She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. 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. The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her. She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. ” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them. ’ Joan sniffed.
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