” Drummond shook his head in melancholy fashion. Then he relaxed back a little, and let the weapon dangle from his fingers. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. 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.
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