He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. It’s artificially chance. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. 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. They're on the forward lounge in the saloon.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 29-05-2024 07:59:04
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