It heralded you, promised you. 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. . ’ ‘You wouldn’t,’ agreed Mrs Sindlesham. She snatched about in her mind. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. So is the chapel of All Souls at Oxford, and the great hall at Blenheim, and I don't know how many halls and chapels besides. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. But, I'll expose him.
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