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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. He continued alternately to be tossed in the air, or rolled in the kennel until he was borne out of sight. She thought of Sebastian who often returned from the charnel house that the outside world had become. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged.
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