Thus, all her interest in life began to centre upon the patient, who was apparently quite as anchorless as she was. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. “So, just how many foster homes were you in before the coming to live here?” “You don’t want to hear about all of that, Michelle. 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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