For a time she promenaded the room. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. "A good idea!" exclaimed the carpenter. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written. \"High Five, Lucy!\" Michelle exclaimed. 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. ’ ‘Like this?’ ‘Parfait.
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