But I'm not worrying about that. 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. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. She felt privileged above other women at parties, where she was on display as all the duchesses and queens looked upon her with envy as he was so clearly entranced by her in every way. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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