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. We're to be given a treat to-night. Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in the other. I didn't understand then, but I do now. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. “Mr. But how am I to know of things?” “Some things I hope you may never know,” he said. And this shall be your diet till you die. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window.
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