. 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. “What can you do?” she asked. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. Lovers' confidences should be respected.
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