"More slang," he said. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. 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.
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