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. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. He gripped the window-sill behind him. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. ‘She’s gone. ‘Which presupposes that she needs to hide at all. She held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. “Very likely,” he answered.
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