“Are you sick, Michelle? Maybe you should have stayed home. 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. ‘I do not know. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. The bliss had lasted one hundred and forty years, far more than an entire mortal lifetime. ’ Gerald smiled. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain.
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