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. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. " She paused. ” She commanded him in a low tone. Then she burst into a peal of laughter. “For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. Out of these he selected a faded parchment and restored the rest to safety. ” He mumbled, driving on. ‘We’ll have you right out of the way, just in case.
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