She felt terrible lying to him. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. 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 is why I ask you.
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