human
I said you had done gone plum crazy, she cried,
gpt
Shut up, you old harridan! returned Gilcrest.
human
Nobody's going to strike your mistress, or her daughter either. Take your Miss Jane to her room, and attend to her.
gpt
I doan lebe dis room tell I speaks my min' 'bout yo' ongodly carryin' on an' yo' shameful 'buse ob my sweet lamb, my own Miss Betsy.
human
Shut up, I tell you!
gpt
I woan shet up. I will speak my min'!
human
I'll cowhide you, you black witch!
gpt
Whip me? Ole Dilsey? 'Deed you woan! Ef you lays de weight ob a fingah on me, I'll t'ar you limb f'um limb! She faced him, arms akimbo, eyes snapping, and defiance in every line of her tall figure and in every fold of her red turban.
human
Does you think I'se feared ob you? Me, whut nussed an' tended you when you wuz a pore, sickly baby, an' bossed you, an' spanked yo' back sides many a time when you wuz a streprous, mis-che-vous boy?
gpt
Leave the room this instant!
human
Nary step does I budge tell I frees my mind, answered Dilsey with determination.
gpt
Hain't you no bowels ob marcy fur yo' own flesh an' blood? Is you done persessed by de Debble, dat you treats dat pore lamb so, whut hain't done nuthin' but be true to her sweetheart? Yo' fust borned chile, too, yo' leetle gal whut you kissed an' cried obah fur joy when ole Dilsey fotch her to you; an' you tuck her in yo' arms, de tears runnin' down yo' cheeks an' yo' voice trem'lin' an' a-shakin', ez you thanked de good Lawd fur yo' purty black-eyed baby gal, an' fur bringin' yo' pore young wife safe frew her trial!
human
There, there, Dilsey, said Gilcrest, moved in spite of himself by her rough eloquence.
gpt
You have entirely misconceived the situation. I had no intention of striking either your mistress or Miss Betsy. Leave off your foolish raving, and help me get your Miss Jane to her bed. Don't you see she is not able to stand? Then to his daughter he added,
human
If all this excitement and trouble make your mother really ill, it is your fault, you rebellious girl.
gpt
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung; 'She is won! we are gone--over bank, bush and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth Young Lochinvar.