” He drew a little nearer to her. Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed. 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.
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