. I hate what I have to do to survive. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. 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. ’ The woman shrugged helpless shoulders, looking to her husband. You don’t know what you ask nor what you say. But there was something else; and in his befogged mental state the comparison eluded him. "I was only just in time. “Let me see,” he said.
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