“Absolutely platonically,” she said. 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. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. Perhaps he had had money in the coat, back in Hong-Kong, and had been robbed without knowing it.
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