How's that strike you?" "Very well, sir. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. Come and see him, Lucia. ” Their agreement so far seemed remarkable, and yet as a home-coming the thing was a little lacking in warmth. I do not love any one. I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up. 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. Part of her even believed that her mother would have wanted her to stop feeling guilty and to be happy. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. "Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to lose. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark.
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