He smiled inwardly. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. Courtlaw—Lady Mackinnor. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. " A peculiar smile illuminated Jack's features. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure.
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