Wherever I saw him, I should pick him out as a man designed by nature to plan and accomplish the wonderful escapes he has effected. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. Spurling. Come home alone. 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. ‘C’est ridicule.
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