" "Very. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. “I’m being honest with you. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. White men and natives dealt conveniently at Copeley's. It feels like I’ve got a snake of mucus stuffing my entire throat, just one big solid rope. This is a case either of suicide or murder. 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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