” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. A white man takes his life in his hands. I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t a bit understand. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes.
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