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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. If so I shall have to leave. But David Courtlaw has been here. “Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along. The curtain rose out of the concluding bars of the overture and revealed Isolde on the prow of the barbaric ship.
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