The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. “If they matter to you, they matter. 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. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside.
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