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. That’s who you ought to go and see, miss. It’s all very fine and all that, Vee, this freedom, but it isn’t going to work. CHAPTER III.
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