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. He was not there. Footman or some such. She almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. “Hi Lucy. ’ ‘It’s no use blaming me, Gerald,’ uttered Roding, shrugging helplessly as his senior turned questioning eyes on him. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. WARD, LOCK & CO.
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