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. She was not Madame Melusine Valade. In fact, the reflection of the flames lighted up the ward in which Jack Sheppard was confined. Sheppard, attend to what I'm about to say to you.
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