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Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. Winifred, you are deceived in me. 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. ’ Grudgingly, the sergeant shifted aside and allowed her access to the stairs, grumbling to her retreating back, ‘If I’d me way, missie, I’d send you back to France where you ought never to have come away from, if you arst me. Sebastian was always a man who felt the need to surround himself with the trappings of the finer life. Ants.
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