‘You ain’t got nothing on me. 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 boat's sure to run foul o' the bridge; and if she 'scapes stavin' above, she'll be swamped to a sartainty below. You come with those clear eyes of yours, as valiant as an angel. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers.
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