Gerald would certainly have demanded back his sword. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. “That was a moment of madness,” she said. 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. ” Drummond looked up with mock eagerness. The other was to go into business—into a photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop.
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