B. I'm a bit daffy about music. CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. Kneebone he's not here. Its smooth surface soothed her nerves. 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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