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. "Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning. Ruth made a little gesture, of infinite pity; and this was quickly seized upon by the slant-eyed Chinese girl. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. From this sorrowful state he was aroused by a loud derisive whistle, followed by a still louder laugh; and, looking up, he beheld the impudent countenance of Jack Sheppard immediately before him. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. After all, they’re history in the making. She leaves me almost without comparisons.
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