You’ve got me. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. He gurgled as if trying to communicate. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating and least emphatic sunshine in the world. 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. I have no right to love you. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn.
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