" "Mr. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. 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. “There is someone in my rooms,” Anna said. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. Diane suggested to him that he retire early, and he did so agreeably, halfknowing it to be an order. ” A bureaucratic three hours later, the paperwork was finished. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. ” “You—you did what?” Anna exclaimed. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. I can't concentrate on my work.
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