There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. 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 begin to fear I might be purposely go out of the way. As the secret door opened, the sounds within the house came at once to her ears: the tramping of feet above, and the hoarse voices echoing through the mansion. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling.
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