"No bones broken, I hope," said Thames, laughing at Jack, who limped towards the bench, rubbing his shins as he went. ” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face. There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. 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. It is no good going into that. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United States.
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