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. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. I don't think he'll come to himself too soon.
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