"Continue the proceedings. 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. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. CHAPTER XII.
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