The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. It must be sent home this evening. “You should quit. 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. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar.
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