Here was a thundering blow. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. Very doubtful. If Mr. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. And the Duke, too—I heard him say that a married secretary would be worse than useless to him.
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