I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. ’ Lucilla burst into laughter and clapped her hands. 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. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb. I want to do without that for a time.
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