And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. “There are no males at men to stare; A man scores always, everywhere. I learned the trick of the place from one Paul Groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine. 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 paused. White assured her. “You poor little girl!” he cried. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall.
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