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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. “Hill gradually recovering consciousness. The man was my husband. \"Thanks for walking me home. "Don't harm him," said Jack, carelessly: "he dares not do it. ” He stepped past her to the door and closed it. ’ ‘This is what you say of him? Me, I find he is growling all the time like a dog. I have only just left Wych Street. . I did not reckon upon—him.
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