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. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day.
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