Explore "The Sporting Chance" by Claude Askew on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Some seven or eight days after the sale of Castor, Captain Armitage reclined at his ease in the dilapidated arm-chair which he particularly affected. He had grown to like the untidiness and the dirt of his dismal little sitting-room, and he would not have altered his immediate surroundings for anything better, even had he been able to do so.
It was about nine o'clock at night. He had partaken of a meagre supper -- he never ate much at the best of times -- served up in haphazard fashion by the one wretched serving maid, a poor little slut, who did the whole work of the house. The plates and dishes had not been cleared away but were piled up anyhow on a clothless table by his side, and within easy reach of his hand was a bottle of champagne, three parts empty, with which he had been regaling himself. Close by, too, was another bottle which contained brandy; Captain Armitage was very fond of champagne, only he used to say that he preferred it diluted -- but he was accustomed to dilute it with brandy instead of water.