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. All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement. I have never loved you. . Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby.
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