He was too drunk to wake.

His hands and his coat-sleeves, the table all about him, were foul beyond words, but he slept on in the midst of it all, inert, stupefied, a great swarm of flies buzzing about his head and face.

It was the day after this that he had come to see Geary.
"Ah," said Geary, as he came up, "it's you, is it?
Well, I didn't expect to see you again.

Sit down outside there in the hall and wait a few minutes.

I'm not ready to go yet--or, wait; here, I tell you what to do." Geary wrote off a list of articles on a slip of paper and pushed it across the table toward Vandover, together with a little money.