"Yes," replied Jack. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. They ought to put a lamp. But she did not believe he would do that. I've got to know why. . 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. Now, I'll be getting along. They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest.
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