But supposing he is? Supposing he made but one misstep? Your island would be a haven of security. If I can’t talk anywhere else—I DO want an understanding. —"Stay! something occurs to me. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. 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 felt sickeningly empty. Giles's. We can’t.
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