One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. 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 found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table.
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