" "Fine! I'll be wanting a guide. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. She felt a semi-sharp object being gently impressed into her back. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. 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. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. Got you interested in something, then? Would you like a peg?" "No. ” “Many other people,” she remarked, “have made the same mistake. I have now settled my affairs, and made every preparation for my departure to France, where I shall spend the remainder of my days. My mother really wants to meet you.
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