"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. With a little sigh of happiness she accepted this new thing. 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 young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. “Mr. “They are coming past our table. ‘But so also it is downstairs.
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