It is so that I may marry an Englishman. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. 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. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son.
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