“Where have you been! If Sheila finds out, she’ll kill you!” She summoned a few tears to elicit sympathy from him. He stabbed into her with brute force. 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. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
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