Ennison spoke at last. 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. She turned to face him and he kissed her. Ever since he's become so famous, the folks about here ha' christened it Jack Sheppard's cage. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty.
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