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. ‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. It is her duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had been trying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. He could think about it later.
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