She found an old drunk wandering the streets. “I remember when you walked me home. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. The future? He dared not speculate upon that.
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