’ ‘As if you could stop her. A woman is supposed to know when a man is in love with her. 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 picked at her sandwich idly. Lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to Snow Hill. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension.
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