"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. 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. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner.
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