I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. "At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned.
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