She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. "No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. If you can imagine it, I survived 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. Has your ladyship any further commands?" "None whatever.
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