” The shock of their intellectual attitude was over, usage robbed it of the first quaint effect of deliberate unreason. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. Certainly I would not murder monsieur le major, even that he has made a threat to beat me. Some rustic hand had written upon the door "JACK SHEPPARD'S CAGE;" and upon the wall was affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward for his capture. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word.
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