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. He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. ‘Here we go again. I’d need to be out of my senses.
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