’ ‘Why should you care?’ demanded Roding, exasperated. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. 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. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. Hers is quite the most exclusive set in London.
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