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. ‘You mean—’ ‘Hilary!’ Lucy turned excited eyes back to Alderley. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese.
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