We were under the bridge, in exactly the same spot that we were when I began, and there were those two idiots, injuring themselves by violent laughing.

I had been grinding away like mad to keep that boat stuck still under that bridge.

I let other people pull up backwaters against strong streams now.
We sculled up to Walton, a rather large place for a riverside town.

As with all riverside places, only the tiniest corner of it comes down to the water, so that from the boat you might fancy it was a village of some half-dozen houses, all told.

Windsor and Abingdon are the only towns between London and Oxford that you can really see anything of from the stream.