“Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. Melusine’s eyes blazed into his. She did not wince. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. 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. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter.
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