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. Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. Until then we mean to keep on hammering away. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. “Married already,” he said, with his mouth full.
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