" "Yes, there was one," observed Ireton. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Large hoards of money were discovered, gold and silver plate, cases of watches, and various precious articles. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. ’ She shrugged fatalistically. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. So it does. 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. Ali, büyük bir şehre gidip tıp fakültesine başladı.
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