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. She was nearly too giddy still to answer him. Only I feel that you all want to make life too easy for me, and I am determined to fight my own battles a little longer. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. ’ ‘You were quite as bad to me as I was to you,’ Gerald protested mildly, sitting down beside her.
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