’ Too late he saw his error. Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. A spacious suite of rooms down the hall John described as “my parents love den” with a grimace as Lucy smiled. 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.
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