Not MY affair. "I've done nothing to offend you," persisted Jack. “I cannot conceive,” he said, “how any other occupation could ever have occurred to you. 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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