” “Miss Ellicot! That old cat!” Sydney exclaimed indignantly. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. S. One who—who—tres. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. 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. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation.
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