With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. But I don’t think she lays hold of one so. ” She breathed relief. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. 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. I want to know—just as much as I can.
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