The first peg was torture. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. I was the last on board.
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