Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. Martha said to me that it must come to the bibliothéque. 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.
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