He went on with intense urgency. 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. As he moved about upon the starling, Mr. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan. Blueskin, however, was not unattended.
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