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. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. She has already forgotten it. "It is Jack Sheppard, the noted housebreaker," cried Jonathan, at the top of his sonorous voice. Her spirit awoke in dismay to an affection in ruins, to the immense undignified disaster that had come to them. ” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends. "Is it poison?" she asked.
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