The job is easy. “Guineas, of course,” Mr. “We’ll clean up everything tidy,” said Capes. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. 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 was also a curious interview at a big hotel with a middle-aged, white-powdered woman, all covered with jewels and reeking of scent, who wanted a Companion. He entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him.
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