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" Austin readily complied with her request. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. 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. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball. At length, the body was brought towards him. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband.
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