It was no wonder, there was no money to buy food for the house. “Forty guineas a week. 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. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. He was an imaginative young man.
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