" "Miscreants!" cried Sheppard, almost driven frantic by the violence of his emotions; "you're all in league with him. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. 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. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis.
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