The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. The thought of beauty became an obsession. Profoundly. Her new husband was pleased to watch the astonished look on her face as tray after tray appeared on the grand table, each better than the next. She wanted to kiss his feet. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. “I don’t understand. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. 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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