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‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. She had warned him. He had quite enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. 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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