“You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks. Mr. ” She relented. Ruth could not be told now. The boy was coming around. 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. When you reach San Francisco, you can buy something more appropriate. Deuce take it! I was very near spelling my name with one P.
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