One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction. 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. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears.
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