. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another. 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. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. I wonder if she has any idea how oddly beautiful she is?" Ruth at that precise moment was engaged by a relative wonder.
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