There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Laying these carefully aside, he restored the drawer to its place. Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. 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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