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. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. “I will have your true reason. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, whatever it was. ’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. 4. "No matter," replied Sheppard. .
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