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. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. "My enemy," replied her son. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. She has been a dear. "I've spoken.
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