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. " "What!" exclaimed Mrs. . She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. Won't you, Jack?" "That I will," answered Sheppard, eagerly. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek.
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