The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. 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. It was years before your time. " "We won't trust you, my youngster," answered the janizary. She is something different.
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