Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy. Lucy was silent. She pulled, he rose to his feet. 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.
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