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. To settle things, you know. The doctor nodded to him curtly. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. I may say she does not sound in the least like Mary,’ said Mrs Sindlesham bluntly. Finally she decided that even for an hotel she must look round, and that meanwhile she would “book” her luggage at Waterloo. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. I hate what I am.
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