. ” She said to them, raising her head to speak, her voice unsteady. 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. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. “Better state of mind,” she gasped.
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