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. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. When they started getting on each other’s nerves, she blamed herself at first. ’” “But that is flat rebellion!” said Mr. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false.
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