“What was that?” she asked sharply. “Would you stand it? I’m going to clear out. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. 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. “And where are YOU going?” he said. ‘I must. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting. ” “Fine. " "Monster!" cried Winifred.
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