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. A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. Can't I make you see?" "But I'm telling you Ruth loves you. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision.
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