Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. “Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. 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.
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