human
Poor chile, poor honey! Hagar's sorry fur ye. It's a dreadful t'ing not ter know de Lord; ain't it, chile? Can't do nuffin widout him, somehow. But Hagar hopes ye'll find him; she hopes ye'll find him dis berry night. 'Pears like he ain't fur off dis awful night; an', O Lord Jesus! --folding her hands reverently, and looking toward the sea as if she saw her Redeemer walking there,--
gpt
Gull began to break in pieces and float ashore. The fishermen had enough to do to snatch the boxes and bales which the sea hurled up. As yet, none of the
human
Gull's