“Poor old Alice!” Her brother Roddy came to her and demanded tea, and asked her to state a case. 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 sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed.
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