He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. ’ ‘In one little minute,’ she said, snapping her fingers, ‘it is over and voilà tout. 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. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily.
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