“The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. 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. She had fallen asleep. To-night we leave for Marseilles. And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. “But I wanted to see you.
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