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 wanted him, she needed sex, but the two ideas had not formed an equation where a concrete result could be deduced. But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another.
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