She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. 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. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. “We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents. Cut it as short as you can.
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