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. ‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. \"But you are so beautiful. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. “Very good,” he said. The twins weren’t far behind, they got put into the psych ward too. Some of their specimens—wonderfully selected, wonderfully got up. "Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced.
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