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. “How did you become a vampire, then?” He asked. Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. Standing over the pierced Rhea, Lucy bayed, a long cry that was half-scream and half-howl. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other. “No reason. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. E. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. .
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