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. One of the sampans was hailed, and a ropeladder was lowered. ‘Madwoman,’ he screamed back, as he climbed over the next pew, eyes darting down briefly to check for his sword. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly.
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