It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. 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 his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. Again silence. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. " He did not reply.
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