human
I _can't_ do this. It's _impossible_. What a brute I am growing, thought Cleve, awaking to realities.
gpt
There's nothing for it, I believe, but patience. If I were now to press for an answer, she would say 'No;' and were I to ask admission at the house at this hour, what would she--what would Miss Sheckleton, even, think of me? If I had nerve to go away and forget her, I should be happier--quite happy and quite good-for-nothing, and perfectly at my uncle's disposal. As it is, I'm _miserable_--a miserable _fool_. Everything against it--even the girl, I believe; and I here--partly in a vision of paradise, partly in the torments of the damned, wasting my life in the dream of an opium-eater, and without power to break from it, and see the world as it is.