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. This is altogether insupportable. It’s made up of things as small as the diameter of hairs and big as life and death. Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. “Well?” she said, sitting down again.
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