" "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. " "And why not?" asked Kneebone, eagerly. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. Michelle ate fast, and Lucy followed her lead, shoveling mashed potatoes and salmon down her gullet in a passionless frenzy. 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. ” She sat very still. The chapel was crowded to excess. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels.
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