She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. 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. “I was born there. “Mary!” He whispered loudly. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk.
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