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” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. 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 remember it very well indeed.
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