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 tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine.
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