Anabel, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Ann-uh-bell: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Ann. Uh. Bell. She was Ann, plain Ann, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Anabel in slacks. She was a Frontier Brain in battle. She was cold and frightening on the battlefield. But in my arms she was always Anabel.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7ru_eeOeL8