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. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. There were moments when Ann Veronica rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing off at her. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. ” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong.
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