She could feel her face turning beet red. The remainder of dinner was surreal and stilted. 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. She rang again with the same result. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. " "Oh! certainly," answered Griffin; "certainly. I'll watch over these infants, if that's your worry.
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