‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. 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. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. Ruth met him in the hall as he was following his family into the dining room.
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