” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. ” Inwardly, she laughed at the idea of him trying to beat on her, flailing, his arms akimbo. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. “The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. Ennison paused by the little gate. Wherein she differed but little from her young sisters. 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. In fact, Mr. Men and women are not established things; they’re experiments, all of them.
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