“Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. 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. ’ For the space of half a minute, Gerald continued to scowl in silent frustration. He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response.
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