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. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. "She has, she has," said Jack, in a broken voice. "I love her already. She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. But Gosse began to drag her towards the door. A radiant smile astonished him.
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