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. Nice, of course. ‘And me, I am a lady. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. “Hold on. Wanted a clean sweep for elbowroom. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. Let me run you for six months.
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