‘I can see why you lost your place, young Kimble. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. He was now at the entrance of the chapel, and striking the door over which he had previously climbed a violent blow with the bar, it flew open. 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. Kneebone!" "That you would not accept him were he to offer—" "Be silent, Sir. " CHAPTER XI.
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