“I suppose you’re like the rest of them. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. I found the door locked as usual, but when we entered this room everything was as you see. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father. And Mrs. 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. The thought made her exquisitely happy.
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