“You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. 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. I will be as silent as the grave. She held out the foil. “If only Sir John were not Sir John I would ask you to come and have some supper. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart.
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