She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. Before I sit down, I have a toast to propose, which I am sure will be received, as it deserves to be, with enthusiasm. Immediately after it, he was off again, and that, let me tell you, was the last anyone saw of him. .
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