Thanksgiving Day morning, Shari woke Lucy a half an hour before the sounding of the alarm. "I've known several cases where the ignominious doom I've mentioned has been foretold by such an accident as has just befallen you. 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. You have all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. Her eyes flashed. My name is Annabel, not Anna. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles.
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