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 was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. His brows drew a little nearer together. She felt his whole mind sounding in ecstasy. He'll be here two or three days. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town.
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