Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. "Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. Well, this is OUR thing. They are not your flowers. We are off for a second honeymoon. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry.
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