Wood. While this was passing, Jonathan had ridden back to Marvel to tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. 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. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing.
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