“I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. What happened? Did you turn me?” “Yes, my love. 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. Wood, popping her head through the window. ’ Gerald remained infuriatingly calm. "I can't say I did," replied Wood, somewhat reluctantly; "what with the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of business, I put it off till it was too late. After him! A hundred pounds to the man who takes him. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses.
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