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" "Very well. 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. " "It matters not what I think," replied Wild. His expression altered. "Here we part,—perhaps for ever. She's not mischievous—and besides she's chained, and can't reach you. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. She traced him by his scent. "All cannot be well, if this is true. “Have you told anybody else?” Lucy asked.
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