Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. "I forgive him his disobedience. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. 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.
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