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. ” John looked at her sympathetically. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. You go home and live on the G. “You see, Vee,” said Mrs. Lord, I am sixty. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. "Water!" he gasped. I told her it was the end. " So saying, he left the room.
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