Even the chattering monkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for the smelly dark of the jungle. 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. "I dare say she has called to inquire about Jack. I shouldn't talk like that. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. The first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. " "But Wild still lives," cried Wood. And yet it was basically a fine action. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. .
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