But it's French manners, I suppose. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. 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. ” “Then he—and Paris—lied,” Ennison answered.
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