’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. 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. " He rose for fear she might touch him again.
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