It would make the young wife unhappy. 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. “I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q. And the change, the change of attitude! The way all the old clingingness has been thrown aside is amazing. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure. Come with me, Langley, and bring the lantern. “Pellissier,” she repeated thoughtfully.
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