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. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. I just don’t know where to start. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. ” She turned and fitted the latchkey into the door. " He started to pick up a sheet of manuscript, but she pushed him from the table toward the doorway; and he staggered out of the bungalow, suddenly stretched his arms, and broke into a trot. ‘And I do understand. “Mary!” He whispered loudly. His assistance came too late.
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