She false-heartedly fawned upon Mr. Gilson, and inquired: Is there anything very exciting going on at the mills, Gene?

It feels like doing eighty on the freeway / as little towns agglomerate and blur:

'Not on your nellie. Nobody's to know about this.

You rise by candle-light or gaslight, swearing / There never was a climate made like ours; / If rashly you go out to take an airing, / The soot-flakes come in black Plutonian show'rs.