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. ‘Caught her sneaking after that Valade fellow. As she had dreaded, the police officer in the car was politely waiting for John to depart, and exited the squad as soon as John turned at the Pine Crest stop sign. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. So many distresses— so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. She turned her head away sharply. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own.
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