She touched his erect penis and delicately curled her fingers around it, moving her hand back and forth slowly and gently. 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. Hang the wench! Roding was right. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a decisive crisis. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned. But one day he came to me.
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