"Thames, this is no forgery. “How would you know?” Michelle’s interest was piqued. 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. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers.
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