A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. “I think everything’s right,” said Ann Veronica, with the roaming eye of a capable but not devoted house-mistress. " With this, they dismounted; and fastening their horses to a tree, proceeded towards the house. How dreary it all looks. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps.
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