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 finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand. Lost from all protection, all her family dead—as are mine. "And yet, he has been spared thus long; perhaps with a wise purpose," rejoined Thames. ” Ahead of them walked a gentleman whom it was evident they must at their present pace very speedily overtake.
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