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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. There it was—to be borrowed. Wary they might be. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword.
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This video was uploaded to linkbaronet4.com on 22-07-2024 20:18:25
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