272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. 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. Jackson. ” “Thank you. ” “But how did you defend yourself? Was he so high on drugs that he couldn’t fight back or something?” Michelle asked. “I’m next, Mr. ‘Maman?’ ‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French. He got off at Canal, and she exited behind the crowd.
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