‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. Do not avoid me if we meet by accident, but I trust to you all not to let the accident happen if you can help it. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. 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. I will take you for thirty-five shillings a week.
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