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. ‘What’s this? Impertinence! French manners, is it?’ ‘Grace à vous,’ Melusine threw at him fiercely. They were actually pissed at me that I quote broke up with you unquote. “What’s that for?” He said. “Has she ever thought of buying a pair of foam earplugs?” Lucy asked. . And this is not France, you understand. “You vixen!” said Mr. “John’s here.
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