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Pause. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter. 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. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. And yet, the doctor recalled an expression of the girl's: that it was not a dissipated face, only troubled.
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