Here would be the true test of his
strength. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or
habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head,
harmonized with her masculine appearance. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely
English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. 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.
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This video was uploaded to kooplokaalmontferland.info on 07-07-2024 01:21:54