, and learn that they know more than we do. These twenty Yoredale men, they are not dead—they watch you from the Heights.
human
My lady, said Christopher, with a smile made up of weariness,
gpt
I am a plain man of my hands, like all my folk. I have no gift for dreams.
human
Nor I, she agreed.
gpt
When wounds conquer all your pride of strength—when you are laid by, and weak as a little child—ask yourself if I spoke dreams or living truth.