What a fool I was to separate the two in my mind. She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. 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. Pardon! I wish to say, for your granddaughter, we seek succour. But we get over it.
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