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CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. It isn't friendly as I thought it would be. 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. “Thank goodness!” said that retreating aspect, “that’s said and over. ToC After running to some distance down Seacoal Lane, Jack stopped to give a last look at the vehicle which was bearing away the remains of his beloved and illfated mother. ‘Wait, Jacques! I will find the way to open this. "And so I want the boy out of the way," he concluded.
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