He was damned if he knew what to do. 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. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. He stepped quickly towards her. She woke up choking and belching water. Satisfied that he had solved his difficulty, he proceeded to his room. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below.
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