She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. The first of these, whom he addressed as Mr. Jack is registered in the Black Book. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. Then came the great day. ” “Well?” “Lunch! I am hungry—tragically hungry. She had noticed a twenty year pattern emerging, and funny how opportunity seemed to strike just when she was getting truly anxious. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and 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.
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