“Sometimes it is not bad. She sighed with relief. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. 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. "Why do you laugh?" he asked. If she has no children, she goes on loving her husband; but he is no longer a man but a child.
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