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The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis
Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. I understand. ’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. The man who staggers,
whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has
some chance; liquor bends him eventually. CHAPTER III. It was after all a momentary affair. His eyes were fixed
upon the tablecloth. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her
expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. 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. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. But machinery will never
approach the hand. ‘A little promenade, madame?’
Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little
rustle of her silken petticoats.
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This video was uploaded to m.damaulifm.org on 01-07-2024 16:03:32