His breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys. "You know what I mean," said the trader, gravely. 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. " "It is," answered Wood. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. "I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. ’ Martha looked up, belligerence in her tone. Deny me, if you please.
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