‘You ain’t got nothing on me. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants. 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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