Charcoal. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. 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. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper.
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