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The light touch of Ah Cum's hand upon her arm broke the thread of retrospective thought; and her gray eyes began to register again the things she saw. Our ideal had fallen. I don't know how to explain it," said Spurlock, "but music hits women queerly. "Thumping; but that's only 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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