” “I wish,” said Ann Veronica, with sudden anger, “that you could know what it is to live in a pit!” She stood up as she spoke, and put down her cup beside Miss Garvice’s. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. Wild. "As I could wish!" cried Jonathan. 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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