My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage. Michelle and Missy chatted vigorously in the front seat, oblivious to both the world and other cars on the road. 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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