In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. “I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life. Shotbolt," cried the turnkey, "I've good news for you. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. 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. "Read that," rejoined Austin, pointing to the placard. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. The Widgett method of thought puzzled her weakly rhetorical mind.
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