Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. Neither the manners, the looks, nor the attire of these gentlemen prepossessed Mrs. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. 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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