" "Perhaps not," replied Jack, to whom an idea had suddenly occurred. At a little after five, on that day, four horses dashed round the corner of the Old Bailey, and drew up before the door of the Lodge. 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. They returned to the castle, neither of them speaking. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. ” “Wherever you like!” he answered, a little absently.
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