. " "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. ” Lucy shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. 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. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. ’ He frowned again.
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