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For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. 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. ’ She seemed to recollect herself suddenly.
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