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. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. Maybe it’s his loss. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. He had not noticed the girl particularly when she offered the sandwiches; but in this moment he found her beautiful. I came to beg you instead to do me the honour of becoming my wife. The pistol fell to the floor. He figures them out, though. Such was the terror inspired by Wild's vindictive character, that few durst face him who had given him cause for displeasure. "That's an incorrigible rascal," he added, as Sheppard closed the door; "it's only to-day that I discovered—" "What?" asked Jackson, pricking up his ears. She turned her head away sharply.
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