"He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. However, it doesn't much signify. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. ” “Thank you. There's the paragraph.
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