And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. 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. He filled the rôle of comrade which Spurlock dared not enact, at least not utterly as he would have liked. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. Jesus! They just wouldn’t let up about you after you played the violin for them. E. "That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her.
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