She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. 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 should feel that I had been obliged to find some one else to fight my battles for me.
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