She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. 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. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. Both of them. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise.
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