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CHAPTER XIV. Cathy Beck was terribly upset and was on the verge of exploding. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. But, you see, she HAS to lie up. "O God!" he exclaimed, "I am severely punished. “I can’t keep away from you. We'll have him on his way before many days. You have taken even my knife. “Shari told me. It must be the dawn creeping in. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. 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. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters.
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