There must be something behind the missioner's actions, something of which the girl knew nothing nor suspected. This is no place for me. ” Miss Stanley reflected as Ann Veronica went toward the house. You see, I’m selfish. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. . 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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