" "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. Ann Veronica decided to be more explicit. 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. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. ‘You wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the other.
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