But he could only discern a black and shapeless mass, floating upon the water at a little distance, which, to his bewildered fancy, appeared absolutely standing still. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye. 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. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. Of course she had often heard sailors hammering out their ditties.
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