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. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. It was the blouse that gave Lucy away. ’ ‘There is no need for this,’ he ventured mildly, and lifted his finger to show his own pistol was not cocked.
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