” He smiled at her. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. She awoke at 11:12 am, her foster sister snoring in the bed across the room. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. 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.
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