She stood up before him, smiling faintly. ’ He nodded. What she said is true. 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. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. It was an uproarious affair, for Rollo now knew that he had been grieviously betrayed: they were trying to kill him in a new way. “Stop! Don’t put your face there.
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