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. The momentary alarm over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crowbar. Promptly Ah Cum wired the information to O'Higgins in Hong-Kong. He was helpful, but gravely dubious. But let that verse tell my secret. But, no. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. He called here on his way back, after he had been to Bedlam to visit poor Mrs.
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