’ ‘Eh bien, what then?’ Emile sidled closer. 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. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. She missed them already.
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