’ He laughed. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. It was a society column about the richest men in the world and their lavish parties. Ascertaining that it was Sheppard of whom this concourse was in pursuit, the two horsemen leapt the hedge, and were presently close upon him. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. She will take me in until I can make some plans. 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. But with Gosse and the woman in prison here, there is always the chance that the whole affair may be raked up all over again.
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