In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. He said that his life was boring and stupid without 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 flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. The Iron Bar. Put on that new dress—the one that's all white.
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