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. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. Anna admitted the fact. “I’m fine,” she said softly.
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