“Nothing so base. He brought into service all his Oriental bar-room tricks. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. Back, that you may be close together. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. 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. You do not need my compliments. At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake.
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