Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. 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. It's all your fault, you shaking coward! and, but that I feel sure you'll swing for your carelessness, I'd throw you into the well, too. ” “You—you did what?” Anna exclaimed. ” “We will go to a very quiet place,” he assured her, “a place where I have often taken my own sisters. "I understand," replied Rowland. Yield up the babe, and I pledge my word you shall remain unmolested. The chance had gone.
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