Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. Maggot. You do not believe me. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman.
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