She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. He moaned in excitement as his lips wrapped around the peak of her right breast. " "Six," he corrected. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. 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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