She stood up before him, smiling faintly. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime. She formed a wild resolution, and, lest she should waver from it, she set about at once to realize it. It is what I have done. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. " And he raised it in his arms. 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. I have done from the first moment I saw you. In regard to yourself, you've had a very narrow escape. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free.
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