“Excuse me a moment. 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. Let me make your future for you. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. While there's life there's hope. F. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject.
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