" "Would you have had him spare my mother's murderer?" cried Winifred. Milky sunlight spilled on 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. The lines about his mouth gradually softened.
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