‘A French rat with exceedingly long arms, I see. —What do you know of Thames?— Where is he?" "Don't agitate yourself, dearest girl," rejoined the woollen-draper; "or I shall never be able to commence my relation. 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. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. .
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