See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. Here was one that subtly mocked her. His eyes swept down and Melusine felt the quiver at her lips where he gazed. 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.
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