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. I am fairly well hardened in iniquity—your iniquity, Annabel—but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me. "I will have no satisfaction but his life. "Yes, now," rejoined the infuriated dame; "perhaps, I may never have another opportunity. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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