155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. 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. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. The morning swims in the lagoon had thickened the red corpuscle. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. She helped him take it off. ‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth so that he might open the door. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. Expiation.
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