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. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of.
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