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. Folks don’t like ’em. You can come back for these, for you’ll carry him to the gatehouse, that’s what you’ll do. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. Wasn’t it—a little bit of a scene?” “Oh! let me see. "Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. " "Not quite, I hope," rejoined Sheppard. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. My motive in coming hither is to serve you, and save your life.
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