She saw its depraved eyes, but worse were the glittering teeth as it smiled. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. She writhed in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then raised her knees to his shoulders. 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. " "Very well, Sir," replied Sheppard. You've caught the colour and the life. “You do not even know what you are talking about.
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