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. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. ’ ‘None of your sauce, Alderley,’ rejoined the general, shaking hands with Hilary who came forward to greet him. “I don’t believe there is one.
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