’ Rather to his surprise, she obeyed this injunction as he led her up two flights of stairs to the first floor. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. 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. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. It never has had. I couldn’t help the thought.
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