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. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 01-10-2024 15:51:53