Each time that we meet I try to kill you. To-morrow I am going to Paris. She stared at him. 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. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight. I have a big breakfast. But it looked as if the boy was not going to be of much use.
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