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. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. ” “Thank you,” Anna answered coldly. “Did you ever see women so weary-looking and so dowdy? They do not talk. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. Then a light seemed to break in upon him.
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