Courtlaw rose to his feet. I didn’t know he had Italian relatives. . 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. I waited for her at the back. So this was what it was all about. He embraced her like her father once had. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. I thought every one had heard about it. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. “In a sort of beautiful garden-close—wearing lovely dresses and picking beautiful flowers?” “Ah! If one could!” “While those other girls trudge to business and those other women let lodgings. Ask your own conscience. It was hot and dry. Her confession was still unmade.
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