Inside was the blue stone she had lost in the 1800’s. 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. My poor son despairs of me, for I have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever they choose to visit. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. I should feel that I had been obliged to find some one else to fight my battles for me. gutenberg.
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