” He pointed to Ennison, who in his turn looked across at Anna. What CAN she put before that?” His voice began to rise. ” “The difficulties on my own side I can deal with,” he answered. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. 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.
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