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. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his arms and forming a tented cage. The splendid voices sang on from phase to phase of love’s unfolding, the ship drove across the sea to the beating rhythm of the rowers. \"This is my best friend, Mark. Then the inner door opened abruptly. Then, seeing Melusine’s feathered beaver had fallen to the floor, picked that up for her. The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem. \" Lucy said.
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