The wings stopped. 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. It is not every sort of creature needs—these males. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. “Have you ever kissed a guy before?” She rolled the tissue into a ball in her lap and stared at it. Aren't we funny? And just as I was beginning to lose faith in human beings, to have someone like this come along! It is almost as if she were acting a rôle, and she isn't.
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