CHAPTER IV. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. "I understand," she said. . 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. Then you have altered not only that, but your manner of dressing it.
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