He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl. He felt her observance and warmed to it. 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.
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