“Let me see,” she said to herself, trying to control a slight sinking of the heart, “I am going to take a room in a lodging-house because that is cheaper. How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged. My Mom is hell bent on having the biggest, most beautiful house in the neighborhood, my college education be damned. 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. It had not tasted good since 1350.
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