Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. 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 wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. His first reaction had been explosive as the hurts of the past rose up to taunt him. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. Yes, there was someone there. "You have lived over here?"—astonished. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. What was to happen now? She turned to Roding quickly.
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