His kisses drew deeper, he started unlacing her dress. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. But he can't have his eyes always about him, or he'd have been with us this morning at the Mint, eh, Mr. Some have no males. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. Slipshod; follow me. Before Jonathan followed he turned to face his assailants. 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. A young man was playing the banjo.
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