I feel at moments as though I could bolt for it. 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. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. .
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