” “No doubt. It goes to my heart to disappoint you, but this thing must not be. 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. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. “Will he die?” she asked. ’ She threw a melting look at Roding.
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