Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. The less she lived, in fact, the better. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. 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. But he did not follow on with the thought. "Maybe he realized that he was slipping fast and thought a fine action might give him a hand-hold on life again. A new thought checked her steps and she froze. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared.
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