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’s got good taste, you know. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. CHAPTER I. " "That's the way it goes.
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