She became more assertive, more defiant. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. At least until we graduate. 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. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better.
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