Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. Your aunt and I have discussed all this matter. But she did not bother her head very much about her relations with these sympathizers. 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. "Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth.
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