one thin fancy and another the look of her lily face is above all things profound.
And when her mood and its expression are most reckless of logic the look of her face is the model of one giving out platitudes in all open candor and reasonableness.
I have been led by these looks of her face to see some varying visions of my friend Annabel Lee.
One is a vision of her as a capable, elderly maiden aunt, one who stands ready in sickness and in health to do for me, and cooks little meat pies for me, and tells me when I'm spending too much money, and what to do for a cold.
One is a vision of her as a playful child-companion who is with me in all my summer days, and shares all her quaint thoughts with me, and asks me countless
