And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. I know there’s a sort of right in your impatience at the slowness of Progress. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. 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. ’ She turned, her eyes narrowed. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. So he decided to stay.
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