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. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. "Come," said Wild, turning authoritatively to Jack,—"you have overstayed your time. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person.
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