’ ‘I have no game. ” She shook her head. “In Paris. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. ‘You mean there isn’t any evidence of a break-in. ’ ‘You speak it very well,’ Gerald said encouragingly. 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.
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