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. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. While the girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl from brooding over hers.
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