As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. "She is. You got my note?” “I certainly received a note,” Anna admitted. Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. 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. . \"I guess so. But it is the truth. I’ve had a headache all day.
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