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 noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. As a matter of fact I have been waiting for you. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. ” “Come in out of the cold,” said Capes, and took her arm. You are much more like what I was then. Every one took him for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me.
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