On the way home he was still thoughtful. 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 were quite as bad to me as I was to you,’ Gerald protested mildly, sitting down beside her. And Gerald— Melusine swallowed on an unaccountable lump in her throat. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. " "That child may be the means of saving me," muttered the stranger, as if struck by a new idea: "I shall gain time by the expedient.
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