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. Annabel shook her head. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. What she actually wanted was the present state of affairs to continue indefinitely. ‘Not in the open street. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. I arrived here with something less than five pounds in my pocket.
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