” she said. Mr. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind.
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