"I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors. “I found not one but two photos when I researched the death of the McCloskeys. 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. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Before Jonathan followed he turned to face his assailants. But what's to be done?" "The first thing I do," replied Jack, "will be to visit my poor mother in Bedlam.
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