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. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. Cocking the gun. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts.
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