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. . Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. The Widgett method of thought puzzled her weakly rhetorical mind. Until that was done a certain experience of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s approach. It was easy to recognize, the one thing that had stayed the same over the years.
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