“But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. You did it on your own?” Ann Veronica smiled. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. 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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