If all wives were of my mind and my spirit, husbands would soon be taught their own insignificance. Martin's on Ludgate-hill, and Christchurch in Newgate Street, were also distinguishable. I killed him, Nigel. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. I’m sorry. 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. I took the usual way home.
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