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. In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. She wondered if the second part would overcome his objections? Several times the words had rushed to her tongue, to find her tongue paralysed. " "When will you want me?"—with pitiful eagerness. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions.
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