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 doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. 6. "And now," said Thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) "you will no longer defer my happiness.
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