In this cell was a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was perpetually hallooing after the hounds;—in that, the most melancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of "moody madness, laughing wild. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later.
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