’ ‘Then who is this Englishman?’ demanded Gerald on a sceptical note. Mr. I was always told my mother died the day I was born. “Do you mean to say that you have been here ever since I came?” “I am afraid that I must confess it,” he answered. He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement. 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.
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