Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. " "Anything like that?" "Yes; but the colour is lavender. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. 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'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself.
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