. 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. ” He recognized the force, almost the passion, which trembled in her tone, and he at once abandoned the subject. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. She was an Egyptian, from the magical times.
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