She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. " "Six weeks have elapsed since that fatal night," replied Jack. 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. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. He had been thrilled at her attitude about the subject, which was simply not to turn others into vampires. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. She let Jack go as he passed through the opening. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds.
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