47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old. ‘Well, young man,’ he said, ‘we haven’t seen you lately,’ and something about ‘Bateson & Co. 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. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech.
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