’ ‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly. "You've won your wager. Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up. About nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the Lodge at Newgate. 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. I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all.
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