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Send for Mr. . 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 wound around a small manufactured lake. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boy was a find. Then there was also the horse. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. Get out your pad and pencil. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us.
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