" As this was said, Jack turned with the swiftness of thought, and shortening his sword, prepared to plunge it into the thief-taker's heart. ” She set the letter down, and drew from her pocket another with a foreign post mark which had come the day before. 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. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to.
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