Kneebone took his leave. He had become an extremely handsome man, his hair having darkened and his shoulders having realized their full size. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. “Heavens!” exclaimed Ann Veronica, with extraordinary passion. 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. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. He saw her eyes pass him and settle on a fleetingly pretty strawberry blond girl and her effeminate father.
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