His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. Well, he was executed for murder. 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. As her belly swelled, so did he. "Drink your peg; don't bother about me. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers.
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