Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. 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. She had been forced to buy herself that pair of boots and a walking-skirt, and the pearl necklace at the pawnbrokers’ had yielded very disappointingly. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. Clean water. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world.
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