“There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. 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. Langley, I appeal to you. gutenberg. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him.
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