The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. “You can keep him at arm’s length. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs. Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. Wood, sharply. I want to be a person by myself, and to pull my own strings. 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. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste.
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