There were three exit doors. 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. The practice has been common for thousands of years. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights.
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