Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. 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. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. Martha had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving. I'll forgive him if he does. “It’s very good,” she said.
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