Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. “We are clerks in the same bank. 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. Run away now, please.
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