” Lucy said. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. It is no good going into that. " Broken pipes littered the floor, if that can be said to be littered, which, in the first instance, was a mass of squalor and filth. He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. 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 feel years younger, a man again. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression.
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