E. 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. " "Hoddy!" said Ruth. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. "Out of a family album, you said," Angelina reminded her sister. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. "You're on," said O'Higgins.
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