You have not forgotten——” “I have forgotten nothing?” he answered, enigmatically. He has escaped. 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. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. They either ran to see or ran for shelter. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street. Then he threw the letter at me. Even if he were an old friend, you couldn't afford to do it.
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