Each time that we meet I try to kill you. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. 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. She flew up from her stool and faced the door. The stranger turned his head at the sound.
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