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. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. He found his youngest daughter intrusive in his thoughts all through the morning, and still more so in the afternoon. And look down, so. "You have lived over here?"—astonished.
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