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He had deliberately saved it for last. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. ” She said. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. 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. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead.
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