She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. The few whites he had ever known generally offered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. 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. Here's a couple in hand. " "They may find me.
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