There was little fighting spirit here. Wild," said the turnkey, trembling in every joint. 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. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed.
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