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. " "For a bit of kindness?" Ruth was plainly bewildered. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. The progress of time was marked in Mr. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. “There is no time for that. ” “Will you remember me?” “Unfortunately.
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