As soon as he became convalescent, and all fears of his premature dissolution were at an end, Wild recommenced his rigorous treatment. 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. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. . “I suppose, daddy, you’ve no objection to my going on with my work at the Imperial College?” she asked. She thought me— filthy.
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