She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. 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. Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing. “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water.
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