His blood would be sweet with it. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him. She licked his neck, which put him over the top. 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. It’s awkward, but we’ll get round it somehow. The thought of beauty became an obsession. The only mercy you can show me is to kill me.
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