The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. ‘Is she the Frenchie we’ve been watching for then, sir?’ The lady’s furious features turned on this new target. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. 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.
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