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. He had no wish to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun.
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