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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. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. "In my opinion, Sir Rowland," suggested Jonathan; "you'd better allow the court to remain open. "Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 19-09-2024 16:09:20
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