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The militia offered little in the way of relief. 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. I’ve never had these crying fits before. Call her Miss Pellissier, eh? I tell you she’s my wife, and I’ve got the certificate in my pocket. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired.
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