He had always warned her explicitly about turning others into vampires. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. She laughed a little contemptuously. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. She wants to be free—she wants to be legally and economically free, so as not to be subject to the wrong man; but only God, who made the world, can alter things to prevent her being slave to the right one. ‘A French rat with exceedingly long arms, I see. Before or after?” Lucy paled. We'll see whether he'll get rid of his new bonds?" he added with a brutal laugh, which was echoed by the bystanders. You would not have believed me, I know well. 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.
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