human
I loathe the tongue-tied folk! Battle, and audience with the King, and wayfaring from Yoredale down to Oxford—have they left you mute?
gpt
Less talkative, he agreed;
human
I’ve seen men die.
gpt
You are older, graver, more likeable. And yet I—I like you less. There was no need—surely there was no need to—to let others tell me of the ferry-steps at Knaresborough.
human
The ferry-steps?
gpt
So you’ve forgotten that poor maid as well. I pity Miss Bingham now. Why do women hate each other so? Instead, they should go into some Sisterhood of Pity, hidden away from men.
human
They should, assented Christopher;
gpt
And now you laugh at me. Oh, I have heard it all! How pleasantly Nidd River runs past the ferry-steps. She is beautiful, they tell me.
human
I have no judgment in these matters. Ask Michael—he was there with me in Knaresborough.
gpt
Nidd River—yes, she is beautiful.
human
It was Miss Bingham we talked of. I—oh! I have heard such wonderful tales of her. She glamours men, they say.
gpt
She glamoured me, Miss Grant—on my faith, she did—whenever Kit would leave her side. The kindest eyes that ever peeped from behind a lattice.
human
Miss Bingham seems to be prodigal of the gifts that heaven has given her.
gpt
True charity, believe me—to spend what one has, and spend it royally.
human
She seems, indeed, to be a very perfect hoyden. Oh, I am weary! Marston Moor is lost. Ripley is lost. Are we going to ride for ever along dreary roads?
gpt
Three of us go on foot—Kit the baby, Elizabeth and I. We have no grumbles.
human
If the end of the world came—here and now—you would make a jest of it.
gpt
Hi, Meccas, all! The enemy’s in front.