‘I escape from a fate entirely misérable, you understand. Hill, Meysey Hill. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with 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. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. "'Sblood!" exclaimed Jonathan, hastily thrusting the ring into his vest, and taking up a heavy horseman's pistol with which he had felled Blueskin,—"I thought you'd been senseless. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. It was Martin, she could hear his heart beat. After he had endured this torture for an hour, at a sign from Wild another hundred weight was added.
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