She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. ” “Well?” “I went from Anna’s flat to Nigel Ennison’s rooms. I'll think no more about her. 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.
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