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. Horrible details recurred to her. \"I'm going to his baseball game, he's pitching for Lincoln, and then I believe he is taking me to dinner. I shall never come back. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. ‘How did you get in? The house is all locked up.
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