He could quite understand the daughter of Mr. Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman. You are different from all the world for me. 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. There were lines in her face that age had not put there.
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