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. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets. ” There was genuine interest in her eyes now. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Get me an interview with her. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss.
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