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. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. "I'm prudence personified. Earles said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed upon her, “forty at the ‘Unusual,’ two turns, encores voluntary, six for matinées. I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all. ’ ‘But this is idiot. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says.
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