‘You have not the right. 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. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying the answers. He agreed it was disgraceful. " "As many as you please," replied Wood, walking towards the chimney-piece, and taking down a constable's, staff, which hung upon a nail. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. Day after day for a measured hour in the lecture-theatre, with elaborate power and patience, Russell pieced together difficulty and suggestion, instance and counter-instance, in the elaborate construction of the family tree of life. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation. My thanks, by the by.
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