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. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair.
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