You are different, Lucia, undamaged even after what you have been through, still pure of heart. 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. White was scattered across the long stretches of pine trees and corn fields. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. Gerald crossed back to the window.
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