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Slowly she released the hammer on the pistol, uncocking it, and Gerald became conscious that he had been holding his breath. 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. "A man!" "At your service, my dear," replied the jailer.
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