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. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. She put her mouth on him. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. . He shall have the estates.
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