Even her debt to him was a triviality now. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. 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. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury.
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