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. She stood without motion and without strength. “Remember that the man will probably die. You can go for a walk with Lucy. He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. From there I plan to travel until I reach Columbia—but any lawless country will do. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. Horrible!" "Poor soul! her senses are going again," said Mr. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break.
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