I must tell somebody—and you would understand. "I shall be able to stretch my limbs presently—ha! ha!" "Hush!" cried Kneebone, "I hear a noise without. 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. The doctor said you wrote. He said nothing, even though it was not raining.
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