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" "Very well. You are the High Priestess of Life. 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 all this business has driven it clean out of my head. Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. She leaves town to-morrow.
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