“And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. 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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