“I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated. ‘This we will leave. 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. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. ‘We needn’t murder Lucia. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. He smiled complacently. She studied the face and tried to visualize the body, clothed in the dress which had created the spinsters' astonishment. His face was very serious. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death.
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