“Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. 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. "Leave him to me," he said. She glanced into his face. The image of Major Alderley came into her mind. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. She liked to cook even though normal food was not nourishing to her.
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