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. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. " "I will yield it to no one but its mother," answered Wood. ‘What could either of us have done?’ To Gerald’s acute consternation, Melusine’s lip trembled suddenly, and her eyes filled.
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