“You are absurd,” she declared. 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. "My child!" he groaned faintly. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. Marry, come up! I've been a great deal too charitable. ’ ‘What?’ ‘Neat little toy.
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