All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. The doctor smoked his pipe thoughtfully. “I too am asked. “How are you feeling?” She asked. "It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, contemptuously. 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. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies.
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