Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly. 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. Look at the poor victim at your feet. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head.
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