It’s all right. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. Few men could have done as much. 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. Manning, abruptly. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections.
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