Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. 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. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said. He heard the woman talking again.
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