She glimpsed Chinese penury when she entered a square given over to the fishmongers. The hurricane had now reached its climax. 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 tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. And through all these defences and into Old Palace Yard, into the very vitals of the defenders’ position, lumbered the unsuspected vans.
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