It was Annabel who caught at the paper. The doctor walked over to the bed, folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyes of his patient. My heart misgives 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. This laugh and his looks alarmed her.
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