" All day long the phrase interpolated her thoughts. 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. She passed inside and upstairs without a word. " "Uh-huh. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. Men do not understand constancy as women do. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it.
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