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 were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. He boasted of her ability to learn to men who were a stone’s throw from having the power of the pope himself.
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