"Here's the door. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. 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.
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