Did he like freaks? She opened her black umbrella, her giant sun deflector. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. The hurricane appeared to have raged in this quarter with tenfold fury. 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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