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. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. "I knew that would bring him to," thought Wild. Mr. I know what I am doing better than you do.
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