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. He was suddenly calm. “One has such ridiculous ideas of the wicked common people and the beautiful machinery of order that ropes them in. "Yes—what do you mean, Ma'am?" added Jack, staggering after her. ” Shari brushed by her mother in the hallway, who grunted. ’ ‘Because I was a servant in the vicomte’s house? Things have changed. You could walk the city streets and with every blink you could take in a new sight of beauty so great that your heart would weep for it. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 23-09-2024 13:19:24