It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. He had done it. At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. 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. They are not your children, they never were. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly. ” She refused. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome.
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