"Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. He was staring at her, openly gaping. "But don't ever let me see them again. 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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