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. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner. But that title he would not endure. You have changed from the veriest butterfly to a woman—you wear different clothes, you have the air of another world. Part 7 That was two days before Christmas Eve.
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