Only a book detective could dope this out. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. "Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,—"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him. The future was not so black.
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