“You know that I have always hated this!” She 264 looked down at Michelle’s pitifully bloody head, her body barely hanging on to its breath. 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. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it.
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