The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. ‘Certainly I can prove it. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. I asked her to marry me, and she consented. 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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