You can go, but you can not come back.

You have decided?
Yes?
Then good morning." Thirteen years, thirteen years! He had sacrificed the freedom of the house and the key to the purse, the kind eyes and the warm pressure of that old hand.

And for what?
Starvation in the deserts, plenty of scars and little of thanks, ingratitude and forgetfulness.
And now the kind eyes were closed and the warm hand cold.

O, to recall the vanished face, the silent voice, the misspent years, the April days and their illusions! The Englishman took the monocle from his eye and looked at it, wondering what had caused the sudden blur.
"There was a fine old man there in the bygone days," said Johann.
"And who was he ?" "Lord Fitzgerald, the British minister.

He and Leopold were close friends." Johann's investigating gaze went unrewarded.