human
A ripping holiday, old man, said Eves as the friends parted.
gpt
Lay in a stock of bright ideas for next year.
human
How long will you be, Bob?
gpt
Can’t say: perhaps twenty minutes. You needn’t shout.
human
Jolly sensitive, ain’t you? What about my tender spots? After I’ve taken the trouble to write to your Aunt Caroline for your address, and got it, with yards and yards of advice to a young man, and then sacrificed a day of my leave to hunt you up, you won’t spare a jiff to talk to a fellow, and when I ask you a civil question, tell me not to shout, with the wind roaring like a barrage, and that wretched machine squeaking like——
gpt
Oh, come now, Tom, that’s not fair! said Templeton.
human
I told you I must finish grinding these valves, then I’m free. And as for talking, I can hear you quite well; that’s all that matters, isn’t it?
gpt
Been cultivating repartee with your C.O., I suppose, remarked Eves.
human
Or else your naturally amiable disposition has broken down under the tender mercies of the Boche. Aunt Caroline warned me, I admit: said you had undergone great mental strain, underlined, and were feverishly anxious to repair your wasted life, underlined twice. What did the Boche do to you, Bobby, old man?
gpt
Tell you by and by: must finish this job.