It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. It'll be your turn to save mine next. What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. 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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