On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. I get your side all right. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. 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. They were really very fine and abundant, with a blaze of perennial sunflowers behind them.
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