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. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. It is really cheap, you know. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. These things are difficult. Personally, however, I doubt if—’ ‘Charvill?’ interrupted Gerald without ceremony, all his senses at once on the alert. ” “YOU ASKED YOUR FATHER FOR A REASON!” said Miss Miniver, with great intensity.
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