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. Remember ——” Annabel clutched her sister’s arm. Is this a reason?’ ‘Not good enough? Now I had every hope that it would appeal to you. You'll find the benefit of it by and by. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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