‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. 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. You could walk the city streets and with every blink you could take in a new sight of beauty so great that your heart would weep for it.
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