Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. 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. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. Think, ma’am. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury.
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