"Off!" she cried with a prolonged and piercing shriek. 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. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. You cannot care for her. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. It would not be possible otherwise to live in daily contact with this level-eyed, lovely girl without loving her. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. . Wood, in a taunting tone. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. F.
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