But, after all, it will be different. And rather unscrupulous. 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. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. .
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