It drives him to my island, where I can study him to my heart's content. 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. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. Not then. " "Make it positive," was the brisk reply. " "Footsteps are approaching," cried Thames. " "That is to say, you wish you had let me die?" "That was the thought.
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