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 was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. But her great-aunt was
nodding, as if this was what she had expected. “Oh. Their momentary absence
seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding
appeared to subsist between them. “So I see that you have become content with your
hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your
Martin Chen!”
“Who?”
“Your limp-wristed lover!”
“Um. And it
hampers us. John Sheppard. Your purposes are defeated.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 28-06-2024 12:43:30