McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. 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. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. But next moment, Captain Roding put up her back. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. The last few months had not dealt kindly with Mr. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own.
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