"Utterly," reiterated Jack, gloomily,—"as regards all I hold dear. I’m a soldier, you see. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. ” He shook his head, and his eyes and the mouth under the black mustache wrinkled with his smile.
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