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. It’s just like your Splendid Pride to do it. That is not reasonable. "By all means," rejoined Quilt. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. He could not move; but stood like one stupified, with his hands clasped together, and eyes almost starting out of their sockets, fixed upon his unfortunate parent. “Do you mind very much?” He shook his head. About them quickly. "I was only just in time. I'm burning up. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep. This accident rather confirms than checks my purpose.
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