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Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. He told her something about music, the great world outside. ” He looked at her, his eyes illuminated by the glow of the dashboard. 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. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable.
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