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. "Man, man! You're coming to life. I've seen him often do it. ” “I don’t want absolution. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things.
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