"Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. "Adorable girl, I have long loved you to desperation. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade. " "That's better. Earles strode into the waiting-room. 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.
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