His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. 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. The city presented a terrible picture of devastation.
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