’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. Jackson. I’m leaving you, and you can’t stop me. Where the stuff came from was always a mystery. 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 was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room.
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