“You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. ” Ann Veronica read this letter through with grave, attentive eyes. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. I tried it myself, Sir. You don’t want to look like Bozo. 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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