Arthur L. Brown, The cinnamon heart (1881)
“ Eben.—To thee—cold fate no ill can bring,The rose—no thorn, the bee—no sting,Melody fills all nature,Hoping to hear thee sing;Clashing aloud in accents mad,Weeping again when thou art sad;But thou art glad,Ah!—my dear!Never shall we parted be,Never a clouded sky,Never a shadow fall to thee,Never a troubled sigh. (Eben. holds Caramella’s hand—suddenly starts—looks around—sniffs and smells and starts away.) Eben. (furiously) ,—I smell carbonic acid—phosphorus,That vile Professor!! Cara.—He can’t trouble us,He’s not here! ”
