At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. 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. Listen to me, Thames. " "I have often conjured up some frightful vision of the dead," murmured the knight, "but I never dreamed of an interview with the living. " He stared at the agitated curtain; and slowly his chin sank until it touched his chest. “I’m not in the mood right this instant. I don’t have to take this shit. ‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction.
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