“Yeah. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions. "He never let me keep a dog or a cat about the house. ” “Very sad—very sad indeed,” he remarked uneasily. “P. As pretty as its owner. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. ” Michelle nodded in solemn agreement.
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