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. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. ‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly.
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