As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. "Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. 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 arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour.
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