Well, I told aunt. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. 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. The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell.
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