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. That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal and literary. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. ’ ‘The Frenchie? I only knows as how Miss says he will ruin everything.
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