Don’t leave me. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. " "No fear of that," laughed Kneebone. “No. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand.
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