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. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. ” He stood before the door. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. ’ The lady sighed and spread her hands.
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This video was uploaded to brazilian-portuguese-translator.info on 29-06-2024 10:41:23
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