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. ’ ‘Wait!’ Leaning forward, Hilary tapped on the panel. She hated the manor. " "What's that?" asked Wood with some curiosity. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid.
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