” She laughed softly to herself. "He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. 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. She shivered, more due to his presence than the changing weather. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home.
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