“Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. ‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind. You are different, Lucia, undamaged even after what you have been through, still pure of heart. 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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