"The speedy union of Thames Darrell with Winifred Wood," replied Jack. It was years before your time. E. Life is so good. 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 had finally managed to start breaking him down. ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. In one grave, mind.
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