So Mrs. He embraced her fully. 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. But the young man with the orange tie remained in his place, disputing whether the body had not something or other which he called its legitimate claims. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. “It is unimportant,” she said.
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