Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. “For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. Earles answered, glibly. B. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. 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. ‘It is nothing at all of the kind.
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