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. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle. I have no intention of allowing you to depart in a hurry.
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