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She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. 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. Part 4 At eight that evening Miss Stanley tapped at Ann Veronica’s bedroom door. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. Capes sat watching and admiring her, and then he fell praising the day and fortune and their love for each other.
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