” They clambered down the hill together. 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. ’ ‘Perfectly correct, my boy. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. "Your servant, Sir Rowland," said the stranger, ducking his head, as he advanced. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending.
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