The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. Every other wall comprised bookcases, except where the doors appeared. 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. It will be altogether you. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended. That is what my mother used to call me. "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him.
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