There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. 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. I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are.
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