Your life is like a funeral March. “Let’s go home. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. My mother shall never degrade herself by a connection with you. ‘Brung the lantern, I did, and opened the door again in case you was 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. There must be persons tender and loving in this world. A nod was exchanged.
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