Sheila grabbed the gun and laughed hysterically, brandishing the weapon and baying like a bear. 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. “Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. Hurled over the sides of the skiff, the ruffian speedily found a watery grave.
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