‘So it is that you have made Jacques betray me. 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. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. .
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