Acne sprayed her cheeks in a fine red spatter where it intermingled with brown freckles. "It seems like six long months to me. "Intruding!" echoed Mrs. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. She loves you too well for that. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. 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. They are their mother’s sons.
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