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. The moment he was out in the hall, Ruth sat up hugging and rocking her body in delight. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. "Well, it's a good story. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. “You know what a fearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the whole world were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but he wouldn’t have any of it.
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