human
Angus, said Dalrymple.
gpt
My name is Angus. The abbess has caught a severe cold from sitting in a draught when she was overheated. It has immediately settled on her lungs, and you may be sent for at any moment. I passed by the back of the convent on my way down, and the gardener was just coming out of the postern. He told me.
human
Dear me, dear me! exclaimed Sor Tommaso, shaking his head.
gpt
Cold--bronchitis, pleurisy, pneumonia--it is soon done! One would be enough! Those nuns, what do they eat? A little grass, a little boiled paste, a little broth of meat on Sundays. What strength should they have? And then pray, pray, sing, sing! It needs a chest! Poor lungs! I will go to my home and get ready--blisters--mustard--a lancet--they will not allow a barber in the convent to bleed them. Well--I make myself the barber! What a life, what a life! If you wish to die young, be a doctor at Subiaco, Sor Angoscia. Good night, dear friend. Good night, Stefanone. I wish not to have said anything--you know--that little affair. Let us speak no more about it. I am more beast than you, because I said anything. Good night.