"It's more than I am," muttered Thames. 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. Somehow logic could not explain her. But she veiled her feelings. No one will ever love you as I love you now. Spurlock slept on. He’s been 274 lookin’ a little down lately. " "Afraid?" "Yes. He made her tell him the core of the difficulty. I miss them so.
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