“Just leave them with me for now, Clotilde. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. 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. I’ve wanted you—always. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously.
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