"You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. "Very well, Mr. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. He was a little embarrassed. 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. ’ Martha got up with a swish of her black habit.
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