“Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. This she would not endure. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue. 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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