The next moment his grasp relaxed, and he sank to rise no more. " "Ay, ay," cried the jailers, laughing. 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. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend.
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