She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. 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. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Wasn't the river beautiful under the moonlight?" "We did not leave our cabins. Manning, “I know. ” He came and stood on the hearthrug close to her. This whole affair is truly my fault.
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