His course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on. 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. You came to see me in the hospital. I’ll give you, say, thirty-five guineas a week clear of expenses, and half of anything you earn above the two turns a night. . “You will go and see her,” he begged. .
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