It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. 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. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. " "How long will you be here?" "To-morrow night. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. "If there is any honour in you, stop and think. Then the foremost bowed and passed on. The bars dropped noiselessly and slowly down, till the chain tightened at the staple. “Gellett,” he called, “just come and clear up a mess, will you? I’ve smashed some things. . It wasn’t.
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