Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. 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. ‘Rather would I die than fall in with such a plan. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything.
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