She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. Wood's astonishment and displeasure momentarily increased. We've got to make him take up the harp of life and go twanging it again. “It is concerning—our future relations,” Sir John pronounced ponderously. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. 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. Lucia had never been so happy, so content.
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