Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. 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. Even now she was dazed. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. Clean water.
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This video was uploaded to pbnplace.com on 05-07-2024 00:08:18
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