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. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. You complain of a condition, but you leave the correction to someone else. ’ I said. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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