CHAPTER XI. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. Sheppard, faintly. 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. " The woollen-draper replied by gallantly handing her the box, which was instantly snatched from her by Blueskin, who, after helping himself to as much of its contents as he could conveniently squeeze between his thumb and finger, put it very coolly in his pocket.
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