Edith Wharton’s ‘Echoes of the Past’ (Another Excerpt from Bing AI’s Wharton-Style Take on ‘Reunion’)

If you liked my earlier post, Edith Wharton’s ‘Echoes of the Past’ (‘Reunion’ Reimagined in Wharton’s Style by Bing AI), here’s an additional scene from Reunion as “reimagined” in the style of Edith Wharton by Microsoft’s OpenAI Bing chatbot.

(That post also includes a detailed explanation of why I am using OpenAI to rewrite bits and pieces of my novella in the voices of famous authors.)

While I like 99.9690357299% of Reunion and am happy with the final product, there’s one scene in the novella that I am particularly fond of. It comes late in the book, and I tried to make it sweet, funny, and poignant, as well as believable. I’m not sure if I succeeded; no one who has read it has ever said, “Well, I like X Scene…” or “I think Scene Y was epic!” But as a reader, I would say that the scene I chose for Bing to reinvent is my favorite.

I looked at her, imprinting every feature of her aspect on my mind. She was clad in worn denim trousers, a white and orange garment bearing the legend SOUTH MIAMI CHORUS, white hose and an old pair of canvas shoes. Her brown locks were gathered in a simple knot. She had scarcely adorned her face with any artifice; a trace of darkening here, a touch of colour there, a dab of gloss to enhance her lips. She was startlingly, achingly lovely.

BING AI CHATBOT (IN THE STYLE OF EDITH WHARTON)

‘Echoes of the Past’ – Another Excerpt

She rose from one of the scanty chairs that had escaped the general removal and gave me a timid half-smile. “So, you have come to take leave of me?” Marty said.

I looked at her, imprinting every feature of her aspect on my mind. She was clad in worn denim trousers, a white and orange garment bearing the legend SOUTH MIAMI CHORUS, white hose and an old pair of canvas shoes. Her brown locks were gathered in a simple knot. She had scarcely adorned her face with any artifice; a trace of darkening here, a touch of colour there, a dab of gloss to enhance her lips. She was startlingly, achingly lovely.

My heart gave a throb. “I could not depart without beholding you, you know,” I said.

She smiled. “Nonsense; I daresay you make the same speech to every girl.”

“It is true,” I said. “And no, I do not make the same speech to every girl.”

She smiled again. “I understand,” she said. “How did you fare on your final?”

“Passably, I suppose. And you?”

She made a gesture of indifference. “Tolerably, I imagine. Biology is not my forte. I shall be content if I obtain a 75.”

I ventured a faint smile. “I have no doubt you did better than that,” I said.

Another gesture of indifference. “We shall see.” She sighed. “What?” I asked.

“Is it not strange to think of it?” she asked wistfully.

“Think of what?”

“That this,” she said with a sweeping motion, “part of our lives is ended, Jimmy. Three years have flown by swiftly, have they not?”

“Yes – yes, they have,” I said, feeling suddenly as if the heavens and the earth had been laid on my shoulders. I felt my smile fade. I slumped forward and let out a deep breath.

“I regret it,” she said unexpectedly.

“What?”

“That we never had the chance to perform that duet together. Do you not recall? For the Spring Concert?”

“Oh, yes. What was that song we were to sing?” I asked.

She put her right hand on her hip and feigned displeasure at me. “James Garraty, do not tell me you have forgotten.”

I gave her a roguish who, me look. When she smiled, I said in a more earnest tone: “‘Somewhere,’ from West Side Story.”