Phœbe and the fire that boiled the teakettle were equally bright, cheerful, and efficient, in their respective offices.
The core was virtually unreachable at supercee velocities. So the Lost Star’s bleep has been sounding for eighty years, and no ship has reached her.
Yet one could easily fall into a habit of thinking Thompson a bit of an ass, amiable and solemn, but still assish.
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