“I’m really very sorry. But the sheer immensity of the tract! James Boyle was certainly up against it, hard. 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. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. ” “Where?” Courtlaw asked quickly.
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