It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. She was no longer a confederate in that. You’re such a strange girl. 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'll try to fill in the gaps. Here goes. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair.
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