" "Now, mark me," said Jonathan, "and you'll find I don't do things by halves. 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. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, come off. . Sheppard, horror-stricken. "But you do agitate me so much. His patient was distinctly of a different order of life. .
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