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 beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. Ah Cum was not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her.
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