A neat tale, giving little away. Melusine sighed with frustration. She looked around her. 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. ‘Melusine was making herself mistress of them when we met. His first inquiries were concerning the child, and he was delighted to find that it still lived and was doing well. I didn't understand then, but I do now.
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