“And yet I do it without compunction. But you are Annabel. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. 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.
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