As soon as he became convalescent, and all fears of his premature dissolution were at an end, Wild recommenced his rigorous treatment. ‘Now see here, missie. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. 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. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble.
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