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. She decided to call in the help of Teddy Widgett, or, failing him, of one of his sisters. ‘But―but how can he know?’ His soldier’s instinct overtook Gerald and he dropped all his insouciance in a bang, becoming brisk. It gave him plenty of time to obsess over his random crushes, which worried her. "Don't stir," replied Jack. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. And even if that,’ she added bitterly, ‘he must be also a person of a disposition extremely mad, that he can go against the family. “They might do you good,” she remarked.
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