Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window.
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