But in a moment she believed she understood. The lights rolled over, and were extinguished. ‘You! Have you pen and paper?’ ‘Pen and paper now, is it?’ grumbled the old man as he shuffled down the hall. ” “I know. 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. The first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous.
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