“This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. “I did not recognize him,” Anna answered. It was scarcely out of sight, when two persons, whom, he instantly recognised as Jonathan and Abraham Mendez, turned the corner of the street, and made it evident from their shouts, that they likewise perceived him. “Idiots!” she said, when she heard this pandemonium, and with particular reference to this young lady with the throaty contralto next door. 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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