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“I think,” she said, “that I rather like what you have said. 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. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. Spurling. “Enter Sir John, very honest, very much in love with me. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid.
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