She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. Listen, you. Smith," observed Wood. 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. “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box. “I did it for love of you,” he said. Somehow or other his reputation as a hardened and unassailable bachelor had won for him during the last few years a comparative immunity from attentions on the part of those women with whom he had been brought into contact. Books! Aren't they wonderful?" The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secret doorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned.
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