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And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance. Capes sat down in the armchair beside her. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. He kept that, but the rest. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. Jack, meanwhile, heard, the shouts, and, though alarmed by them, held on a steady course. 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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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 29-05-2024 03:22:31
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