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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. She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while
desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm
wavered. ”
“You were in a difficult position,” Mr. "You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling
on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. He pushed her back forcefully into her seat with his
lips, his body automatically responding to her kiss. If he died, here in this hotel, who would
care? Or if she died, who would care?
A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of
trying to forget.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 02-07-2024 23:39:57