“Well,” said Capes, at length, “we’ve to go down, Ann Veronica. 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. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island.
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