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. You say you need a man. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. He drove her to the Beck house, pulling up behind Cathy's red Nissan. I loved her so much. ’ ‘Eh? Why did you not say so, man?’ demanded Hilary crossly.
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