Her answer was not quite ready. 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. “Odd!” she said. So there is no escape. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. “I can’t. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. "How long will he be laid up?" "Three or four weeks, if he doesn't peg out during the night.
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