Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. 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. “Stop,” he said.
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