She sat herself upon the bed. “Pray accept my apologies. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. If not, I'll convey him to St. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. But don't let my name frighten you. 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. He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. After all, that was life.
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