“I suppose you’ll come to the point soon—if there is one. Charity for the ragtag and the bobtail of the Seven Seas, and none for his own flesh and blood. 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. Living’s just material. And now—Dear! Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me.
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