. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She had been obliged to wait all morning for the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers. 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. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. ” He writhed. ’ The fellow seized on this. They were horrible people. ” “I will think of it,” she promised. Practically.
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