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You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. I heard from David about you only this morning. But she did not speak. "But, pardon my intrusion. 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.
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