It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. But some little distance behind him, someone had come out from the shadow of the building and, seeing the Frenchman reappear, darted back again as quickly. I might as well try to build a ladder to heaven. 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.
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