“Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said. "I was born in the South Seas and I am on my way to America, to an aunt. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. Right now my heart is occupied. 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. I have work there.
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