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. "I am so excessively fond of snuff. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. If he puts any smooth moves on you, Luce, you just tell old Mike here and I'll kick his ass!\" Mike declared, not entirely joking.
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