” He moved himself from the recliner to the couch and patted a cushion. "I cannot break my vow. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. ” But she could not talk freely about love, she found, for all that manumission. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. 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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