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“I’ll tell them how much you enjoyed dinner, it would give me great pleasure to tell them that. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. 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. They WERE weird.
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