"Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. I followed you home on the train. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly.
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