I sat within a few feet of him. 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. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who assisted as a page. They chatted pleasantly as he drove around the neighborhood for a half an hour, then stopped by the Diedermayer house. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. ” “They were my posters,” Annabel said.
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