Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. After we have got the Vote and are recognized as citizens, then we can come to all these other things. ” She paused again. “Turn me. 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.
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