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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. " Jack made no answer, nor did he even cast his eyes upon his follower. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. . She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning. But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. For a few moments Mr.
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