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. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. . She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. ‘Certainly those are names of the most undistinguished, and I would scorn to have them.
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