It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. Anna was having tea by herself when she entered. There were probably others buried around the 13 house, she had seen a suspicious working refrigerator in the back of the garage mess, but she wasn’t about to check it out. “I think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything. So you are Prudence Remenham. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. So far she had not heard the sound of his voice. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. Then she went into the office. 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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