She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. ‘Gerald Alderley, I don’t know what you deserve. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. 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. —D'ye hear?" Still the widow remained silent.
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