She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. “Ask me nothing. 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. She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. They’re in grad school and they both live in New York. Can I be of any assistance? I can assure you that it would give me very much pleasure. Then, naturally, I went on talking. He smiled. I see.
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