You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. "What say you to carrying her off, Captain?" suggested Blueskin. 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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