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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. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour! She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuated her beauty. “Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. "Good work. “I’ve heard some even more entertaining news from the Orchestra grapevine too. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. Think how free that leaves me to follow things up! I must take you everywhere.
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