"I do," replied Thames, in the same tone; "we haven't a moment to lose. Bon. 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’s a snob. What she actually wanted was the present state of affairs to continue indefinitely. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often.
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