Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly. 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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