She was never able to trace the changes her attitude had undergone, from the time when she believed herself to be the pampered Queen of Fortune, the crown of a good man’s love (and secretly, but nobly, worshipping some one else), to the time when she realized she was in fact just a mannequin for her lover’s imagination, and that he cared no more for the realities of her being, for the things she felt and desired, for the passions and dreams that might move her, than a child cares for the sawdust in its doll. “That’s. But why this part of the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care to examine too closely. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. "Steady, old top! What are you going to do?" "The damned scoundrel!" "I told you that child was opal. I didn't expect you home before that hour, Sir. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. First the passage to be negotiated. . ” His voice conveyed studied moderation.
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