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. It is really amusing. ” “I am glad that you have a reasonable excuse for not having been to see me,” she said good-humouredly. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. ’ ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. Have you anything to tell me before you go?” Annabel laughed lightly. He understood. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity.
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