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. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. “Come on. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. I do—with all my heart. This morning I met him at the dock, and he wouldn't take the other fifty. "And now let's see who'll dare to oppose me. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. The clock struck half-past ten. “Rather darker than most of them. We vampires have awesome powers of regeneration, given adequate donors.
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