That’s how it takes me. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found.
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