“When one wants a thing more than anything else in the world,” she said with outrageous frankness, “one naturally wishes one had it. 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. ’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy. His frowning gaze came back to her. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. He felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years.
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