She despises me, I suppose. I’m rather scornful. ‘A man who is false, who steals papers, who has a plot to take another’s name, who lies to the Mother Abbess and to me, and above all this—’ her voice near to breaking ‘—one who is French. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. 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. With this view, Jack was carried—for he was no longer able to move without assistance— to a ward called the Castle, situated over the gateway on the western side, in what was considered the strongest part of the jail. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac.
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