‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. “Please search everywhere,” she said. "A thousand dollars in British pounds!… A thousand dollars for four short stories!" The tan on Spurlock's face lightened. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. 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.
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