There was a long silence between them. On weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy that he resolved to descend, and inform him of his misgivings. He looked melancholy enough, it is true. How is she?” “My sister is quite well, thank you,” she answered. He understood. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. There's something queer about that young man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. The burden of decision had been transferred. 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.
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