He closed the door. 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. “A volatile temperament—yes, a volatile temperament,” Mr. ” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come.
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