There is currently no text in this page. You can search for this page title in other pages, or , but you do not have permission to create this page.
There is a kind of laughter that sickens the soul. Laughter out of control: when it screams and stamps its feet, and sets the bells jangling in the next town. Laughter in all its ignorance and its cruelty. Laughter with the seed of Satan in it. It tramples upon shrines, the belly-roarer. It roars, it yells, it is delirious: and yet it is as cold as ice. It has no humour. It is naked noise and naked malice.