But all those empty years!… My heart was hot. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. Aware of the cunning and desperate characters of the persons with whom she would have to deal,—aware, also, that she was in a quarter where no laws could be appealed to, nor assistance obtained, she felt the absolute necessity of caution. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. 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. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready.
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