And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well. "Have you sent off the note?" inquired Jack. " "Rather behind me;" and he spoke no more that morning.
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