He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. 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. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. ‘And housebreaking,’ added Gerald calmly. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table.
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