“And yet I wonder whether the world ever held such another enigma in her sex. 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. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them.
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