"Ay, Sir, from the Secretary of State, for your arrest! You're charged with hightreason. 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. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny.
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