“No!” he said aloud at last. They shall hear of me no more. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. 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. Before her was a great Gothic portal.
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