“For nothing, do you call it?” he declared. “This means a plunge. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You should have gone to Charvill. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. 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. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway.
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