They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. To her consternation, the sound drew her great-aunt’s attention and she threw out a hand. “I am sorry,” he said slowly. I know in Paris you pinched and scraped that your sister might have the dresses and entertainments she desired. She had lost it. 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. " "Mr. ’ They moved to the door, while the lady shrugged, and then seated herself, glancing from the window into the street below, and then turning again to watch them in their huddle at the other side of the library.
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