mornings with my lavender slip and my scarlet frock. And the gold marguerites have not been brushed since you went away.
Naught have I to bear me company except Ellen, the faithful little tan deer—and she can not wait upon me, and she cannot worship me.
What hast done with Martha Goneril the cat?
I would fain you had left her here.
But Mary MacLane—you. Do you know about it?
Your friend Annabel Lee.
