He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. That can be very useful, that. 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. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. May I ask the nature of your interest in her?” He hesitated.
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