Sheppard," rejoined Winifred kindly. That’s— that’s my private life. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. Stanley’s pace slackened. ‘Damnation!’ Confused, he released her, and in an instant she had darted away and was running down the garden. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive. 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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