All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. " "A very sufficient reason," answered the jailer. She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. 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.
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