“I will not intrude upon you further. 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. Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him. The late afternoon, en effet. "I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. "No Mohocks! No Scourers!" cried the mob. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil.
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