That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. 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. ” Her hand hung over the side of her chair nearest to him. She asked the girl to fetch Mr. “My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden. She was, she guessed, close to the library. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia.
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