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. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. It did not occur to her that they at least had found a way of earning a living, and had that much economic superiority to herself. Honestly, I never did. "Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion.
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