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His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. 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. But I'll never part with your irons. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites. They had a universe to talk about—two universes.
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