It was as if the Devil himself had raped and defiled her mother. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. “And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. ” He signed his name and reflected. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he said reassuringly. 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. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech.
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