In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. I’m not Gerald, remember. ” “In the Middle Ages, from what you’re telling me. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. 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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