‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. It wasn’t long ago that a girl went straight from the farm to her husband, just as soon as her period came and she could make babies. The attempt was unsuccessful. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. 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 must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know.
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