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When she entered the office a strange scene was presented to her startled gaze. 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. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. Success to our enterprise!" "Success to our enterprise!" echoed the others, significantly. Mike was already on dishwasher duty when John rang the doorbell.
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This video was uploaded to thiruvalluvan.com on 21-09-2024 01:31:44
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