But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arrive on the beach. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. 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. “TROUSERS!” she whispered.
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