At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere. I warned her not to say a word, for it would mean the death of everyone in the Palazzo, including you. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. 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.
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