Threw it out. 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. "Not materially, Mr. Things happen to women—proper women—and all they have to do is to take them well. I’m going to tell you things plainly. She was not a Christian woman. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. It was so difficult to put precisely.
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