My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. ” “And such a beast of a one,” Sydney remarked vigorously. It is extraordinary. 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 told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily. " He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. We can see round them and behind them and through them, and most of us use that knowledge, in the silent way we have, for our great ends.
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