Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. He wriggled underneath her heaving body, pinned like an insect. ” “You should have let me do this for you a long time ago. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. 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.
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