“Good evening, Dorling,” he said. But me, I am going to England. I sent my check for ten thousand; and it has cost me six thousand to find you. 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. It was a betrayal of God and her former family, but all in all was much easier.
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