Entranced, he stared at the name. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. 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. And not on Melusine’s account, but to see Prudence, who had no use for a cavalier. Gosse was backing towards the table. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight.
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