“I can’t keep away from you. “Let go!” said Ann Veronica, through her teeth, strenuously inflicting agony, and he cried out sharply and let go and receded a pace. She slipped out the window, jumping to the ground from the second story with very little sound. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it. 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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