So long as she stood beside him, he was safe. The stairs were outside but they had been covered with a thin plastic roof. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. 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.
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