V. Stanley. 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. This left Spurlock alone. This astute personage was somewhat under the middle size, but fairly proportioned, inclining rather to strength than symmetry, and abounding more in muscle than in flesh. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them. She was frightfully hungry. New customs have prevailed over the old.
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