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. These and her general preparations had perhaps a certain disproportion. I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. "Enough's as good as a feast. “I should like you to come here,” she said. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept.
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