’ She tried to shake his hands off her wrists, but Gerald held them fast and tutted at 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. "But, I own, I think it is like. ” The man’s face was dark with passion. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Gerald with a grin. Wood fared still worse. CHAPTER XVIII. Mr.
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