” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. 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. ’ ‘Gammon!’ burst from the captain, who had just tossed off a glass of Madeira.
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